RKNet Blog... Thing

Call this liberal horse hockey. Call this leftist ideology. Really, you can call it whatever you want, because I don’t give a flying shitcake. If what you get from this post goes anywhere near “anti-American” than you can feel confident that you have severely missed the point and there is a lonely noose in a stuffy room somewhere, looking for a dinner date with you know who.

My hope for this article is for it to be the nailgun-to-the-temple for the chronically confused. Those who think Jason Giambi is an amazing athlete. Those who mistake Irving Kristol for an American Cowboy. Those have never seen a Kohran, a Torah, or a copy of The Bluest Eye. Those who think of Gary Glitter and say, “well… he did have a couple good hits…” These words are for William Donahue, Clarence Thomas, Chris W. Cox, Eliot Spitzer, Dorchen Leidholdt, and the ghost of Isaac Hayes.

“Hey man, leave Black Moses out of it.” Fuck you.

Let me start by saying there are things about John McCain that I really like. He is certainly one of the better representatives from his party. Do I think the forty-fourth old, crusty white-man in a row is what is going to bring change to the White House? No. But is he a decent Republican candidate considering the last couple elections? Yes.

Some people (mostly supporters) have called him a “Maverick.” Let it be known that the only true Mavericks are Mel Gibson and Tom Cruise – and one of them is an undeniable racist, while the other is more out of control than Criss Angel’s ego (and just as creepily homo-erotic). John McCain may have been a Maverick back in his day, but the 1920s are long gone and – while he does maintain some strong attributes – “Maverick” is most certainly a bit of an overstatement.

But this isn’t about John McCain.

This isn’t even really about politics - more about “what the hell are people thinking these days?” What’s that? Get to the damned point, you say? Fine. This post is about McCain’s running mate, Sarah Palin. So let me start my argument off with SARAH PALIN, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? Have you seen Sarah Palin? Tell me this is a dream. A bad, bad dream. Just when I was starting to think that there may be two interesting Presidential candidates in the upcoming election Father Time from Arizona has an Alzheimer relapse and decides it would be best to pick a retardedly unqualified Governor from a state that many people forget is even part of the damn 50!

If you wanted to win the election by picking a surprise Governor with relatively limited executive experience you should have gone with Arnold. Oh well, John, there is still 2012 – if you’re still alive. I am struggling to understand this move, especially when political analysts and some right-wing pundits are calling it “brave,” “courageous,” and “shit your pants exciting.” I think I have at least enough of a grasp on it to explain why it is a mistake. An unfortunately devastating mistake.

Last week I was engaged in a fly-by interview with a “street team” reporter and subsequently misquoted in a small-circulation newspaper in an article discussing the topic of the GOP vice president hopeful. In my mind this makes me about as qualified to talk about Sarah Palin as Bob Costas is to talk about Olympic trampolining and that didn’t stop him, so buckle up.

Alaska is a beautiful state with many breathtaking natural surroundings and in many cases holds some of the country’s last glimpses into pure wilderness, unspoilt terrain, and incredible wildlife. Alaska is even one the last homes to several endangered and threatened species. Bald Eagle ring a bell? It’s the symbol of our nation.

Did I mention that Sarah Palin wants to drop pipelines and drill into Alaska’s pristine countryside? Well she does.

Let’s pause for a moment to review what we’ve already learned about the potential Vice President. She’s a heartless bitch with zero foresight. More fun facts? Sure thing. Her political career started less than two decades ago, when she was on the city council of Wasilla, Alaska. Oh, haven’t heard of Wasilla? That’s ok, let me reiterate: Less than twenty years ago Palin had very limited weight in trivial decision-making on behalf of less than 5,000 people. How many people are in the U.S.?

In comparison, two decades ago McCain was already representing the entire state of Arizona in the U.S. Senate, commiserating with John Kerry about POW/MIA’s, calling himself a Maverick, and turning 57 years old. So we can tack inexperience on to Palin’s list of incongruence for this gratuitous nomination.

