Ok, there have been some complaints about my last article. Generally, I wouldn't give a shit, but I feel I must justify myself to those who are close to me, and who might take this the wrong way. First, allow me to clarify that the Californian is, of course, no monster. In fact, I hold absolutely no grudge against his increasing amount of time in my room, brainwashing my roommate. Second, I received some heat for referring to speed hallucinations. I take a rather large dose of ritalin. ritalin is a methamphetamine, a wonderful drug to say the least. There is nothing better, in my mind, than mothers giving their children a small dose of speed, then shipping them off to school. Yes, that's right. Ritalin is nothing but legal speed. It's specially mixed for you to be able to concentrate better, if you have the proper symptoms. Many people, such as me, know that it is not always a good thing to concentrate too much. You begin to see things that aren't really there. You concentrate on them so hard, that your mind makes them real. This leads to an interesting thought: If I conentrate enough, will I be able to create an object not only tangible to myself, but to others, too? We can only hope and pray that this is not so. Whichever country discovers this technology first will surely wipe everyone else off the planet, simply with the bat on an eyelid.
There are times that I would be grateful for this kind of technology. For instance, as I type this, my phone is ringing off the hook. Whoever is calling me just will not accept that I am not here. Of course, I am here, and possibly they know it. But the chances of that are so astronomical that it is too ridiculous even to consider. Besides, it's been ringing for about 15 minutes now. His persistence particularly gets on my nerves. At this point, he'll be better off if I don't answer and find out who it is.
The worst time for people to call is when you're trying to watch a DVD on your laptop. The other day, I was enjoying my pirated DVD version of Battle Royale II (sequel to a truly superb piece of Japanese cinematic genius. This one is nowhere near as good. Needless to say, I'm happy none of my money went to the filmmakers), and laughing at all the obvious anti-American propaganda put in it (probably because the original was banned in the US for having less violence than Tarantino's recent flick. Go figure). Then, the phone starts ringing. Now, I realize that I don't really need to hear what they're saying. It's not like I can understand it, and I have the English translation printed right in front of my eyes. But it's just not the same. You really do need to hear the voices, even when the language is unintelligible. So, needless to say, I was very upset. I pause the movie, something that it really kills me to do, and go pick up the phone to be met by the voice of a telemarketer. The only time these people seem to call is when you're enjoying yourself. Well, this telemarketer didn't get off so easy. If you ever come across one of these guys who seems especially hard of hearing, say hi to him for me.
Until next time,
Goose
©2004 by Goose
