sA m U3 lk: SO
sA m U3 lk: I was thinking this afternoon:
sA m U3 lk: How do we top Google Abs?
ErigBurg: Hmm
sA m U3 lk: Well listen up, shmuck.
sA m U3 lk: Because I got a real HUMDINGER
sA m U3 lk: PS3 and XBox 360.
ErigBurg: :O
sA m U3 lk: They've got Rock Band, Guitar Hero, complete with DLC and all this shit.
sA m U3 lk: The Wii has those games but they're horrible on Wii.
sA m U3 lk: (becauseeverythingishorribleonthewee)
sA m U3 lk: (imeanwii)
sA m U3 lk: (thatwasalegitimatetypo)
ErigBurg: Yes
sA m U3 lk: I've got the answer.
sA m U3 lk: Karate Hero.
ErigBurg: SURE
sA m U3 lk: The Wii can support four Wiimotes at once.
ErigBurg: Is Master Onion in it?
sA m U3 lk: You hold two in your hands we sell special shoes to hold two on your feet.
sA m U3 lk: IM GETTING TO THAT
sA m U3 lk: You do karate fights to HOT SONGS
sA m U3 lk: Master Onion's stuff is all DLC.
ErigBurg: :D
ErigBurg: I'd buy it
sA m U3 lk: We cash in on the controversy of Johnny Cash and Kurt Cobain in whateverthefuckrockmusicgame
sA m U3 lk: Bruce Lee is a playable character.
ErigBurg: Ahaha
ErigBurg: And Jackie Chan, once he inevitably bites it.
sA m U3 lk: Glad you brought up Jackie Chan.
sA m U3 lk: When you play as Jackie Chan, Chris Tucker flails around girlishly in the background saying sassy things.
sA m U3 lk: Another dead celebrity we can use: Pat Morita.
ErigBurg: DOYOUUNNASTANDTHEWORDSCOMINOUTTAMAHMOUTH
sA m U3 lk: I don't remember him doing any actual karate in the Karate Kid but you're going to love this: One of his unlockable outfits is Arnold from Happy Days!
sA m U3 lk: Which introduces a gameplay element: The Fonzie Break.
sA m U3 lk: The music stops! OH NO THE JUKEBOX IS BROKEN!
ErigBurg: Dude. What the FUCK. I'm watching the San Andreas LP and someone said something about The Karate Kid as you mentioned Pat Morita.
sA m U3 lk: Summon the Fonz by holding up both Wiimotes and doing a double thumbs up and going "EEEEEEYY!!!" and that Wii microphone that shipped with Animal Crossing summons the Fonz!
sA m U3 lk: BOOM! he punches the jukebox and you keep on kickin'!
ErigBurg: Hahaha
ErigBurg: But seriously I'M SCARED
sA m U3 lk: It's like Star Power in Guitar Hero.
sA m U3 lk: Oh my God insane.
ErigBurg: D:
sA m U3 lk: Eric..
sA m U3 lk: Is Pat Morita's ghost telling us this is a good idea?
sA m U3 lk: Answer: I think so.
sA m U3 lk: I have this DVD of this animal puppet show about history where they re-enact moments in history with animal puppets and "celebrity guests'
ErigBurg: YES
sA m U3 lk: I got it at Wal Mart for like 2 dollars.
sA m U3 lk: Pat Morita plays Orville Wright in one of the episodes.
ErigBurg: Hahaha
ErigBurg: WHAT?
sA m U3 lk: I was not aware that the Wright brothers were Asian.
ErigBurg: Me neither
sA m U3 lk: ANYWAY
sA m U3 lk: Karate Hero: Are you in or out?
ErigBurg: IN
sA m U3 lk: That's my boy.
sA m U3 lk: Eric, we're going to be RICHER THAN GOD(s)!!
ErigBurg: Then we make DJ Karate Hero
sA m U3 lk: Yes, and Karate Hero World Tour Band.
sA m U3 lk: Where you play a guitar and do karate at the same time.
ErigBurg: Yes haha
sA m U3 lk: While your friend kicks a drumset.
sA m U3 lk: Eric, this will expand beyond the world of video games and martial artists will invent guitarate.
ErigBurg: And karate chop a microphone
sA m U3 lk: We can do no fucking wrong.
ErigBurg: NO
ErigBurg: MIC NUNCHUCKS
sA m U3 lk: HOLY SHIT!!
sA m U3 lk: ERIC GOD BLESS YOU!
ErigBurg: >:3
ErigBurg: And you beat the shit out of your friends in time with the music
sA m U3 lk: Well duh.
sA m U3 lk: Well then we're settled.

---

BONUS FEATURE:

sA m U3 lk: Eric I like to think that I'm occasionally really fucking smart.
sA m U3 lk: I just burned my forehead on a lightbulb.
ErigBurg: Ahaha
sA m U3 lk: It's times like this where I realize I'm not so bright.
ErigBurg: Were you trying to become brighter via lightbulb?
sA m U3 lk: No, I was bending over to pick something up and the lightbulb was between what I was reaching for and my head.
ErigBurg: Hahaha
ErigBurg: Well, maybe it opened your third eye.

sA m U3 lk: Had an idea and I'm going to submit it to Google.
sA m U3 lk: You know how you always see ADS BY GOOGLE?
sA m U3 lk: Dude... ABS by Google.
sA m U3 lk: It's the Google workout routine.
ErigBurg: YES
sA m U3 lk: How does it work?
sA m U3 lk: I'll give you a hint: It involves the Internet.
ErigBurg: :o
ErigBurg: I'm in!
sA m U3 lk: We're on our way to rock hard abs.
sA m U3 lk: Google Abs.
ErigBurg: I'll get a "THUG LIFE" tattoo, only it's the Google logo.
sA m U3 lk: I want the same thing only it says HUG LIFE
sA m U3 lk: That way when I'm hugging people they feel my abs.
ErigBurg: Haha
ErigBurg: A BUG'S LIFE
sA m U3 lk: Oh my God brilliant.
ErigBurg: Hahaha
sA m U3 lk: I love you Eric.
ErigBurg: I'd get it, but only if Dave Foley gives it to me.
sA m U3 lk: I want to kiss you right now.
ErigBurg: :D
sA m U3 lk: CMERE LOVERBOY!!!!
ErigBurg: OH BABY

sA m U3 lk: Heya shitrat.
ErigBurg: Hey fartface
sA m U3 lk: D:
ErigBurg: >:3
sA m U3 lk: Sticks and stones may break my bones and you're a dick.
sA m U3 lk: Speaking of dicks, wanna see a picture of my cock?
ErigBurg: I liked ur puppy ptchure earlier
ErigBurg: AND NO
sA m U3 lk: You just passed the test.
ErigBurg: SHOW ME MORE PUPPIES
sA m U3 lk: The Gay Test.
sA m U3 lk: I got a puppy to show you.
sA m U3 lk: (itsmypenis)
ErigBurg: D:

---

sA m U3 lk: I keep getting this weird muscle spasm in my neck.
sA m U3 lk: I think something's trying to get out...
ErigBurg: IT'S A SNAKE
sA m U3 lk: Oh not again...
ErigBurg: STAB THE SNAKE AAAAAAAHHH
sA m U3 lk: ERIC OH SHIT ITS WRAPPING AROUND MY NECK!!!!
sA m U3 lk: Haggkhh.
sA m U3 lk: Uullggkkk...hhhh...
ErigBurg: SAAAAMMM
ErigBurg: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
sA m U3 lk: Hnnhh... hnnnhh!! HNNAAAAAAGHH!!! *GOES SUPER SAIYAN AND THE SNAKE EXPLODES*

---

sA m U3 lk: Did you see the bit on Twitter about putting a tie in the shredder?
sA m U3 lk: It was terrifying.
sA m U3 lk: I started trying to push the shredder away and it just kept sucking up the tie UNTIL IT CAME UP OFF THE GROUND RIGHT AT MY FACE
sA m U3 lk: SLOWLY
sA m U3 lk: HUNGRILY
ErigBurg: AAAAHH
sA m U3 lk: Then when I started to choke Craig unplugged it and I'm going "PLUGGITBACKINPLUGGITBACKIN!!!"
sA m U3 lk: Then I hit Reverse and got the shredder off my throat. Hahaha.

---

sA m U3 lk: God Borderlands sucks. I keep thinking "I should play some XBox" and then I remember Borderlands is in there and I lose interest.
sA m U3 lk: It was so bad it turned me off video games.
ErigBurg: >:C
ErigBurg: Buncha IDIOTS
sA m U3 lk: FUUUCK YOUUUU BORDERLAAAANDS!
sA m U3 lk: I'm having that put on my tombstone
sA m U3 lk: What do you want on your tombstone, Erig?
sA m U3 lk: *The pitch...*
ErigBurg: Pepperoni and cheese.
sA m U3 lk: *HOME RUN!*
ErigBurg: :D

---

ErigBurg: A comment on that GTA video "it remembers me tekken ;-)"
sA m U3 lk: That is a funny comment.
ErigBurg: When I was kid I used to masterbate me remembers tekken
sA m U3 lk: I was thinking the same thing!
ErigBurg: Hahaha
sA m U3 lk: LATER I DREAMED ABOUT KUMA IN HIS COFFIN!!!!!