I’m not going to mention that Palin looks like Katey Sagal if she had gone the out of touch, soccer mom, I-only-fuck-when-I-plan-on-popping-out-more-useless-children, Streisand leaves me in stitches, life is swell route, because that would be unfair. I’m also not going to question her personal ethics just because her 17 year old daughter got knocked up by a hillbilly. And furthermore I refuse to suggest that Palin may be slightly if not completely mentally handicapped.

However, I will say this: It’s 2008. I don’t think good change is going to come from someone who’s husband is in the oil business, who supports abstinence education in place of health class (meanwhile her 17 year old is about to dump a “fully supported grandchild” out of her vagina), who opposes gay rights and same-sex marriage, who is in favor of destroying national parks in her home state to drill for oil, who is pro-life and just gave birth to a child with Down Syndrome because she’s an idiot and thinks it’s ok to be reproducing while pushing 45, and is both a creationist and environmentally retarded.

So what do people see in this bitch?

She’s a woman. Yes, that’s all. Sarah Palin was selected by McCain because he wanted people to think that he was a progressive thinker, a political reformer, and yes of course, a Maverick. “Why Palin? There are plenty of decent women in politics.” 1) Palin has yet to fuck anything up on a grand scale (because she has never been in a grand position) and therefore doesn’t foster many haters. 2) It was an impulse purchase, so to speak. <a href=”http://www.onevotematters.com/why-did-mccain-pick-palin/” target=”_blank”>Palin was glanced at</a>, McCain’s ancient brain had a fleeting thought of underdog glory, and he went with his gut feeling. Old people are crazy. 3) McCain is about as boring and dry as Fig Newtons. In order to get some attention he needed a face that at least a few people could stand looking at – and unfortunately in the sad state of affairs here in the good ol’ US of A Sara Palin is somehow considered attractive!

Sorry about that last comment. You may take the time now to brush your teeth if you don’t think you can finish this post with the taste of fresh vomit in your mouth. I’m assuming that point of view comes from sexually repressed, aging individuals with very little to live for. Palin isn’t hideous, but she’s certainly not hot either. All opinions aside, is talk of the “America’s hottest governor” really making national news? Give me a fucking break.

Let’s finish up with a little Q&A: Having a woman in office? Fine by me. McCain picking a woman as a running mate? Still all good. Picking a grotesquely unqualified woman with close-minded ideals and too much make-up? No, no, sir. Now you have crossed the line.

Cults, knives, women in chains, violent vegetation, Shub Niggurath, evil hillbillies and fnord! The game in this review has all of these.

Lonely Places is an amateur text adventure game by author, Call of Cthulhu player and vet Nick Marsh. It’s a call back to the days of old when computer games came in boxes with extras which played a part in several very “unique” copy protection systems and you had to be able to spell to play the game.

This game is short. It took me about an hour to feel I’d gotten most of the game solved and seen the multiple endings. It’s also genuinely an intriguing game. It’s based almost entirely on the Lovecraft Mythos and the game follows the form of a creepy horror story.

The game is fun in part due to the excellent prose by Nick Marsh as well as a fantastic selection of nouns provided in the game. This may not sound all that important but for a text adventure game it is. For instance if I want to open the boot of the car I can type in “open boot”. Which is the British way of saying things. In this game I can also say “open trunk”, which I am lead to understand is the Yankee way of saying boot. A small detail but this is text adventure game. Everything is in the small details.

Other cool things about this game: well, it’s short which is great because I have the attention span of a gnat when it comes to computer games. There’s also lots of different endings. Some not so happy and some even less happy.
But there’s not enough endings. Also, the games probably too short. It managed to get my attention and then ended quickly.

This game is free and can be found here. You will need a Z-code interpreter for your computer and they can be found easily using Google. The website the game is hosted on Yog-Sothoth is the premier place to find information about Lovecraftian gaming.

I lied. This requires a lot of explanation, but you won’t be getting any from me because I’m just as puzzled as you probably are.

It all started with a simple link to BoingBoing, which I don’t ordinarily read, in the ectomo chat (EFNet, #ectomo or through a java module on the site).

The article was a simple video, with the headline “Man electrocutes pickle to demonstrate power of Christianity“.

