February 28, 2002: The Army
We've all heard the wonderful oxymoron, military intelligence. But do we really know why this statement contradicts itself? Are we just making fun of the army for the hell of it? No, we aren't, there really is no such thing as military intelligence. The military is lame, so its quite alright to poke fun at it.
First off, MREs, thats meals ready to eat in leyman's terms. Now considering everything is packaged in little bags and last for over 50 years you'd figure it wasn't a bad idea, right? Well it really isn't. The food tastes like shit. The little hot bags are kinda fun to play with, but the directions make you feel like a retard. When you cook something in it you're supposed to prop it up on a rock or something. They make it quite clear that it has to be a rock or something, as they even include a diagram of the MRE being placed atop a circle labeled "a rock or something." Now, being that pretty much everything fits into the rock or something category, these directions still won't help the military. If they think the soldiers are retarded enough that they need a diagram, why don't they think about the something part of the sentence. What's to stop some dipshit soldier from propping it up on a cat or something? Absolutely nothing.
Example 2: Recruiters. Recruiters are pretty much the used car salesman of the military. My friend Booga was called by a recruiter and told that if he went to the recruiting office he'd receive a complimentary set of cooking ware. Now something here doesn't make sense. As far as I knew the army wasn't run by Ron Popeil, but I guess I was wrong. I wonder if the army comes with a 90 day money back guarantee...
And, even though I could go on and on with the many examples of how the military is stupid, I think I'll end with this. Drill Seargeants. Gotta love drill seargeants, they're mean, they're big, and they yell a lot. Definately a reason I'd want to join the army, so I could have some overweight bald guy tell me to do pushups. Now, I know they have they're reasons for being mean. I guess being a drill seargeant is pretty degrading, if I was one I'd take my anger out on my low life basic trainees too. But anyway, they just don't make the army that appealing.
So in closing, there is no such thing as military intelligence. There is military tactics, but intelligence is a completely foreign field to the army. I apologize for that stupid rant, but Booga suggested I talk about the army so I did. Ricky out.
February 26, 2002: IHOP
Ahhh, among us is a truly glorious dining location. The International House of Pancakes, a place from which you can get absolutely whatever you want. The waiters/waitresses will absolutely get you anything you need (except maple syrup, which apparently isn't absolutely international enough to go on pancakes.) Now, I must say that the food is decent, which is a plus. And they really don't absolutely make sure you pay before you leave. It would be quite simple to walk out after eating as they don't check you at the door.
The waiter we recieved at least was comical, in that he replied to any request by simply stating "absolutely." Could you bring us some ashtrays? "Absolutely." Could we have some more coffee? "Absolutely." We're ready to order. "Absolutely." Could you please stop saying absolutely? "Absolutely." Ahhh, the glory of trained monkeys.
Now for the maple syrup issue. You see, whats the first topping that comes to mind when you think of pancakes? Maple syrup right? Oh fuck you if you think of butter first, you still think of maple syrup eventually. But anyway, they have boysenberry, butter pecan, blueberry, and strawberry, which are all apparently more international then maple syrup. The strange thing is that they consider maple syrup not international, why do they have a burger in which the most international thing is mayonaise? Its called the international burger. So what the fuck?
Well anyway, as enjoyable as the food was, the dining critic Ricky doesn't recommend IHOP for everyone's dining needs. If you're looking for a place absolutely filled with paradoxes and chaos, go to IHOP. If you just want some god damn maple syrup for your pancakes, eat somewhere else. Ricky out.
February 20, 2002: Smash Brothers
Now theres a lot of addictions in the world, but I believe that there is one addiction that has grasped hold of my friends Koby and Brett, along with myself. This addiction is the Nintendo 64 game, Smash Brothers. Now, I used to play a lot of video games, but other than this game I've pretty much stopped playing video games all together. Theres just something about the fierce competition between the three of us in this game that has me hooked.
In the beginning I simply brought my Nintendo upstairs to Brett's room to have a little fun. This was last semester, it hasn't left his room since then. Neither Koby or me will enter that room without at least playing one game of Smash Brothers now, and when Brett is there, he can't refuse a match either. This game has taken over a good portion of my brain's memory capacity, and at this point playing any other game would seem alien and unnatural. Its like crack that you control with a little joystick and a variety of buttons.
It started out with Brett, Paul, and me. But after the loss of Paul from the world of Pratt MWPI, Koby was sucked into our downward spiral into the world of Smash Brothers. He is now on our level of skill, and I'd hafta say we're all pretty much equal at it now. We all have about the same chance of winning at any given time. At this point I will break down what playing the game is like to all you Smash Brothers Gentiles.