---

sA m U3 lk: I need to actually beat GTA4.
sA m U3 lk: Every time I revisit it to do so, I just start fucking around and throwing bottles of mustard at people.
ErigBurg: Haha
ErigBurg: That was in that LP. The part where Roman is getting beat up at the basketball court, one of them says "Pick up that coffee cup and throw it at him!"
ErigBurg: Everyone agrees that is the best part!!!!!
sA m U3 lk: Yeah, just biffing shit at people.
sA m U3 lk: I wish you could do it in multiplayer. I'd just be throwing mustard at you nonstop.
ErigBurg: Yeah. Fuckin Rockstar.
sA m U3 lk: You can throw the trash in the burger joints.
sA m U3 lk: But not mustard bottles and coffee cups? That's too ADVAAANCED
ErigBurg: But the other players can't even see that.
sA m U3 lk: My dream is to throw mustard at you, Eric.
sA m U3 lk: ROCKSTAR WONT LET ME LIVE MY DREAMS!!!
ErigBurg: :D

So I had an idea for a book to write. The basic idea is I write some flow-of-consciousness adventure, plunking down whatever I want as I think it up. The end result will hopefully be the worst book ever written.

Here's what I've typed up so far:

---

Jake Fortune in: Jake's Fortune
by Jake Fortune
Editor: Jake Fortune
Dedicated to the ghost of Jake Fortune's mother Mama Fortune

I have a friend who was born with no arms or legs. One afternoon over cocktails he asked me what walking felt like and how the feat is accomplished. After several moments of careful consideration, I told him this:

Walking is the process of leaning forward on one foot until you lose your balance and begin to fall. You interrupt your fall with the leg that was previously in the air. From there, the next step (quite literally) is to shift all of your weight onto the foot that caught your fall, lean forward, and interrupt your fall with the opposite leg. You repeat these instructions until you get to where you need to go. Once your destination is reached, you are typically overcome with a sense of well-being and accomplishment unless your destination was someplace spooky. If your destination was someplace spooky, a sense of unease and sour stomach is experienced.

I was walking down the street in exactly this manner one afternoon with my dog Boo [Boo's method of walking differs from mine significantly because he has four legs. -Ed.] when I sensed something in the air.

That "something" was trouble.

"Do you feel that?" I whispered.

As if in response to my question, Boo tossed a brief and worried glance over his furry shoulder and said, "Yes I do, Jake," [To eliminate any confusion: Boo has learned the language of man but his voice can only be heard if you listen with your heart. That does not necessarily mean you have to be pure of heart to hear him (even though I am anyway). -Ed.] his dark eyes settling on mine, "I'm scared."

"Easy there, fella. Just keep your eyes peeled."


---

Tomorrow I intend to start incorporating fleeting dream images, more long and stupid descriptions of mundane things, and more magical elements. Scraps of ideas I had today were a Ghost Dam, nuncocks (don't ask), and the phrase "If strong magic does not work, use stronger Karate." 

Let's see how this goes...

Danny: your party stands before the cave of tits
sA m U3 lk: :O
Danny: :>
sA m U3 lk: Are there any girls there?
Danny: no, just tits
Danny: like the bird
sA m U3 lk: Can I see a bird?
Danny: http://www.fotothing.com/photos/20e/20e308e9fe91b5d6ad4f3338211cb904.jpg
sA m U3 lk: I throw my shoe at its faggot ass.
Danny: what why!>
sA m U3 lk: Does a 24 hit its AC?
Danny: stop with your nerd talk, sorcerer
sA m U3 lk: My character is not a sorcerer.
sA m U3 lk: He's a Bard.
Danny: taunt me no longer
sA m U3 lk: VEX ME NO MORE WITH YOUR TALK OF INITIATIVE AND ENDURANCE SCORES!

sA m U3 lk: Every time I cough, it sounds like a roar.
sA m U3 lk: And this mist of snot flies out of my mouth.
ErigBurg: IT'S THE SNOT DRAGON
sA m U3 lk: RAAARRHH!!
sA m U3 lk: I mean "HUUHHHKKKK"
sA m U3 lk: It's like that. "HHHUUUHHKKKK"
sA m U3 lk: With the spit flying out on the Ks.
ErigBurg: D:
sA m U3 lk: It's kind of clear-brown.
sA m U3 lk: I love having bacterial disease. It's like I've got a friend with me all the time.
sA m U3 lk: A friend that hates me and is trying to kill me.
ErigBurg: :D

This is a name I have in my Blackberry's address book. It is the number to which I can text Twitter updates.

I love Twitter.

My love affair with Twitter began almost two years ago, updated it five times, and then forgot about it because I was too stupid (possibly too drunk) to figure out how to update it from my cell phone.

It wasn't until July or so of last year that I was smart (or sober) enough to solve this mystery and began to update my Twitter with reckless abandon. At first it was there to chronicle ideas I had, so I could peruse them at my leisure later when I had a chance to write. Then I started filling it with the wild word salads that float into my brain. It was this wonderful and horrible portal that constantly dispensed absurd thoughts, words that sounded nice when you said them together ("Birds and beers" for example) and toilet humor.

But I noticed a problem.

I had begun actually answering the question "What Are You Doing?".

I went from posting classic gems of wit such as describing my farts, and talking about my brief lapses into being a drooling retard, and "Movie Idea: Ducks Who Rape... in 3-D" to posting "Going to my mom's house." and "I'm hungry".

It then occurred to me that honestly, even my closest friends couldn't give a flying fuck what the hell I was doing, especially since it mostly boiled down to sitting at my desk at work/at home listening to snooty public radio shows.

This could not stand.

My stupid, boring life is not meant for public consumption and I am only contributing to my already-gigantic ego. The things that take place up in my brain are far more important than being upset that somebody is in the bathroom at work. It was like a boring IM conversation that I was mostly having WITH MYSELF! How pathetic!

I have currently posted over 5800 Twats.

When I reach 6000, I am deleting my Twitter and I am starting a new one. When I start the new Twitter, I will go back to the way things used to be: Talking about how big my dick is, writing haiku poems about stubbing my toe, and posting things I want to remember later.

Instead of experiencing my dull life 140 characters at a time, my friends will have to endure long and tragic essays about the goings-on of my day in actual weblog format. I will horrify you with paragraphs. I will dazzle you with bullet-lists and embedded quotes.

And you will all love me for it.

Mahalo,
Samuel K

---

UPDATE!!

sA m U3 lk: Most of Twitter and Twitter-related services are down for whateverthefuck reason.
ErigBurg: Yes
sA m U3 lk: UberTwitter is down because of it.
ErigBurg: That douche
sA m U3 lk: I know. It's fuckin' up my relationship with my Blackberry.
sA m U3 lk: Aside from reading Cracked.com and Something Awful articles on the shitter at work, I primarily use my Blackberry for Twitter.
ErigBurg: Sam... Did you rape your Blackberry while it was incapacitated? I want you to be honest. D:<
sA m U3 lk: It never said no, Eric.

sA m U3 lk: Jessica don't fuck with me right now.
Jesticles: aw I'm sorry
sA m U3 lk: I listened to Manowar's "Warriors of the World" on the way home from my mom's and then I listened to their album "Gods of War" when I got here, then I listened to like one Motorhead song before I decided metal wasn't right for bedtime.
sA m U3 lk: But I'm still looking for a fight!!
Jesticles: I'm not looking for a fight, I've been watching ghost documentaries
Jesticles: i am scared
sA m U3 lk: I am a ghost!
sA m U3 lk: OOOoooOOO!!
sA m U3 lk: *FARTS*
sA m U3 lk: *RATTLES THE CUPBOARDS*
sA m U3 lk: *SHUTS A DOOR SLOWLY*
sA m U3 lk: *YOU FEEL A DRAFT*
Jesticles: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD8
Jesticles: THERE'S A GHOSTLY SMELL
sA m U3 lk: I've got a ghostly smell for ya! I haven't changed my jeans in a week!
sA m U3 lk: OOOoooOOOOOO!!! *Rattling chains with dirty jeans on*
Jesticles: D:
Jesticles: I don't like you mister ghost
sA m U3 lk: You liked me before I died and became a ghost and that is racist.
Jesticles: i
Jesticles: i am a racist
Jesticles: i'm so sorry
sA m U3 lk: You're always going around talking about ecto-niggers.
sA m U3 lk: Don't think I haven't seen those anti-ghost forums.
sA m U3 lk: Oh God, Jesticles, I thought I knew you.
sA m U3 lk: *Rattles his chains half-heartedly*
sA m U3 lk: *Stops*
sA m U3 lk: It's not even worth it anymore.
sA m U3 lk: *Ghost-sigh*
Jesticles: I draw horribly racist ghost caricatures
sA m U3 lk: OH LAWD MISSUS ISSA HAWNTIN
Jesticles: EAT DAT WATAMELON
sA m U3 lk: I SPOOK I HAINT JUSS SO LONGS YOU GIMME SOMMA THEM CHITLINS MASSUH
sA m U3 lk: DON PROTON-PACK ME MASSUH
sA m U3 lk: I SORRY I SORRY
Jesticles: sam we're going to hell
sA m U3 lk: No, I'm a wandring spectre.
sA m U3 lk: I can't go to Heaven or Hell until I inhabit the body of a medium and finish my business on this earthly world.
sA m U3 lk: You're the one that's going to hell, ya fuckin' racist.

