Bored of Games

Let's face this one right out of the gate:  MONOPOLY is a fucking evil game that brings out the worst in everybody, making all the players mean and nasty -- even yours truly.

OPERATION was a ratfuck, and immediately gave me away...

I wanted to like CANDYLAND, until it just had to teach me a lesson, and became CHUTES AND LADDERS, with more chutes than ladders, and was ultimately a contrived study in diminishing returns.

Don't get me started on BATTLESHIP, an invitation to cheating and unseaworthy shenanigans.

And lastly, I completely lost it with CLUE as soon as I realized that the only redeeming character (who also happened to be the only one not deserving of prosecution and, yes, death) was none other than -- ready for it, players? -- Chilly Willy, on the front porch, with a .3 shot of peanut butter.

Games have their place in life, but life cannot be contained by games.  Why, look at the game of LIFE: like Anya Jenkins, I had a hard time swallowing the notion that children could not be exchanged for money -- so unrealistic!

Obvious, isn't it, that too many of us have for a long time now been weary of games we once fancied...

The Janus Project/The Tweaker Project (Or Whatever the Hell It Was Called...)

A candle doesn't lose its flame by lighting another candle.  Aw, isn't that heartwarming and inspiring?  It really does speak to the indomitable beauty of the human spirit, to its innate nobility and dignity.  Really, if one could ignore all the death, emotional trauma, ugly (and sometimes criminal) behavior, and sci-fi/fantasy weirdness the experiment engendered among so many over the years, one could see thrown into sharp relief all that is good and worthy about humanity.  It is at first blush an epic waste of everyone's time that I, and not just I, turned into something useful, educational and edifying.  Thank you to whoever had the bright idea of squishing together the noggins of a not-terribly-apt sociopath and a batshit insane fag on meth who has a high IQ and a great deal of empathy.  I'd like to think when this whole production finally wraps up, we'll all be better for it.

(While I have yet to be actually, concretely dealt with in reality -- "reality" being program's synonym for meatspace -- and should therefore worry about my own hide, I can't help but feel pity for Frank H.  If what I suspect is true, his is going to be a sad denouement.  My heart goes out to him.  I hope he finds a good place where he's cared for and loved as best as the principals in the situation can demonstrate love.  Maybe you could "Area 51 his ass."  All he needs is food, water, and protection from anything with which he might accidentally injure himself.  And last I heard, he loves to play Cocaine and Dollhouses.)

P.S.  Was that program really a refinement of and capitalization on those early MKUltra experiments that were such a scandal back in the day?  I'm literally dying to know.  (God, my intellectual curiosity will be the death of me...)

Classified Ultra!

It's heartbreaking and disappointing to find out that the CIA operatives in charge of your case have been assigned to the Narnia division, and are therefore accessible only through a wardrobe...

Sh, I'm Listening To Voices...

My anthem.

Guided By Voices

♬People in my head
Kind of wish me dead
Too bad there's not some sort of a lull --

Demonic little faces
saying scary phrases
in oh-so-tiny places
like Frankie's skull!♬

From the upcoming musical, "The Twisted Tweaker From 602," to be performed off-off-off Boadway; it will debut in Winona Ryder's, Jared Leto's, Sir Anthony Hopkins's, and Amanda Bynes's noggins simultaneously.

Personal Gossip About A Private, Reclusive Woman

"I just love Syd.  She knows exactly who to snub.  And opinions!  Honey, that girl has an opinion on everything and everyone.  Just ask her if you don't know what to think, and she'll tell you.  And she's so frugal with other people's money -- she should have an MBA from Bennington..."