Within the video, a friendly older gentleman wishes to share a neat experiment and a metaphor with the audience. The experiment involves taking a regular pickle of fairly decent size, skewering either end with metal forks, hanging it from a safely grounded sling, and hooking up electrical clips to the forks. When the wire with the clips is plugged into a source of electricity (in this case a wall socket, as evidenced by the standard US plug on one end), we can see that electricity is conducted through the pickle to create a complete circuit. With the lights off, you can watch one end of the pickle glow and spark like a fourth of july sparkler as seen through frosted glass.

It is at this point which Grandpa John - that’s this older fellow’s stage name I’d assume - wishes to really make his metaphor. His goal was to demonstrate that by introducing the power of Christ in the life of any average person, that person will glow (figuratively) with the power and light of God.

Needless to say, the BoingBoing commenters had a field day with this somewhat dubious analogy.

My favorite comment: “Pickle! Pickle! burning bright,
Between the forks of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” ~ chriss1519

Later on…

Gia-tan HA. take that expensive, wasteful floor washing kits and mops! Entire kitchen floor cleaned with one clorox wipe and my foot!
Gia-tan toes: best for getting into corners since the jesus pickle invented them

Then Mathiasx mentioned a song called Handlebars by a band called Flobots (which is absolutely amazing, by the by), which in turn reminded me of a song called Jesus Grow a Handlebar Moustache for Me by a band called Pataphysics. Bringing things somewhat full circle. Quite a reach for synchronicity, but without the original Jesus Pickle video from earlier, the odds of my remembering the Pataphysics’ song to make mention of it would have been significantly lessened.

Pataphysics - Jesus Grow a Handlebar Moustache for Me

One of my favorite xkcd comics, and a recent running joke around the office. “Oh yes, little bobby tables we call him.” I lol every time.

Wound and Infection Treatment Stories #1

Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!

Mark was a willowy, handsome young lad, with shoulder length flaxen hair which he brushed into his pale, rosy-cheeked face often to cover his sparkling, glassy blue eyes in impish defiance of social mores.

One fine summer’s day he sat on his back porch, clad in his favorite jean shorts. This in and of itself was nothing significant. Yet the story behind his reason for sitting thus when there was action, adventure and, yes, even danger to be had out in the wide world is indeed a stirring tale.

Being as clever and crafty as he was, Mark had made these shorts himself when his favorite pants finally ripped so significantly that his girlfriend at the time had insisted with the venom only a lifelong student of modern fashions could that he do away with them. Yet young Mark would not be denied pants so well-worn that they had become something akin to a companion. Indeed, many was the week which had passed without him parting with them long enough even to wash them. He simply couldn’t bear to part with these pants! No, this was a man of deep concerns in his life who simply would not give up the familiar comforts of the threadbare pockets, nor the subtle sophistication which came with the various inked designs which turned the faded denim into a black and blue patina which echoed his triumphant past’s loves, hopes, and outstanding feats of stunning bravery. It was as grave a sin as asking an honored crusader to part with the finely wrought chain mail which had saved him from savage and ignominious death through countless battles with fierce and pitiless Moors and Turks!

So passionate had our young Mark been when confronted with the possibility of losing this treasure, he had snatched up a sizable blade from the kitchen counter in heated desire for swift yet just resolution to this disgraceful feud between aesthetic schools of thought, and with such fervor did he hack away at the offending lower portion of his beloved jeans that it caused him several injuries. Indeed, he was not mindful of such lacerations! An impassioned and bold man such as this could have no room for outward manifestations of pain when there was a battle of wit and craft at hand.

So deep was his anguish at the mutilation of this jewel of his possessions that he hurled the remnants of the pants - along with the now crimson-stained blade - as far as his slim, tight-muscled arms could manage with a pained howl escaping his chest. Regrettably his then-girlfriend hadn’t the presence of mind to clear herself from the path of the flying objects, and suffered a nasty shock as sharpened metal pierced the drywall beside her head.