sA m U3 lk: Eric, there are few things in this world that pain me as much as never having played MGS4.
ErigBurg: :C
sA m U3 lk: I don't like the games themselves, exactly.
sA m U3 lk: I just like Snake.
ErigBurg: Go steal a PS3. That's what Snake would do.
sA m U3 lk: Oh you're right!
sA m U3 lk: He'd sneak in, break a Wal Mart employee's neck, drag his carcass to a clandestine storage closet, put on the blue vest, take the keys to the game cabinet and then say "Somebody is waiting for this PS3 and this copy of MGS4 up at Customer Service!" and then just leave.
sA m U3 lk: Eric this is a foolproof plan and I intend to proceed with it POST HASTE.

sA m U3 lk: I'm jammin' tonight.
sA m U3 lk: By which I mean making preserves.
ErigBurg: Ooh. What kind?
sA m U3 lk: Strawberry. Raspberry...
sA m U3 lk: And peach.
sA m U3 lk: Your favorite.
sA m U3 lk: *Pinches your cheek*
ErigBurg: :D
sA m U3 lk: And if you're lucky, there might be a jar or two of those peach preserves with the name ERIC BURGER written on the tin lid.
sA m U3 lk: We'll just see!
sA m U3 lk: I am now your doting old grandmother and you've come to visit me on my birthday.
sA m U3 lk: I haven't been the same since Granddad passed away. Under my warm and homey exterior there's this sort of hollow sadness in the echo of my voice.
sA m U3 lk: The windchimes outside my kitchen window, the ones you and Granddad made together when you were in the Scouts, jangle in a light breeze with an almost mystical, dreamlike quality.
sA m U3 lk: I fold a ragged dish towel I've owned since you were a boy against my apron and lay it next to the sink.
ErigBurg: :S
sA m U3 lk: And how is little Clarissa, dear?
ErigBurg: Sam, you're CREEPING ME OUT.
ErigBurg: D':
sA m U3 lk: Hahaha. Sorry dude.

Please read my previous post to get caught up. If you don't do that you will only feel stupid and I will hate you.

For those of you IN THE NOW, I present to you Canon's official response to my plea (with edits to protect my identity):

---

Dear Samuel {K}:
 
Thank you for your inquiry.  We value you as a Canon customer and 
appreciate the opportunity to assist you.  We sincerely apologize for 
any difficulties you have experienced with the LiDE 20 and 64bit Vista.
 
Unfortunately, the LiDE 20 is not supported on 64bit Vista, and Canon 
USA does not have driver support for this scanner and 64bit Vista.  We 
sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.
 
You are eligible for Canon's Loyalty Program.  This is for out of 
warranty units which have been diagnosed to require service, or for some
reason are incompatible with a new or upgraded system.  This option 
allows you a one-time opportunity to purchase a replacement product, 
discounted from the list price.  
 
To help you get up and running quickly, we also offer free next business
day shipping (if the order is completed by 12:30PM ET).  If you would 
like to take part in this option, please reply back to us within the 
next 14 days and provide or confirm the following information:
 
1.  Full Name: Samuel [K]
 
2.  Your street address (No P.O. Boxes please.):
 
3.  City, State, and ZIP code: 
 
4.  Unit model: LiDE 20
 
5.  Unit serial number:
 
6.  Telephone number:
 
7.  Purchase date:
 
Once we receive this information you will be registered for the Canon 
Loyalty Program and provided with a Discount Code.  The Discount Code 
will be emailed to you separately along with further instructions on how
to use the Canon Loyalty program.
 
We hope this information is helpful to you and look forward to assisting
you further with your LiDE 20.
 
Thank you for choosing Canon.
 
Sincerely,
 
Naomi
Technical Support Representative

--

Limited success!!

Those bastards knew they were in for a trip! Nobody keeps Samuel K from infuriating the world with his horrible drawings!

I quickly responded with the following (with personal information edited for my own privacy's sake):

Sirs:

Your expeditious response is much appreciated. My life as an artist is in your debt. I have experienced many pains and hardships in the last few months, including loss of income.

I hereby promise to further devote my art and talent to praising the name of Canon.

Provided below are the details you require:

1.  Full Name: Samuel K [redacted]
 
2.  Your street address: {redacted]
 
3.  City, State, and ZIP code: Indianapolis, IN [redacted]
 
4.  Unit model: LiDE 20
 
5.  Unit serial number: [redacted]
 
6.  Telephone number: [redacted]
 
7.  Purchase date: Summer 2003-ish, I think. 

I will gladly return my CanoScan LiDE 20 to you at my own cost if you promise (pinkie-swear) that you will send me a new scanner that doesn't poop out at the sight of the superior operating system that is Windows Vista (64-bit).

I will even take you on a romantic date to the Olive Garden in Carmel, IN (provided they are still offering never-ending pasta bowls and breadsticks) upon your compliance. 

I want to kiss you always.

Mahalo, 
Samuel K

---

Hopefully I will get an awesome free scanner out of this. At worst, I will get to eat spaghetti with a tech support dork.

Wish me luck!

I've owned the same photo scanner since 2003.

I first came across this wondrous device in a Circuit City. Its retail price was $49.99 but there was a sale going on that allowed me to knock off 20% of the cost. I did as such and left with a new found $40 void in my wallet, but a patched void in my heart.

Once I got it home, I marveled at its lack of a power cord. It needed only a USB port! Nothing like the previous photo-copy-machine sized behemoth that I'd owned before. In those pure and innocent days I would jaunt home and power up my old PC. The familiar sounds of a lawnmower being started would eminate from the gears and cogs within and I would be greeted with the smiling face of Vash the Stampede. In those primitive days, I would open uLead IPhoto Plus and scan away at the crude and rudimentary cave-drawings that I would scrawl in the blank pages of sketchbooks purchased from my high school's bookstore.

In its time, my CanoScan LiDE 20 has seen me grow as an artist from one era to another. In the dark ages its host was a rattling old PC that my father begrudgingly gave me after I bitched at him enough to fork over the goods. It recorded my disgusting abominations: Anime- and Jhonen-Vasquez inspired abortions that I referred to as art. As I gained artistic skill, I found vast new pleasures in which to manipulate the digital copies of my paperborn scribbles. I pirated Photoshop. I got a new computer! A bright, shiny new Dell! New monitors! 

Things were dark for the CanoScan LiDE 20 for a while... After the Dell decided to go tits-up, I purchased a dark and powerful device: A Toshiba Satellite Tablet PC. I shunned the CanoScan LiDE 20, for I had the power to draw directly upon the screen. There was no middleman between my "art" and the Internet. Scanning seemed primitive and foolish to me. I pirated Flash and set to my dark work, gaining power with each drawing, each sketch, each doodle. The CanoScan LiDE sat upon a wooden shelf in my mother's basement gathering dust, weeping its silent, neglected tears.

Over time the Toshiba Satellite began to show its age. Webpages took days to load. Programs took decades to open. .mp3s played in iTunes began skipping like an old record. I began drawing on paper again because the Satellite had a bad habit of turning off for no reason at all, destroying any and all of the work I'd done in the past few hours. I took to saving after nearly every line I drew, but the practice quickly grew tedious. I began drawing on paper again. Unceremoniously, I drew the CanoScan LiDE 20 from its dusty tomb and began scanning my drawings, preferring to let Photoshop crash during the scanning process once in a while to losing an entire drawing because the computer shut off for no reason at all. Once I was free from the hypnotic trance of the Satellite, I returned to doing things the oldfashioned way. Still, the Satellite continued to disappoint.

It was time to upgrade.

I received a tax return check this spring substantial enough to cover the cost of a new computer. For just under 1000 dollars I purchased an Acer computer with 600GB of hard drive space, a time-travel-speed processor, and a 23" HD monitor. After removing all the bloatware and transferring my music, I was ready to start drawing again. I dusted off my handy-dandy old CanoScan LiDE 20 and plugged it into one of the 16 USB ports on my Acer (called Mr. Bungles) and was met by a terrible surprise. There are no existing drivers for the CanoScan LiDE that are compatible with Windows Vista (64-bit). At the time, I shrugged it off. No big deal. I had a scanner at work and I could scan my drawings when nobody was looking.

I did not use my scanner at work. The risks of getting caught goofing off while waiting for my crappy work computer to laboriously contemplate my requests were too great. For the last few months I've been content to just snap crappy cell phone and digital camera shots of my drawings, but my dark influence over paper and pen continued to grow. It has become time to use a scanner again to provide the senseless public with evidnece of my genius. This afternoon I decided that action must be taken and began goofing off at work in an attempt to find a workaround. I Googled every combination of the following phrases for nearly an hour:

CanoScan LiDE 20
Windows Vista64
driver
Canon scanner
doesn't work
not compatible
useless bullshit
son of a bitch
cocksucker
FUUUUUUCK

My searches all ended fruitlessly.

I came home heavy-hearted and depressed. As a last-ditch effort, I installed the Windows Vista (64-bit) drivers for a newer model of the CanoScan LiDE to my computer, but my attempts at raping the system were impotent. I was left with no other option:

I had to contact Canon tech support.