I'll start with myself, since I am the one writing this rant. You can pretty much count on me using either Link or Samus. Their long range grab and ability to shoot dangerous objects at opponents is just too much for me to pass up. Brett normally sticks with Fox or Captain Falcon. I hate Fox, I hate him so much. Especially when I'm Samus. Having your own mighty electrical ball of doom reflected back at you is just not that appealing. Recently hes been using Pikachu a lot too. I've got no problems with Pikachu. Koby usually uses Kirby. In fact almost nothing but Kirby. What he lacks with variety he more than makes up with familiarity with his character. You've never seen a more deadly pink puffy object than Kirby.
Well anyway, I guess thats it for this rant, its not much like my other ones. Most of those have to do with real life and how I feel about it. But Smash Brothers is real in the life of an addict. I've probably dreamt about the game on several occasions. So anyway, Ricky out.
February 12, 2002: Chicks
Ahhh... girls, there is no greater mystery in a man's world. Being that Valentine's Day is coming up (which by the way is the only holiday that hurts more people than Christmas) I figured that this rant was necessary. This is due to the fact that I'm going through some crazy shit. I won't be specific, because I don't want people thinking the old Rickchu went soft or something, but whatever.
Now as everyone who reads my site probably knows, I haven't had the best track record with relationships. Not that I'm an asshole or have gotten dumped a lot, I just haven't had that many. Relationships are an unusual task for me. Mostly just the starting part, after that its a breeze. But girls are weird... as I shall further explain.
Now, like I said I'm not getting into specifics, but I'll share my various theories on girls.
Theory 1: Girls are a paradox. I hate girls, but only because I don't. Yup, a one sentence contradiction. But it really does make sense to me. The reason I hate them is because I can't hate them, theres that attraction that makes them impervious to my hatred. So, technically I don't hate them, but whatever, if you haven't gotten my point then you're probably an idiot, but I don't know that for sure, its just an assumption.
Theory 2: Girls like to play head games. Don't know why they do, but it just seems that way to me. They never get right to the point. Its like they derive some pleasure out of playing with a dude's head before they decide whether or not they are worthy of her company.
Theory 3: Girls are not ninjas. Don't know why thats relevant, but I'll stick to it until I am killed by a chick wielding a katana. Yeah... that theory is just there for some comic relief. If you're a girl and you're reading this, don't take it as a sexist remark. I'm not saying a girl can't be a ninja, just that I haven't seen one yet. But yeah, even though they aren't ninjas they certainly do know all the vital areas to strike if they want to hurt a guy. So I suppose in a way, they are an emotional ninja... but I think everything is a ninja, probably something I should get checked out, but whatever.
Theory 4: Nice guys finish last. Only in movies does the nice guy ever end up getting together with a girl. In real life, the chick always falls for the rebellious asshole. In a perfect world, the nicer you were, the more cool pheromones you'd give off. I'd be somewhat hot in that scenario, not as studly as Jesus or Gandhi, but pretty damn hot.
Theory 5: Attraction sucks. I was having the time of my life just living as your normal college student, not giving a shit about finding a relationship. When that horrible notion of attraction popped up, it ruined focus, especially since that attraction was a two party thing. I'm not some freakin' stalker going out of my way to try anything with some girl I have no chance with. This attraction flew both ways, which is weird, because usually I am that guy who likes someone and doesn't do jack shit about it, for fear of losing a friend.
Theory 6: Again, being a nice guy sucks. This time with a different reason though. If you're an extroverted asshole, you have a better chance of starting a relationship than an introverted gentleman. Why? Because the extroverted asshole is better at showing his feelings. I hate to admit it, but assholes do have some good qualities. They're open, they're easier to strike up a conversation with, and they usually care more about their appearance than the introvert. I personally do care very little about my appearance, I get my hair to look decent, and thats about it, if I was out of clothes I'd wear some random rags.
Theory 7: Emotions suck. Do squirrels have a problem getting a date? Sure they hafta chase the chick around a tree for a few hours, but thats all there is too it. They don't have to say shit. Which is the hardest thing to do. I personally am afraid of saying the wrong thing, at any time. Hence why I'm quiet around people I don't know. I don't want to piss anyone off, especially not a girl that I have some interest in.