Hive Mind

T̖̕o̼̝͈̜͈͇ͅ ͇̪̝i̗͙̘n̘͕͔vo̸͈͓̦̪ķ̤͚̥͎͔͇ȩ̹͇̟ ̻̞͇͕̗͚̹t͕̻̱̱h̖͎̮̼̟̳͈e̡̟̞͉͍̣̤ ͇̰h̞̠̫̬i̶̖̟̟̯̟͇v͎e̲-͔͈͍̠͠m̘͉̳̝̥į̬͙̝̥̘̟n͓̜̺̺̞d̫̩̩̲͘ ̰͎̼r̝͔̫̻ͅe͖͈͉͞ͅp̱̼r͖̰̤͎̖ẹ̬̻͙̻͖s̲̱̲̮̖͍e̦͕n͢t͙̘i̧̞̯̻̬̣̥n͎͉g͙͉̬̗͖̮̜ ̞̩̗͎͙̮͔͟c͉̬̰ha̴͍o̲̹̲̼̱s̳̦͔̖.҉̹̪̱̘̦̥̹
͍̺͉̘̯̱I̪͚͎̠͢n̮̻͍v̸̦̤͕̦̮̘ͅo͞k̺̘͔͍̭͔̹i̼̯͍̦͖ņ̭̳̰͍̪̯g͘ ͖ț͇͉h̯͙̯͕̘͎e̛̦͎͚̤ ͇̥̲͎̻̮͞f̨̠͚̬̟̭͙ͅe̴̪̳̫̪̹̣el̩͖̟̞͞i̷̻̫̰̪̭ṇ̙̼ͅg̨̟̤ ̧̖of̩̱ ̙̺ͅc̳̤̺̠̝ͅh͈ao̰̯̜̟͚͉s҉̪̳̱.͓̙̗͉̥̳̜͝
̤͇̼̟̭ͅW̡̤̝̖̗̪̱i͕͈̲͕̩̟̞t͔̞̼̠ḫ̢̯ ̪̫͎̞̹o̮̯̱͔u̹t̲ͅ o̙̼͇͍̙̱r̹̜̮̺͉͕̼d̻͓̖͍e͏̝̼̲̠̘r̡.̺
͈̩T͓̹̳̰̣̟̤́ḩ̗͚͇̯̺̬ͅe̛͎͕̜̱ ̺̭̬͇ͅN҉̥e̞̳̘̯͕͡z̺̜͍͢p͏er̻d̨̹̭̰̮i̼̺̩̰̯͠a̫͓n͓̦̖̞̻̦͍͞ ̲hi̸̜͙v̵̲̖̗̪̗ẹ̡̟͚͔-͚͔͚̞m̧̼͔̘̮͍i̦n̴̖̱̖̬d̨̰̠ ̮̼̹͖͓͖͝ò̱̭f̱͙͍̰ ͔͖̬̟̬͔̫c̳h͙̦̺a̻̙͉͚̤̘̥o͎͚̮͕͘ͅs҉̙̯͕̼͎ͅ.̻̺̙̖͟ ̡͚͎Z̖̺a͎ĺ͔̯͓̰g̮̳̯ó̩̟̱͓̠.̶̻͙̦ ̞
̝̟̞͍̲̗H̭̞͎͇͚̫͞e̸͓ͅ ̰͔̳w̲͖̙̫̻̰̘h̗͙͍̙o̗̥͎̩ ̪̼̫͕̜͘ͅW͓̲͔a̝̯͓̟͡i͍t̸̳̻s̤̪͞ ̩͔̳B̧͎̜̼e͙̺͎͘h͎͉͍̣̙̫͙i̠͈͉nd̦̼̪̪̪ ̩̫͈̘ͅT̥͎͓͚̤͝h̡͈̞͈̻e̘̟̪ ͈͉̜̺̥̻͝Wa̟̝̫̯̹̭l̵l̝̣͕͎̩̺̳.̤͙̙
̩̗̜̪̟̟Z̡͖̦̺̜Ą̫̮̫̫L̮̬̞̝͖̞̠G͍̼̦͔̳͉̰O̡̳̫̺!̢͈

Arbeit Macht Frei or "Get a Job, Ya Bum."

Work is a luxury.  Work is status.  Work is power.  Work is shelter and possessions.  But no one has the right to work.  To earn money by dint of labor or service is a privilege, not an entitlement.  Work is a luxury.

Realness

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.  I'm boarding my younger brother's car this afternoon, in expectation of reaching my parents' house by evening.  Goodbye, San Francisco, hello, Central Valley.

It was a stupendous night last night, as though at the launch of a Saturn V rocket boosting a capsule to the moon.  Thank you for letting me break all the rules, be hella stupid, make tons of mistakes, and have my own piddling little life the rest of you could afford to let me have.  Muchas gracias.

I may not be out of the woods yet, but I'm going like a bat out of hell.  I love each and every one of my readers to this blog, and one day we'll drop the secret on how famous I am...

P.S.  I'm very grateful for the opportunity to share this shit sandwich.  Sure you don't want some more?

P.P.S.  I may not know reality, but I can bring the muthahfuckin' REALNESS up in here...

Imaginary Frienemies

Palimpsest.  Secretly famous.  Too beloved.  Loser.  Ice queen for the sadist.  Addict in a box.  Local boy dismembered by carpetbaggers.  Recipient of charity.  Hollow man.  Supremely evil.  Too good for this world.  Cries for those better off.  On the list.  Workman's comp case waiting to happen.  Flake.  Reliably dead.  Resident evil.  Ancient angel.  "You look like fucking Jesus Christ when they do this shit to you."  Taste his mind.  Beautiful music.  Delusional.  Hallucinatory.  Psychedelic motherfucker.  Capital punishment.  Camera or firing squad, or both?  Deep shit.  Psychic and psychotic.  Sugarcoat the truth.  Hormonal reactions indicate divorce from sensation.  Reality?

P.S.  RENO FUCKING SCREAMER, Y'ALL.

A Riff On Lysenkoism

I realize this is from 2009 (a weird year for yours truly, as well as for many others, I hear tell.) And it's enough to make even me paranoid (would I already have readers were I a center of attention?) Anyway, I wonder how these programs have appeared domestically...

In the latest outgrowth of the debate over military sponsorship of social science, members of the American Anthropological Association have voted to strengthen language in their code of ethics against research conducted in secret.

Among other things, the new amendments declare that clandestine fieldwork constitutes “a clear violation of research ethics” and that anthropologists “should not withhold research results from research participants when those results are shared with others."

Have you been the subject of field research?