What follows below is the missive I dispatched to Canon:

---

Sirs:

I've owned this venerable and proud scanner for nearly 7 years. Upon purchase of a new computer, I learned that the product is not compatible with Windows Vista64. There are no drivers for it.

I've tried installing drivers of later models, but I'm met with cruel mockery and harassment. The scanner lies cold and dead and I'm barely able to fight back the tears. I've done the requisite amount of Google searches for a workaround, but can find nothing. You are now my only hope.

Is there a way to get my scanner working on this newfangled computermajig?

O my only friend, please do not separate me from my CanoScan LiDE 20. It is the only reason I even bother getting up in the morning.

Mahalo,
Samuel K

---

Pray for me, my only friends.

No.

Pray for yourselves.

Pray that Canon can solve this crime that has been exacted upon me so that you no longer have to suffer in a world devoid of Samuel K's stupid drawings.

Pray that the dark clouds covering the Internet are parted by a column of brilliant light.

At the end of that light is a crude drawing of me holding hands with and skipping through a field of daisies with Pikachu.

And isn't that exactly what you all need?

sA m U3 lk: Red Skelton was known for being a funnyman who loved clowns.
sA m U3 lk: Lots of his comedy routines involved him wearing clown makeup.
ErigBurg: Haha
sA m U3 lk: Vincennes University and Good Samaritan Hospital are COVERED with original paintings Red Skelton did of clowns.
sA m U3 lk: Every year in Vincennes there is a CLOWN FESTIVAL
sA m U3 lk: Where tons of painted-faced freaks descend upon the town to weird the general public out and make baloon animals and make us all feel kind of uncomfortable and put-upon.
ErigBurg: Oh Jesus
sA m U3 lk: My favorite clown who showed up both summers I worked at the hotel was called BOWZO.
ErigBurg: Vincennes is Hell on Earth
ErigBurg: A yearly plague of CLOWNS?
ErigBurg: Isn't "Clowns" one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse?
sA m U3 lk: I think so.
sA m U3 lk: Anyway, this BOWZO guy.
sA m U3 lk: The two years I worked there, he came to check in to his hotel room in character, in full clown regalia.
sA m U3 lk: And the second time I said "You know, there's already a famous clown named Bozo. Are you trying to cash in on that name?"
ErigBurg: Ahaha
sA m U3 lk: And he IMMEDIATELY dropped character.
sA m U3 lk: And he said "Bozo the Clown is a mockery of what we do! Do you see this!?" and he indicated the gigantic, comical bowtie he was wearing.
sA m U3 lk: "I've been wearing this bowtie since before you were born!"
ErigBurg: Ahaha
ErigBurg: Oh my God
sA m U3 lk: Regardless, he gave me his business card.
ErigBurg: What, is he a freelance dedective on the side? Why would he think you would need his services?
ErigBurg: You're not a 12-year-old Jewish boy or something.
ErigBurg: Bowzo? More like... What's more insulting than "Bozo"?
sA m U3 lk: Dumbasscopycatzo
ErigBurg: Sure
ErigBurg: I like that he got defensive. I wonder how many times he gave that same talk to his parents.
ErigBurg: "NO MOM, NOT LIKE THAT ASSHOLE ON TV. FOR FUCK'S SAKE. DO YOU EVER LISTEN?"
sA m U3 lk: Exactly!
sA m U3 lk: What a fucking dumbass.
sA m U3 lk: "NO MOM THERE'S A W IN MY NAME!"
ErigBurg: Hahaha
ErigBurg: He's from a family of doctors and lawyers.
ErigBurg: And he went to Yale, but dropped out to be a clown.
sA m U3 lk: He's just some poser clown.
sA m U3 lk: He wants to be Bozo, but he can't.
sA m U3 lk: So he's BOWZO
ErigBurg: Much different
ErigBurg: This is one reason I hate clowns. Haha.
sA m U3 lk: I just dug out his business card for you.
ErigBurg: You'd think a self professed mirth maker would be, I dunno... more laid back?
sA m U3 lk: http://i28.tinypic.com/2qdzpcj.jpg - Behind it is a 2007 calendar, on the back of which is a prayer to the Lord.


---

Disclaimer: I love clowns.

sA m U3 lk: My father was convinced that Koopas were ducks when I was a kid.
ErigBurg: Yeah haha
sA m U3 lk: "DAD THEY'RE TURTLES!"
 "No, they're ducks! Look at them! They're fuckin' ducks!"
ErigBurg: Haha
ErigBurg: One time my mother tried to play Duck Hunt, and instead of shooting the ducks in the sky, she shot at the duck counter at the bottom.
sA m U3 lk: Parents are stupid.
ErigBurg: Yes haha
ErigBurg: We knew what was up, Sam.
sA m U3 lk: Damn right we did.
sA m U3 lk: Koopas aren't fuckin' DUCKS!
ErigBurg: Yes!
sA m U3 lk: DUCKS ARE DUCKS ERIC
sA m U3 lk: Though I've never made this connection until now: Mario and Duck Hunt were on the same cart. Maybe that's why Dad thought Koopas were ducks.
ErigBurg: Haha
ErigBurg: Yeah, we had the Mario/Duck Hunt/Power Pad combo cart.
sA m U3 lk: Though parents are making a comeback in games.
sA m U3 lk: We had it figured out then, but now my mom can TOTALLY slay me in Wii Tennis.
ErigBurg: Haha.
sA m U3 lk: She may still call the discs "tapes" and she may refer to her Mii as her "Wiimii" but she consistently hands me my fucking ASS at Tennis.
ErigBurg: Yes. Haha.
sA m U3 lk: I thought I was so smug when I tried to teach her how to play Goldeneye.
sA m U3 lk: A fool's errand...
sA m U3 lk: What have I done, Eric?
ErigBurg: D:
sA m U3 lk: At least I still have the Mii I made that looks like it has a pair of tits for a face.

---

ErigBurg: They need to hurry up and allow mouse control for the IR stuff on that Wii emulator. Then I'll never need my Wii back.
ErigBurg: I'll swindle Nintendo blind
ErigBurg: New Super Mario Bros? More like FREE Super Mario Bros
sA m U3 lk: IR STUFF!?
sA m U3 lk: What the hell does IR stand for?
ErigBurg: INFA-RED. THE POINTER, YA BIMBO.
sA m U3 lk: I don't know your high-tech, big-city talk.
sA m U3 lk: *Spits on the ground with a stalk of wheat clutched between his teeth*
ErigBurg: GO TO SCHOOL YOU HICK
sA m U3 lk: *Thumbs behind the straps of his overalls* Why don't you take your fancy city book learnin' and getcher butt outta town!?
ErigBurg: NOOOOO

I used to post AIM conversations in my old LJ all the time. I think it's time I continue the tradition.

---

sA m U3 lk: I read something interesting today.
sA m U3 lk: Scientists have developed these flexible cameras. Like, imagine a camera on a piece of paper-thin plastic...
ErigBurg: Wow
sA m U3 lk: Even cooler: They are working on fitting them INSIDE OF EYEBALLS
ErigBurg: :O
sA m U3 lk: Dude.
sA m U3 lk: Can you IMAGINE a camera IN YOUR EYEBALL ERIC!?
ErigBurg: I've always wanted one
sA m U3 lk: We live in the future!
sA m U3 lk: Where's my flying car!?
ErigBurg: I stole it
sA m U3 lk: Nevermind!
sA m U3 lk: *Ripping the wheels off of the Cote d'Voir*
ErigBurg: Haha
sA m U3 lk: I NEED SOME FLUBBER!!
sA m U3 lk: Where's Robin Williams when you need him!?
sA m U3 lk: He's always showing up doing that Southern Preacher shtick when you don't want him!
ErigBurg: Yes hahaha
ErigBurg: "ENOUGH TALKING LIKE A SASSY BLACK WOMAN AND INVENT FLUBBER, ASSHOLE!"
sA m U3 lk: As soon as you need a spaceship shaped like an egg, some fairy dust, some photos developed in an hour, or help playing a magic board game about the jungle, Robin Williams fucks off to godknowswhere.
sA m U3 lk: Asshole.
ErigBurg: >:C
sA m U3 lk: Cocksucker.
ErigBurg: Who will I go to when I need a robot that looks just like him?
sA m U3 lk: I guess we can ask for help from charming TV personality Mrs. Doubtfire and that cheeky monkey she keeps around.
ErigBurg: :O

---

sA m U3 lk: Oh. I have a story to tell.
sA m U3 lk: I may have already told it.
sA m U3 lk: But I was a little guy. This was in like 1992 or 1993. My mum was flipping through channels on the TV and she flipped past QVC or HSN, one of those call-in shopping networks.
sA m U3 lk: And I saw my king: Mario.
sA m U3 lk: "TURN IT BACK TURN IT BACK!"
sA m U3 lk: She does and they were selling this giant leather-bound tome of the Nintendo Comics System Mario comics.
sA m U3 lk: I immediately began FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT
sA m U3 lk: "I WANT THAT MOM I WANT THAT I WANT THAT NOW MOM PLEASE PLEASE"
ErigBurg: Hahaha
sA m U3 lk: So she called to order it and put in the order and gave her credit card number and everything.
sA m U3 lk: And I kept asking her "When do I get my book, Mom!?"
sA m U3 lk: And she said "Soon, son!"
sA m U3 lk: So I waited. After 4-6 weeks, I still hadn't gotten it, so my mum called the number and asked where it was.
sA m U3 lk: Turns out my mum placed her order after they'd sold out and they refunded her money.
sA m U3 lk: At the time, I was pretty bummed out, but I understood what happened. I didn't cry or freak out or anything.
ErigBurg: Yeah
sA m U3 lk: But man, every time I think of that book I get a little edgy and think "Those motherfuckers..."
sA m U3 lk: I think I want it now more than I did back then. Haha.
ErigBurg: Hahaha
ErigBurg: Yeah
ErigBurg: Bastards.
sA m U3 lk: Cocksuckers.
sA m U3 lk: I've never been able to find it on eBay or anything.
ErigBurg: On a similar note, back when I was 6 or so I wanted some toy from an infomercial they'd air on Nickelodeon. My mother told me she ordered it and it never came. Years later I find out she had just lied to me. :D
sA m U3 lk: Your mom is a dick.