Theory 8: You know too much. If I was to share any more of my emotions with you on a website open to the public, I'd have to kill you. I really don't want anybody dropping me emails about how lame I am, or even how sweet I am. I don't want either of those. Its my life and I have the right to have my own little theories. You can have yours too, I don't care.
Theory 9: Alright, I know the last rant stated no more about my emotions, so I'm just going to say that theory number nine is too personal for you to hear. Satisfied? Good, I knew you wouldn't be.
Theory 10: This rant will self destruct in 5... 4... 3... 2...
Special thanks to Booga for inspiring me to rant on and on about a subject that baffles me completely. I'm sure you'll all get a good laugh out of me trying to get in touch with my emotions, which sit in my head behind a big metal wall, with rotating turret guns and stuff... so that I can't get to them. Stupid emotions, things would probably be easier if I was gay... but I didn't say that...
February 11, 2002: Ninjas
Now anyone who knows me knows that I have this strange interest in ninjas. They are society's highest point of efficiency; fast, quiet, and unseen. As a general rule, if ninjas are after you, you're fucked.
Get to the point you say? Well, I suppose I can tell you about my experiences with ninjas. No, neither of them were real ninjas, but we have imaginations, don't we? Over winter break was a good ninjanesque experience. Allow me to share with you this wonderful moment in time.
First off you have to remember that I'm not really a ninja, I won't hunt you down and kill you to obtain honor for my clan. I will however, with the help of my "clan", steal Halloween decorations that have been left up for five fucking months. That skeleton was asking for it. Me and my accomplices (well technically they weren't my accomplices, I was the hired gun) raided the yard of the skeleton that dishonored Halloween by hanging around until January. Much like ninjas of the past our assault was efficient, quick, and quiet. We liberated "Mr. Bones", as he was later named, in under 15 seconds. All it took was a stealthy charge across the yard a few slashes of Jim's knife to free him from the tree which bound him. Tristin kept guard from afar while I stuffed the wayward skeleton in the bag we brought and we charged to to the shadows from which we came. Perfect ninja form.
Now the next ninja tale I bring to you is not as pleasant. For I was the victim of this ninja attack. Now, for a long time now I've had this tea pot in my room, let's just call it the Green Destiny Kettle for now... Now, this tea pot wasn't mine, I was borrowing all year and I forgot about it. I had retrieved my own tea pot, lets call that one the Star Dragon Kettle, and totally failed to realize the fact that I had two tea pots. Well, when I realized that I had someone else's tea pot, I immediately brought it to the owner's boyfriend's attention. Ahhh JD, so much effort for such a small reward. So I left a message over AIM and expected to hear about it later. I did. A few hours later my room was quickly raided. Dressed like a ninja and everything, JD charged through my room, to the kitchen, grabbed the Green Destiny Kettle and fled. I was expecting ninja attacks from the ceiling, not my front door, so it caught me off guard. Had he jumped from the ceiling, he would have instantly faced the wrath of my pungee spike traps. But anyway, it was well played.
So remember, next time you even suspect you are being hunted by ninjas, remember the three necessary step to escape any situation. Grab your gun, hide the children in the basement, and barricade the god damned door. Ricky out.
February 3, 2002: Guest Rant - Sickness
This rant was made possible by "Disco" Jon Stein, for more of his rantings, head to The Pit of Apophis. There's a link in the Links section. My guess is that this rant was a direct result of his recent illness. So without further ado, here's a pleasant look at the insanity my friends spread throughout the wasteland we call Earth. Ricky out.
Sickness. Sickness blows. You leak substances that should not be seen outside of the body, and it feels like it never goes away. But you know what the worst part of being sick is: the goddamned medicine. We can map the human genome and clone animals and shit, but we can’t make Vicks 44 taste like something other than ass. I know there are a few decent tasting cough medicines, but most remind me of what nursing homes smell like. I suppose there is some point to making medicine taste bad, so like little kids don’t robo-trip and stuff, but good god. I’m already coughing and sick, I don’t need to be puking as well.
There is one good part of sickness, though. You can spread it to as many people as possible. I mean, spreading something nasty is not cool, but for a simple chest cold, it’s always the more the merrier. I guess misery loves company. After spreading my current chest cold to at least two other people, I’m starting to get attached to it. It’s like a vile little minion that works without me having to tell it to do anything. It’s like a small viral child.
I suppose there are other benefits to being sick, as well. I can sleep ten hours a night and blame it on the sickness. I can skip classes because I’m too sick. Plus, having a chest cold makes my laugh sound really evil.
So I guess there are both pros and cons to being sick. But really, I prefer to not cough up lung material.
Jon