What woman can understand the true nature of such manly displays, when the depth of feeling must manifest itself in a true man’s course of action? Few can, and alas this was the last he ever saw of or heard from that young lady. Indeed, though he had won a victory over an intractable situation, she simply couldn’t understand the depth of his sincere heartbreak, nor his truer, sentimental nature. In his woeful mourning over losing both his love interest and a significant portion of his most treasured pants, he neglected to care for himself and the injuries he sustained during the confrontation.

As a result, he found himself sitting on the back porch of his home in a grim and pensive state. He had moments before prepared himself for the task which lay before him in that golden afternoon. The slanting sunlight pierced the smoky air around him and cast a beam better than a surgeon’s lamp on the site of his concern. One of the the wounds he had sustained during his heart wrenching episode of confrontational tailoring had taken a turn for the worse. Such a strong believer in independence was he that Mark was not employed and could not provide the sum necessary to visit a trained medical professional. Nor did he believe in such ridiculousness. As a true student of manliness he felt strongly that anything which could be accomplished by his own hand should be! Oft was he praised for such, and oft chided by those who did not understand. Nevertheless he was prepared for the task ahead of him. His anesthetic of choice was taking hold, calming him adequately for the work ahead.

The wound in question was a clean slice whose depth had allowed all manner of dirt in, and despite having been liberally (albeit indirectly and not deliberately) splashed with cleansing alcohol during the last two weeks it was now a very angry shade of red. The protective layer of dried blood was flecked with dirt and a clear fluid leaked from beneath it with only the slightest pressure. If it was painful to look at, it was surely more painful to actually have and feel, yet young Mark showed no pain or fear. With a trusty pocket knife in hand, he paused only once to take a deep breath and hold it in before exhaling in a great rush. A sagely expression came over him, making his heavy-lidded eyes seem cloudy and distant. With a dazzling quickness he sliced open the hardened surface of his grave injury and Oh! what happened then! A rush of milky fluid rushed forth, gleaming wetly under the light of the afternoon sun. Unfazed by such Mark quickly wiped it away and proceeded to squeeze with the all the somber detachment of a true warrior. Once the rupture in his smooth skin was running with the pure crimson of a clean cut, he wiped his hands off on the comforting cloth of his shortened jeans and simply sat. Clearly this quiet contemplation was his way of cleansing his spirit as well as the site of his bodily harm.

His phone rang and with all the unhurried grace of a seasoned general, Mark reached in his pocket, saw that the name on the phone simply said “Cunty Whore That Dumped Me” and thumbed the silencer with unperturbed ease.

This concludes our first installment of Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 1: Wound and Infection Treatment Stories! Won’t you join us next time for more thrilling, fascinating and stirring tales of manly men and their aplomb in the face of mortal wounding and dire infections?

It’s a two for one special! Come for the paraphrasing of a pretty funny BBC article, and stay for the hook up on ancient cannabis usage!

I happened to pop my head into the ectochat and what to my wondering eyes did appear but a BBC article link!

Upon following it I discovered that this story was indeed lol-worthy as had been indicated.

A rather dedicated but less-than-thorough customs official at Japan’s Narita airport hid a 142 gram baggie of weed into the side pocket of a traveller’s suitcase. The goal was to test the sniffer dogs in a real-life training exercise.

The dogs, however, failed their exercise by not detecting the baggie at all. To make matters worse, the official who hid the 142 gram (that’s 5 ounces for those not familiar with metric) bag couldn’t remember in which suitcase he’d hidden the weed!

That’s right, some lucky schmuck walked out of Narita airport with 5 ounces of free marijuana! Awesome right? Not really, when you consider Japan has rather strict laws against possession which could net this traveller a prison sentence. Officials admitted their mistake and are encouraging the person who got the baggie to come forward in order to avoid unnecessary legal troubles.

In my search for more specifics about the laws, I came across a really interesting history of cannabis, beginning with its place in the ancient world. Which is admittedly far more entertaining than the original BBC story I mentioned. After discussing the knowledge - or lack thereof - by the Greeks, and the ancient Japanese and Indians, it moves on to an entire passage on the history of cannabis in the Arab world.