---

sA m U3 lk: Man, you know what toy I want REALLY BADLY?
sA m U3 lk: Like, I probably daydream about owning one of these once a week.
ErigBurg: What?
sA m U3 lk: Fuckin' AIR HOGS
ErigBurg: I WAS GOING TO GUESS THAT
ErigBurg: Now I regret it.
sA m U3 lk: It's a fucking REMOTE CONTROL HELICOPTER!
ErigBurg: YES
ErigBurg: I also like the dragonfly one.
ErigBurg: I wasted all those years annoying my cat with an RC car then THIS happens.
sA m U3 lk: They're fairly cheap, really.
sA m U3 lk: 30 bones.
ErigBurg: When I was a kid RC helicopters were expensive as fuck. Damn kids these days...
sA m U3 lk: The cool thing about Air Hogs is they're made of light-weight materials and flexible plastic, so they're hard as hell to break.
sA m U3 lk: And I know that you know that about 70% of the fun of an RC vehicle is crashing the shit out of it.
ErigBurg: Yes haha
sA m U3 lk: The problem with buying toys as an adult is that people think you're some kind of retard.
sA m U3 lk: But Air Hogs are REALLY COOL TOYS
ErigBurg: Yes. Fuck those people.
sA m U3 lk: I'm buying one!
sA m U3 lk: THIS WEEK!
sA m U3 lk: Consequences be damned.
ErigBurg: YES
sA m U3 lk: I can't live in this world of fantasy and daydreaming any longer!
ErigBurg: DON'T DO IT
sA m U3 lk: Eric. I'm tired of living a life where I don't own my own tiny helicopter.
sA m U3 lk: HOW IS THIS EVEN LIVING!?
sA m U3 lk: If I don't get my own Air Hogs, I might as well put a bullet in my head.
sA m U3 lk: KAPOW!
sA m U3 lk: The only way out of this torment is through a tiny helicopter or a hole in my head.
ErigBurg: IT'S NOT. DON'T LIVE THIS LIE ANY LONGER.
sA m U3 lk: Eric I'm going to live this dream.
sA m U3 lk: Thank you for giving me the courage and strength I needed.

---

sA m U3 lk: My car has a HUD that projects on the windshield that tells me how fast I'm going, what radio station I'm on, and how loud the volume is.
ErigBurg: Haha
sA m U3 lk: It also tells me how many bullets I have.
sA m U3 lk: In my gun.
sA m U3 lk: That I shoot people with.
ErigBurg: Do you get missile upgrades?
ErigBurg: Three red Koopa shells? Those are useful.
sA m U3 lk: Man, red shells have gotten me out of more scrapes on the road than I can ever express to you in words.
sA m U3 lk: Sometimes when I'm late for work, I even whip out the BLUE SHELL.
ErigBurg: :O
sA m U3 lk: It's got spikes and wings on it, man. I'ts all you need.

---

sA m U3 lk: I asked my boss today to give me a book about the NO-CARB DIET.
sA m U3 lk: Apparently you can eat cheese and bacon and steaks as much as you want and lose weight.
ErigBurg: Haha
sA m U3 lk: He apparently lost like 60 pounds doing this.
ErigBurg: Wow.
sA m U3 lk: You just can't eat any bread or spaghetti.
sA m U3 lk: I told you about the time I went to Joe's house and he made the pepperoni pizza, right?
ErigBurg: Eh. I think the bacon softens that blow.
sA m U3 lk: He laid down a whole package of pepperoni on a dinner plate, covered that with cheese, then covered that cheese with another package of pepperoni, more cheese, then he dumped taco sauce on top of it.
sA m U3 lk: You eat this shit and LOSE WEIGHT ERIC.
ErigBurg: Hahaha
sA m U3 lk: I'm giving it a shot.
ErigBurg: Good luck with that.
sA m U3 lk: They should take that dumbass Dr. Atkin's name off the diet and call it "The Grossest Shit Ever Diet"
ErigBurg: Hahaha
sA m U3 lk: I bet you lose most of the weight because you're shitting all the time.
sA m U3 lk: Though I imagine the cheese counter-acts the shit. It balances.
sA m U3 lk: I'll eat a pound of bacon a day if I have to, Eric.
ErigBurg: You should wrap a hot dog in bacon, then cover it in nacho cheese.
sA m U3 lk: Ooh, then bake it.
ErigBurg: YES
sA m U3 lk: A no-carb version of Pigs in a Blanket.
ErigBurg: Yes
sA m U3 lk: The bummer part of this diet is you can't eat awesome shit like corn and spaghetti and pizza.
sA m U3 lk: Unless the pizza's crust is made out of pepperoni, as I illustrated earlier.
ErigBurg: Yeah. Haha.
sA m U3 lk: My mum is making pot roast and noodles for dinner on Wednesday, and we're having corn on the cob. I'm going to carb the fuck out then dedicate myself to shoving sausages and bacon and cheddar down my throat. I hope I can make it.
ErigBurg: Hahaha.

This is a pretty aimless post. Just a quick update to let you all know what the hell I've been up to for the past however long.

------

My friend Dan from Halifax was in last week and I was on vacation. The majority of the time was spent rollicking in general drunken mayhem and childlike whimsy.

Highlights include:

-- We went to Vincennes and stayed with Roy. Once we rented Left4Dead and dicked around with it a bit, we decided to get drunk and play Star Wars Monopoly. The dice were missing, so I got my DnD dice out of the car and we set to playing. Dan had the Stormtrooper figure, Roy had Darth Vader, and I had Princess Leia. Most of the money was missing, so I took it upon myself as the banker to write monetary denominations on the backs of the $1 bills. Roy put on a wig and I couldn't stop screaming and Dan is a bit lighter than Royal and myself so he got way drunker way faster than Roy and myself: two seasoned, experienced drunks. The game ended in tragedy when I declared that I was too drunk to play Monopoly and everybody agreed that they were also too drunk. Dan flipped the board over, scattering pewter figures and fake money all over the place, we poured more drinks, then barbecued some burgers and hot dogs. We then went inside and watched Catholic Mass on TBN. I passed out petting Roy's cat Mr. Memphis while watching an old episode of Pushing Daisies at like 2 AM.

We woke up hung over and watched Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe until Roy's mom came over and said that Roy's grandma died. Roy left on his bike to get drunk with his family and Dan and I left to get drunk with my dad. On the way we picked up six bricks of bottle rockets because Dan has never played with fireworks. I was shocked to learn it was because fireworks are illegal in Canada.

At Dad's, I drank a beer and rode around on my dad's moped and almost crashed into his chicken coop. Once I was done zipping around his yard, we went into the chicken coop to collect eggs. One of the chickens was really pissed off and bit Dad. After that, Dan and I took turns shooting bottle rockets out of our bare hands. The rockets we bought were very old and cheap and most of them just blew up in our faces instead of launching. As a result, Dan burned a hole in his jeans and I burned a hole in my good red shirt.

Several years ago I constructed a pneumatic potato gun that fires chunks of spuds around 50 yards. I call it The Patriot. We got it out of Dad's shed to fuck around with it, but the motorcycle tire air pump I installed on it had failed and I didn't have the time, means, or ambition to repair it. Instead, we used it as a mortar to launch bottle rockets. My father devised a game that acted as a test of bravery. We loaded 20 or so bottle rockets into the top of The Patriot and I held the tip of it near my face as Dan lit the bottle rockets with a cigarette. Each time Dan lit a bottle rocket, my father would shout at me "DO YOU LOVE YOUR COUNTRY!?" and I would respond with "SIR YES SIR!" as the bottle rocket took off. As I said, the fireworks we were using were cheap, so about half of them just exploded in my face. The object of the game was to keep from flinching.

At one point, a chunk of smoldering wick landed on my wrist. It sizzled and seared my skin, creating a nasty burn that will likely leave a gross ass scar. As of now, the wound looks very much infected and I've been picking at it with a pair of tweezers in order to facilitate the scarring process. My intention is to wear this scar as a badge of honor and a reminder of the good times I had.

After we were done playing with explosives, my father took us on a tour of the surrounding farmland in his broken-down pickup truck. Dad taught us a lot about farming and we drank beers in the cab of his truck. We met one of his neighbors. The man had horrific burn scars all over his arms and face. Dad told us that he was smoking a cigarette while working on a motorcycle and the gasoline and oil blazed up and burned the fuck out of him.

Once we'd nearly blinded ourselves and my father had done a good deal of drunk-driving, Dan and I headed back to Indianapolis.

--- Dan and I went to see the 3D version of the new Pixar movie Up! with my mother. It was great. During the credits, there was a crude drawing of a giraffe with broken legs who was screaming and looking crazy next to a pool of water. "How does he drink water?" was written next to this drawing and Dan and I cracked up like crazy people. In the car on the way home, we rewrote the movie to make it a cheesy display of the 3D technology. Our favorite joke was Carl saying "Hold still, squirt!" as he threw a bucket of confetti into the audience.

"Hold still, squirt!" became a cadence for the rest of the week.

-- Dan introduced me to two television shows that I can't imagine living without now. The first was The Young Ones, which is a British comedy with surreal jokes. The premise of the show was that all the characters hated each other and were impoverished, and episodes ranged from poor people doing stupid things together to inexplicable time travel.

The second show was a Canadian mockumentary-sitcom called Trailer Park Boys. In Dan's time here, we watched four whole seasons of the show. The best way to describe the show is this: It's a fake documentary about scumbag, small-time criminals who live in a trailer park. I loved this show so much that I have been seriously considering moving into a trailer park and practicing the art of scumbaggery.

I am a big fan.

Note: Scumbaggery doesn't get flagged by spell check. Just so you know.

-- Dan and I went to the Indianapolis Zoo. We were both awed by the big underwater bubble where the dolphins swam right over your head. I admit, I was probably more awed by the bubble itself. The lighting was all weird and green inside and every sound you made echoed slightly and there was a deep hum coming from every direction that I couldn't place. My first thought upon entering was "I want to live in an underwater bubble."

I think Dan liked the dolphins more.

We were almost running late for the dolphin show, so we had to hurry along, but we vowed to return again. During the dolphin show, I gained a bit more appreciation for the beasts. I half-shouted "WOW!" as they made a spectacular vertical leap from the water, nearly 20 feet. By the end of the show, I thought the dolphins were way cooler.

The rest of the trip to the zoo was very much as you'd expect: Sunny and hot with thick zoosmell pervading the air. We saw two gibbons fucking and thought that was really funny. The giraffes got a laugh too because we had to wonder how they drank water. Dan and I fretted over where the walrus's bucket was, stared at a sleeping rhino, and laughed at how the buzzards ran around trying to fly with their wings out. I touched a tiny shark with my bare hand and I pulled away like I was afraid, but it just felt gross and sandy and I really wanted to wash my hands afterward. To prove I wasn't chicken, I touched it again with the same result.

Sharks are gross.

Toward the end of our tour, we encountered a really pissed off tiger that was making a noise very much like "HOOONHNNnnGGgghhh..." over and over again. We think it was because a gaggle of bratty kids in identical t-shirts were hassling it.

-- One afternoon we woke up and drove around until we found something interesting to do. I suggested we hit Broad Ripple, the hipster part of town, to see if anything cool was going on. I always park in this lot behind a bar, near my favorite hookah bar and Dan suggested we go smoke some hookah. We had a nice breakfast/lunch/smoke and went for a walk. Dan risked his life, crawling along a red fence to pick me a pink flower because it's my favorite color. We saw lots of ducks and it was a good time.

-----

A lot of other stuff happened, but these were the highlights. The day Dan left we were both bummed out, but we made plans for me to make the trek to the Great White North next year where we'll probably spend 10 days getting drunk, hanging out with his buddies, and going to Bubbles' Mansion to see if I can meet Bubbles from the Trailer Park Boys.

All things considered, it was a pretty productive vacation.

Mahalo,
Samuel K

After going on a cleaning rampage in my apartment yesterday, I was headed back in after taking out the garbage when I noticed a lonely sheet of paper laying in the parking lot. It was folded in half and had a big grease stain on it.

I have a habit of folding my doodle pages in half and tucking them into my pocket. I take them home, take some photographs (my scanner isn't Vista-compliant) and show my friends, then I throw the paper away. Afraid that this was one such embarrassing clue to my sissy artist-type nature, I bent to pick it up.

What I found inside was a poem written by a child.

Centered, double-spaced on the paper is a poem printed in Times New Roman. Below I have transcribed it, strange wording, spelling errors, and all:

------

-----

I came inside and joked about the poem with Eric a bit on AIM, but later admitted that the poem made me feel a little bit melancholy. I was an English major in college, focusing highly on English Literature. As such, I gained a skill for understanding who a person is through the way they write, and even a poem as simple as "Mary" didn't escape my analytical eye. Thoughts about this poem have invaded my thoughts all day, and I think the best thing I can do for myself right now is explicate the poem and discuss the way it makes me feel.

The first few lines illustrate what any of us would see if we saw Mary. The first few lines are a passing glance toward her in which we gather her basic information. We get a rough physical description ("pretty') and a description of her behavior ("nice" and "smart"). We learn who her family is, and we learn that she has an affinity for candy and horse(s). It's fairly mundane. I think that most little girls would describe themselves as such.

The next line, however, is very telling of what's actually going on internally in Mary's mind. Note that when she lists the way she feels, her first response is "sad" followed immediately by the contradictory sentiment that she feels "happy". To me, this suggests that Mary is a troubled little girl, further evidenced by her self-professed propensity to be "quiet" .

But why is that? Perhaps the answer lies in looking further into the poem. Under the list of her needs, she cites, "love, hugs" and "kiss". Is this something lacking in her life? Is there trouble at home? Look further. She lists that she would like to see her grandfather, her grandmother, and "dad'. This begs the question: Where is Mary's father? Is his absence the cause of her sadness? Are her cries for "love, hugs, kiss" desperate pleas for the affection of her errant father?

Moving on, there is the mysterious line "Who gives school, teachers, pant". I'm going to take a stab at the darkness and assume that Mary was trying to say "Who loves..." rather than "Who gives..." and again, based on that assumption, things are rocky at home. She lists the things she loves, in order, as "school, teachers" and "pant". The limitations in this line, I think, are based upon the author's inability to use spell-check. I'll make another assumption that she means "parents" with the last item in the list. What is wrong at home when a little girl prefers school and her teachers to her parents? Do the problems stem from her missing father? Mary never tells. These questions, I think, were meant to make the reader wonder.

Finally, I'd like to focus on Mary's fears. She is afraid of "ghost, trees" and "dog". I'd say that it was a normal thing for a young child to be afraid of ghosts and dogs. The fact that this poor girl is afraid of trees chills me. On initial inspection, it's a silly thing to be afraid of, however, upon personal introspection, I remember the dazzling and terrifying shadows cast upon my bedroom by the street lamp outside my childhood home. Sometimes the images displayed there in the darkness would frighten me so much that I'd crawl into bed with my parents and sleep through the night. Is poor Mary suffering the same fear? I think so.

Content aside, the physical structure of the poem is enchanting. The first line is "Mary" and the last line is "Price" leading me to believe that the poem was authored by a young girl called Mary Price. Her name encapsulates the entire poem, much like our names encapsulate our deepest secrets.

Mary Price is her name. That is how she presents herself to the outside world. Within the persona of Mary Price lies a world of longing - a wistful sadness that is laid on display in deceptively simple verse. This is a poem written by a little girl who wants her daddy, and deep down, isn't that what we all want? A big, strong protector who shields us from the horrors of life? A man with the strength, the wisdom, and the knowledge to protect us from our various ghosts, trees, and dogs?

Mary Price, you may never read this, but on the off chance that you do, know this: I will never throw this grease-stained paper away. I will file it away in my archives. Tuck it into my notebook, or into a sketchbook, or use it as a bookmark while I'm reading. I've found a kindred spirit in you. You may be sad, but you can still find the strength to find happiness in your life. Keep plugging away at it, Mary. Be strong. Be bold. Keep writing. One of my favorite songwriters has said, "I got good at feeling bad and that's why I'm still here."

The same person said "Broken hearts hurt, but they make us strong."

I loved your poem, Mary Price. You have enriched my life, and I love you for it.

Good luck.

As many of you know, Proposition 8 was upheld in California today. Sad news to most of you, as most of the people I know are in some way or another queer. I've read dozens of people posting on their Tweety Pages about this, and posting in their LJs and I'd like to make a little Proposition of my own.

In 20 years, I will run for Governor of California, not as a Democrat or Republican, but as a Freak Power candidate.

During a press conference, a lispy reporter will stand and say: "Your Majesty (I will be the King of Iceland at this point in my life, but that's another story), what is your stance on same-sex marriage?"

I will cooly remove my monocle, cough a puff of air onto its surface, and brush it against my vest as I say: "I am entirely opposed to the very sentiment."

At this moment, a gang of drag queen protesters at the back will begin screaming! Jumping up and down, waving their signs! "LOVE NOT EIGHT!" they will cry! ""Gay rights are civil rights!" they will shout!