One of the most fascinating ways to explore the ancient world, I think, is to track a substance or supply through the ages. It brings to light ancient trade routes, how information was shared, which cultures were accepting of new things and which closed themselves off. Following marijuana in such a way is a two fold path. On the one hand you get to see which cultures adapted the plant for use as hemp fibers, and how as a valuable supply the plant travelled the world. You also get to track its history when grown and used as a psychoactive substance, and the attitudes of the cultures which were aware of those properties.

All of that and much, much more at druglibrary.org. If you’re someone who visits Erowid frequently for reference on drug-related matters, I might suggest adding this to your repertoire also.

I have noticed that on two perfectly functional laptops (running Windows XP Pro) that when using Digg, Opera 9.27 crashes. Not just a hangup, or a page malfunction, but a full on Windows application error which forces me to end the process and restart the browser altogether.

Having using Digg a fair amount in the past with various versions of Opera (this one included), I can only conclude that this is a new issue and is most likely due to a change in the code which runs Digg. Does anyone have any insight into this most unfortunate turn of events? Error pasted below for those who can interpret these things.

Event Type: Error
Event Source: Application Error
Event Category: None
Event ID: 1000
Date: 5/20/2008
Time: 6:27:57 PM
User: N/A
Computer: GIANIA
Description:
Faulting application opera.exe, version 9.27.8841.0, faulting module opera.dll, version 9.27.8841.0, fault address 0×001b4c12.

For more information, see Help and Support Center at http://go.microsoft.com/fwlink/events.asp.
Data:
0000: 41 70 70 6c 69 63 61 74 Applicat
0008: 69 6f 6e 20 46 61 69 6c ion Fail
0010: 75 72 65 20 20 6f 70 65 ure ope
0018: 72 61 2e 65 78 65 20 39 ra.exe 9
0020: 2e 32 37 2e 38 38 34 31 .27.8841
0028: 2e 30 20 69 6e 20 6f 70 .0 in op
0030: 65 72 61 2e 64 6c 6c 20 era.dll
0038: 39 2e 32 37 2e 38 38 34 9.27.884
0040: 31 2e 30 20 61 74 20 6f 1.0 at o
0048: 66 66 73 65 74 20 30 30 ffset 00
0050: 31 62 34 63 31 32 0d 0a 1b4c12..

P.S. I am still bubbling over with anxiousness for the official release of Kestrel!~

Fake Stephen Colbert, a twitter user posting under @stephentcolbert, has been unmasked. Luckily, the psuedostephen opted to share the reasoning behind this Twitter-Digg deception.

It’s really fun to see someone take a silly experiment and launch it to the next level, a silly experiment with wide recognition. Of course, with Stephen Colbert’s huge popularity these days, is it really any wonder that a Twitter account that was updated with some regularity would get noticed?

As noted in the Fake Stephen’s article, there was already an @stephencolbert when Fake Stephen went to register. However, that person had updated very infrequently, and had stopped updating a very long time ago overall. Even though @stephencolbert had 10,000, without updates it was just another idle account. When I checked earlier tonight, Fake Stephen’s account, @stephentcolbert only had 5,000 followers. Yet it was this account that hit the front page of Digg and got called out by Comedy Central themselves. Proof that one of the keys to recognition within a social environment is to be social! (Duh.)

I kind of hope that Fake Stephen carries on in some way, shape or form. It might be a nice addition to the pantheon of other Fakes out there. Like Fake Steve Jobs.

As promised!

Props for making this happen go to:

• Wikipedia entry on Emperor Norton
• Brusheezy

and of course…

• Dr. Hypercube, for once again rising to the challenge!

Clicking on the image above will produce the full-size version, which is 1000×400. The signature is less authentic than I would like, but I haven’t the capabilities to render a more genuine signature at the present. (And quite frankly that’s for the best, it makes the odds of my signature being ripped off slightly less if it’s not an accurate replica. I guess.)
You may note that this is made out directly to Dr. Hypercube, which in this instance makes it more of a check than a readily exchangeable monetary unit. However, since currency is by and large simply a made up notion, I see no harm in this.