The Liberal Media in the crowd will begin emitting shouts of outrage as well, throwing their stenographer's notebooks to the pavement in fury, "When will this tyranny end!?" comes the bellowing voice of Mr. Hertzfeldt from New York.

Without batting an eye, I will replace my monacle and lift my arms, "Please, please," I will coo, "Allow me to finish!"

Little by little the rabble riles down, allowing me to speak. The Conservative Media is licking their chops, waiting for the Ice King's next strike against the Gay Agenda. Their faces will fall, however, when I say calmly and confidently into the myriad of microphones before me, "I am also opposed to heterosexual unions."

An eruption from the protesters: "If we can't have it, no one can!" Jubilation and lurid dancing!

The Liberal Media goes quiet a moment before joining in on the party, "It's only fair!"

The Conservative Media is taken over by angry shouts, as my ideas are far too radical. Death threats and angry growling voices demanding my dismissal from the stage. Finally, a representative of Fox News stands up and shouts over the din of the crowd: "Your Majesty! You can't be serious! This alienates the silent majority!"

"Silence..." I will say, but the crowd has gotten out of hand. Chaneling the strength of my great Kingdom of Ice, I will bellow, "SIIILENCE!!" and bang my Royal Scepter on the lectern before me. Instantly, everyone is quiet. The members of the crowd realize that they are but rabbits in the presence of a mighty lion. Their glassy eyes stare up at the godlike adonis before them, clutching their hands together.

"Would those of you who came from a broken home," I begin, removing my monacle again and substituting a pair of sunglasses, "Please raise your hand?"

The silent crowd looks nervous as they eye each other. Finally, a drag queen in the back raises her hand, "My parents got divorced when I was five!"

A Conservative Media type raises his hand. "Seven!" he cries.

Two more rise and lift their palms skyward, announcing their age when their parents separated. The moment is beautiful. Soon, half of those in attendance are standing with their hands up, strong, resolute, and proud of their tortured childhoods.

"Quite a few of you," I say. I let the words linger in the air before I raise my hand and say, my voice grim, "Sixteen."

A few shocked gasps echo in the still air. I lay my hand on the lectern and say, "Those of you with your hands up, look to your right... do you see somebody with his hand down?"

"If so..."

"GET HIM!"

A brawl ensues.

In the throes of combat, the Brave Warriors of Broken Homes and the Happy Homed (as they would come to be known in later years) tear one another to shreds. They are so engrossed in the violence and mayhem that they fail to register the booming blades of an approaching helicopter. I punch a red-haired woman in the mouth as she struggles onto the stage, the lust for blood in her eyes. I say into the microphone attacked to my jacket, "My work here is done! Those of you that survive, meet me in Iceland!"

A rope ladder drops from the helicopter and I take hold with vicelike grip. The Ice King is pulled skyward, never to be seen again in America.

Step the First - Form an Army: Complete.

Step the Second - Domination: Begins...

Wet slapping noises.

There's a billboard along I-465 on the way to my mother's house that bothered me for a few weeks before I realized why.

The billboard itself is innocuous enough. It's just an advertisement for a nearby apartment complex. The ad features a 20-foot high puppy on the left, and a list of the complex's amenities on the right.  "I'LL BE ABLE TO LIVE HERE!" is in bold print across the bottom. I'll assume the speaker is the puppy rather than the built-in washer/dryer combo or the fitness center.

It always just bugged me when I saw it. Every time, I'd chirp in the most adorable voice possible "I'll be able to live here!" as enthusiastic and cartoonish as I could.

Something about that dog bothered me. He's cute enough. A little fat black thing with his tongue sticking out a little bit. The "I'LL BE ABLE TO LIVE HERE!" bit was corny sure, but not to the point that it was offensive.

It wasn't until weeks later that it hit me.

I had seen this dog before.

Another company, specializing in shipping pets across long distances, sends me e-mail newsletters and uses the same dog in its corporate letterhead. Same position. Cropped the same.

Eureka! Aha! Bingo! Those would all be appropriate exclamations, but I chose "ALLEZ CUISINE!" because the Chairman Kaga in my brain pulled the veil off of my Kitchen Stadium brain's Mystery Ingredient.

"Stock Photography!" the Chairman confirmed, leering. He knew this had been a challenge for me.

It was then that I realized this was the first time I'd ever seen the same stock photograph in two different places. The result was stunning, and I've never looked at advertisements the same way since.

Tonight I saw a billboard of a late-40s, early-50s woman. Attractive, wearing a teal suit. A string of pearls was draped elegantly across her neck.

No, friends. This was a billboard advertising the Urology Center of Indiana. The billboard's text read "Incontinence: Going, going, gone. Forever."

Had it been for a car dealership, I would have seen her giving me the deal of a lifetime on a used Mustang GT with low mileage. Had she been chosen as a model for a real estate company, I'd have seen her clutching a clipboard with both hands as I asked her when the crown molding in the dining room was installed.

Instead I saw her calm, confident smile fade as a mask of dread and embarrassment overtook her face. "Oh for-- Not again... excuse me," she would say before duck-walking to the bathroom.

The rest of the trip home, I wondered if somewhere she'd seen her face on a billboard for a casino or for a tax firm or a bank and thought "Yes. That's me. I'm somebody!"

What would she do if she knew that hundreds of thousands of people were driving by every day, imagining her pissing her pants?

On the drive home, I decided that I would never, ever pose for stock photography. 

One thing that's concerned me lately is how steadily and rapidly my mental health has been declining.

I don't mean this in a sad, "boo hoo i am so depressed </3" way, but in a way best expressed by those who have known me for a long time and have watched the madness unfold in the past twelve months. I've forgotten who said it, but this person said it best: "You certainly haven't always been this nutty."

Nutty is the perfect word. Being crazy isn't something I suffer from, due largely to the fact that I can see it happening. I notice the change in myself. I'll have some wild thought and think "I never would have thought that years ago..."

An example:

Today I was sitting out at the front desk of my office building, far from my own desk.

This made me uncomfortable in its own right because my cubicle has become a little, controlled habitat that I feel very comfortable in. All the lights above my desk have burned out, I have a fan that circulates the air, and I wear headphones to cancel out the rest of the world. It's much like a zoo exhibit in which I am a large, sleepy creature who prefers dim, cool caves and can operate a computer.

So here I am, out of my natural habitat, doing a tedious, repetitive task. Since I wasn't at my computer, I had to create my own aural stimuli, so I started imagining that I was listening to Ween's "LMLYP" but I never let myself go past the tribute in the song to Prince's "Shockadelica."

My back was to Craig, John, and Joe and at one point a peal of laughter erupted between the three of them. I was terribly embarrassed and almost turned around to say "Yeah, laugh it up. You guys just wish you were cool as Prince."

I fully believed for a split second that I was the butt of a joke that would have been impossible to make.

So there's this constant and nagging sense of paranoia. I'll step into a room and people stop talking and look at me. The first thought that always crosses my mind is "They were talking about me," and then my rational mind says "No, they just want to know why you just entered the room."

Despite the fact that I think people are always watching me and talking about me, I don't inhibit myself in my behavior. I've mentioned the twitch in my neck, the sniffing, the finger-flexes, and all the other things I think are Tourette Syndrome symptoms. These sensations are very natural to me, and for people who don't have tics, I tell them it's very much like sneezing and taking a piss in the same boat.

Like sneezing, you can tell when it's about to happen. I can feel a tension in my neck when my head is about to jerk. Like taking a piss you can suppress a tic, but the longer you do, the need for release becomes more intense.

I used to hide these things. I'd disguise smelling my fingers as pushing my glasses up. I'd sit with my hands under the table, opening my hands, splaying my fingers, then quickly tightening them into fists like I'm trying to clap with just one hand. Back and forth, hand to hand, maybe 5 or 6 times, then put my hands back on the armrests of my chair. To anybody else it looked like I was just changing into a more comfortable position.

Little by little, the people that see me every day picked up on me jerking around and my boss confronted me about it, so now it's not unusual to see me walking down the hallway at work to the breakroom, waving my arms up by my head, doing my one-handed clap routine.

These are things the majority already know about. What prompted me to write this was that today, I noticed a strange new thing.

I've always been prone to thinking out loud, but I became aware of a new aspect of this habit this afternoon. I will turn my head as though addressing somebody and say it to her (yes, it's a girl. We're just friends. Nothing funny).

I don't actually believe anybody is there. I know that I'm just thinking out loud. I just imagine that I'm talking to somebody. Once I realized I was doing this, I thought of at least a dozen other times I've done it this week, alone in my apartment, at the grocery store in front of strangers, or even when I'm talking face-to-face with somebody.

There's never any answer. That would be crazy. This person doesn't have any personality or distinguishing features other than she tends to stand slightly to the right of me a lot. I have a vague mental picture of her in my head, but as I said: I never actually SEE her. She looks like what Renee Zellwieger would look like if Renee Zellwieger didn't look like she'd had her face shut in a sliding door.

Today, my invisible friend and I got home from work and were about to head in when I said to her "Look!"

I bent down and picked up a nickel sitting in the gutter. "I found a nickel!" I turned to her and smiled.

"It must be my lucky day."

Listen guys. There's this star in our Solar System that gives us warmth, light, and LIFE ITSELF.

We call it the Sun. Capital S.

What a stupid name!

We need to name the Sun! I've got some ideas and you need to sign my pretend Internet Petition that won't do anything.

I say it won't do anything because you worthless sons of bitches will never sign it!!

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/thesunneedsaname/

PROVE ME WRONG FLIST! PROVE ME WRONG!!

UPDATE!!

I just sent this strongly worded e-mail to NASA.gov:

Sirs:

We have a lot in common, NASA. We both love Space. And there is something in Space that I think is important.

The Sun. And it has a stupid name. It gives us light, warmth, and life. We need to make it more important than just being The Sun.

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/thesunneedsaname/

Send this to your astronauts. Sign the petition. Make the world a better place.

Mahalo,
Samuel K

UPDATE!!

I just sent the following e-mail to Barack Obama:

Dear Barack Obama:

My name is Samuel K and there is something I need to bring to your attention.

There's a big problem in this great country of ours, nay, this great WORLD of ours. And that is this:

The Sun has a stupid name. It's just The Sun. Do you know how many suns there are, Mr. President? MILLIONS!

It's my humble request that you talk to NASA about renaming the Sun, and I'd very much appreciate it if you signed my online petition located at the following URL:

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/thesunneedsaname/

Please make sure NASA knows about this, because I think they're the people who will make the final call. I trust your judgment in this matter because you have a bright smile and a pleasant voice and though I don't agree with all of your policies, you are a very handsome and exciting man and I respect your position as Leader of the Free World.

You wouldn't let the Sun that feeds us light, warmth, and life fall second fiddle to the other suns in the Universe, would you?

Make a believer out of me, Barry. I trust you.

Oh, also do something about that gay marriage thing. What's the harm?

Mahalo,
Samuel K

As you may have noticed, I've decided to use this journal to go into great detail and length about the fears and paranoid behaviors I sometimes exhibit. I have a good example.

I pulled into the Kroger parking lot and, as usual, a heavy weight dropped into my stomach. I had to swallow a few times to keep from throwing up. I don't know what it is about the grocery store that inspires such fear and revulsion in me. I chalk it up to the store being very large, loud, with lots of people milling about, and I never know where anything is. A knot of dread swelled up in my throat and I swallowed it back as I parked my car, got out, and locked my doors.

Once inside I was greeted with a strange sight and thought I might be hallucinating. There was a young woman across the store from me, in the self-checkout queue who was wearing a shirt the EXACT same color as her hair.

Her shirt was neon green.

I briefly wondered if she owned all green clothes, or if perhaps she just dyed her hair every day to match her shirt. The idea filled me full of curiosity and I briefly considered approaching this woman and asking her when all of a sudden she started screaming at a 2 year old boy who was hanging off her belt.

Instantly the dread returned. Not even the whimsical pixie ladies could be trusted in this grim place.

Halfway to the grocery store, I realized I had to pee, so I made my way past the woman who was still bellowing in the face of the bawling 2-year-old, toward the bathroom. Inside, I peed in the handicapped stall, making sure to lock the door behind me. Mounted on the door was a "Passive Odor Emitter" whatever that is.

There is a short, narrow hallway that separates the bathrooms from the store proper, and I found myself oddly at ease in this corridor. I even smiled, and as I emerged, a Mexican lady walked by, talking in rapid-fire Spanish to an older lady with her. The Mexican lady thought I was smiling at her and she smiled at me. I said "Hi" and walked past, my face contorting itself back into its usual fearful grimace.

I snatched up an empty cart near the entrance to the store and high-tailed it to the frozen foods section. I can only handle shopping for frozen foods because walking through the store getting other items is usually far too much for my brain to handle and by the time I reach the checkout counters, I'm about to throw up and I abandon my cart and just go home if there's a line.

As I turned down the aisle that housed the gigantic coolers, I stopped dead in my tracks. Standing before me was a woman.

She was tall, as tall as me. Her hair was thick, blonde, curling all the way down to the middle of her back. She had large, bright, blue eyes. A wide mouth with thin lips. Overbite. Slightly recessed chin. Her mousy eyebrows stopped about halfway before where they should have.

I was looking into the face of my ex-girlfriend Tammy.

Tammy and I broke up long ago, on nasty terms. Being the mature, easy-going guy I am, I've always held a grudge that bordered on blind hatred, and here she was, looking me right in the face. She saw the way I was looking at her and stopped dead, too.

My initial reaction was panic.

This was followed shortly by seething rage, with panic still mixed in.

My third reaction was smiling a big fake smile and saying "Hi" exactly as I had said to the Mexican woman.

My fourth reaction was realizing that it was indeed NOT Tammy, but just looked uncannily like her.

She smiled exactly the way Tammy would have smiled and said "Hi" back and I started walking again. She turned her head to watch me pass and I tried to act casual.

Close call!

This all happened in less than a second and the miasma of terror and anger and emotion made me feel very light-headed. I opened the cooler nearest to me and pretended to look for something until I regained my balance. I then moved on and stuffed my cart full of frozen, prepared meals.

Time to cut my losses and run!

My heart sank ever lower as I approached the checkout queues. It was a regular clusterfuck, the lines so long that they were curling in on themselves into just a big screaming mob of people all standing around looking frustrated. I fought my way into the crowd and took my place in line. I resolved myself to keeping my head down and ignoring everything around me, biting my lip, controlling my breathing, trying to keep calm.

My meditation was interrupted by a deep male voice shouting "YO SAMBO!"

SAMBO!? Who the hell would call me Sambo here, in Indianapolis!? My eyes frantically searched the throng before me and I made eye contact with a vaguely familiar man. He had about four days of stubble and was wearing those plastic sort of glasses that aren't hip. Like old men wear. His bifocals caught the flourescent lights above. He had a large cast on his right arm.

Another fake smile and "Oh, hey man. What's up?"

I had no idea who this man was.

"Not a whole hell of a lot, dude. You still out at them apartments?"

OF COURSE! My neighbor Tim who moved away just before Christmas!

"Yes! Not for long though, I hope."

"Anybody move into my old apartment?"

"Yeah, one of the maintenence men at the apartment complex, actually. What happened to your arm?"

He laughed, "Got mad and hit somethin'."

"You look like Hellboy," I said and he laughed. At this point, it was his turn in line and he started stacking his groceries.

"Well, good seeing you, dude," he said.

"Yeah, you too," my heart was hammering in my chest and I felt like I might pass out. I casually leaned on my cart.

I waited in line, looking around. I made eyecontact with Bizzarro Tammy again and she smiled at me. I pretended not to notice and looked at the stuff in my car and pretended to count it.

About this time, another queue opened and the lady behind me ran in front of me and got into it. I called her a bitch in my head and got behind her.

Once it was my turn, I counted my groceries. I had exactly 25 items:

20 frozen dinners (two of ten differen kinds)
1 12-pack of diet cola with lime flavor
2 packs of gum (one for my car, one for my office)
1 Archie Double Digest
1 bottle of lemonade.

Twenty-five is a good, solid number. It's a multiple of five and five, which makes it feel very solid for me.

Imagine my delight when my check came up to be $58.80, another number that was easily divisible by 5. I did the math in my head and found that divided by 3, it was $19.60.

It's very important in my life whens omething is evenly divisible by both 3 and 5, and I sighed, relieved, as I swiped my debit card and the bag girl loaded my groceries.

Once I was out in the parking lot, I felt slightly better until a car almost hit me. I smacked my hand on the hood and said "WATCH IT" and then ran to my car, hoping the driver didn't have a gun, despite the fact that it was a bewildered-looking old man.

I loaded my groceries into the car, got inside, hit PLAY on my Zune, and lit a cigarette as Amon Amarth started up. From there I pulled out of the parking lot and went home.

The more I think about the events that took place this afternoon at Kroger, the more I realize that I might have some sort of panic disorder. Rationally, I saw an unfit mother yelling at her child, a woman that looked like a girl I dated, ran into an old neighbor, and was almost killed by a geriatric who wasn't paying attention to what he was doing.

In my head, though, the only thing that happened that wasn't terrible was my check came out as being divisible by both 3 and 5.

These are dark times, friends.

Be watchful.

Piss.

ErigBurger: House was wearing glasses in a dark room and he looked like Gordon Freeman
sA m U3 lk: Well, Huge Laurie is slated to play Gordon Freeman in the Half-Life movie.
sA m U3 lk: He's also slated to play Gordon Ramsay in the Hell's Kitchen movie.
ErigBurger: :D
sA m U3 lk: I can't think of any more famous people named Gordon.
ErigBurger: Yes haha
sA m U3 lk: Huge Jackman is slated to play Huge Laurie in the Huge Laurie biopic.
ErigBurger: And he has metal claws
sA m U3 lk: Stephen Fry is going to be played by Huge Grant.
ErigBurger: I'M HUGH LAURIE RAAAARRRGGHH
sA m U3 lk: (Now I'm going off on people named Hugh and pretending they're named Huge)
ErigBurger: Haha
sA m U3 lk: That's all I got on the subject.
ErigBurger: Haha
sA m U3 lk: Success or failure?
ErigBurger: SUCCESS
sA m U3 lk: Then I'm posting it to my LiveJournal.