McBurton's McBlog

Voting, W00000!

2008-04-25T16:22:00.000-06:00

Wiiiise Fwom Youw Gwaaaaave!

2008-03-17T13:27:00.006-07:00

Wewcome To Youw Doom!

First of all, do you have any idea how hard it was to find a video of this heavilly muscled man in his underwear being commanded to rise from his grave, and welcomed to his doom? Pretty darn, that's how hard!

Second of all, if you hadn't noticed, this is another post on this blog! Now, everyone that reads- (1) What's that you say? The only person who ever read this crap is in Japan without access to my wisdom?

THINK AGAIN, world!

For just today, I recieved an electronic letter from Blogger, informing me Cellular (2) had a thing or two to say about my blog. I'll post the relevant excerpts here. For the full transcript, look to the archives, fools.

"Hello" "This post is likeable," "and your blog is very interesting," "congratulations"

":-)."

"I will add in my blogroll"(3)

"=)."

"If possible gives a last there on my blog, it is about the Celular,"

"I hope you enjoy."

"The address is http://telefone-celular-brasil.blogspot.com"

"A hug."

Now that'z (4) why I do it. For the fans, everyone. Fans. The kind of fans that give me "A hug." That kind of think makes it all worthwhile. Also the shortiez.

Oh, and Happy St. Patrick's day.(5)
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Emily Dickinson FTW.
It is my theory that Cellular is, in fact, an alien Prometheus, who bestowed the gift of Cellular technology on the Aztecs during World War V in the future past, and our racial memories have named the technology after him. Her. It. Whatever. Also, he's Brazilian. I'm not really sure where that fits in.
Thanks, Cellular! I'm adding you to my blogroll too!
This was just a typo, but I like it, so it stayz.
If there are "Kiss me, I'm Irish." Pins and such, shouldn't there be "Slug me, I'm British". Accessories? Just a thought.

Carry On My Wayward Son. Carry on IN HELL

2007-11-30T16:19:00.000-07:00

Whilst listening to the radio today, I noticed that Kansas' "Carry On My Wayward Son" could easily be turned into a very creepy song. Imagine the lyrics growled to a minor key accompaniment. For extra creepy bonus points, imagine the lyrics my way (at the bottom).

Original

(refrain)
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher
But I flew too high

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming
I can hear them say

(refrain)

Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man, well
It surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune
But I hear the voices say

(Refrain)
No!

Carry on, you will always remember
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor
The center lights around your vanity
But surely heaven waits for you

Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry (don't you cry no more)

My Version

(Refrain)
Carry on my wayward son
There's no peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
You will cry no more

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
I was soaring ever higher
But I flew too high

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a mad man
I hear the voices, am I dreaming?
I can hear them say

(refrain)

Masquerading as a man with a reason
My charade is the event of the season
And if I claim to be a wise man, well
It surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune
But I hear the voices say

(refrain)
No!

Carry on, you will always remember
Carry on, nothing equals the splendor
The center lights around your vanity
But surely darkness waits for you

Carry on my wayward son
There's no peace when you are done
I Lay your weary head to rest
You will cry (you will cry in hell)

Casey James Payne 3rd Inaugural Bicentennial Song of the Week

2007-11-28T11:16:00.000-07:00

Oh man, sorry this is so late, I was out of town. Were he home, this very instant he'd be listening to Communication Breakdown by Led Zeppelin, owing to his difficulty in communicating with his digestive system.

_____________________________________________________________________
You thought you were going to get a foxytunes link here, didn't you? Well, you get a youtube link instead!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVMvb8PCAX4

You can look, but you can't touch!

2007-11-28T11:07:00.000-07:00

If anyone's wondering why I've left that poll with no votes up for so long, it's to shame you for not voting, not because I forgot to take it down. Yeah, that sounds good.

Anyhow, the main subject of my miniblog is blogs (I don't know if they're present on a reputable site like blogger) that are set to "private." Everyone can see they're there. They've probably got a title like "Secrtes" or "OMG Hes So Hawt", which would attract your attention (if only for the humor value) but you can't read them. If you wanted to write something that people couldn't read, why put it on the internet. That's why we have paper! Alternatively, you could just quit your whinin'.

2nd Annual Casey James Payne Memorial Song of the Week

2007-11-18T23:14:00.000-07:00

"Are You Ready To ROCK" by Miyavi will help him to learn Japanese and to rock, the two most valuable things in the mission field.

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Now playing: Miyavi - Are you ready to ROCK?
via FoxyTunes

Hmm?

2007-11-14T20:36:00.000-07:00

HA!

2007-11-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

It has recently come to my attention that the only person who regularly checked the blog won't be doing so for two years. In other words, I can say whatever I want! So, in the words of the inimitable Mike Whittle,

Penis

McBurton

Sheldon Contest

2007-11-14T00:09:00.000-07:00

I've recently been informed (via e-mail) that I may have won the contest currently running at one of my favorite webcomics ever, Sheldon (www.sheldoncomics.com). If I did indeed win, the prize would be a 1 foot square drawing with whatever characters and dialogue I want. So, my question to you, gentle readers, is "what should I get?" I'll put the finalists in a poll.

My Whiniest Blog To Date!

2007-11-13T23:56:00.000-07:00

I've been doing some thinking lately. Ha ha, yes, it is a surprise.

Now, to the whining. This may be the late night, talking, or possibly just a delayed effect from some of my closest friends ( let's be honest here, mostly Dillsworth,) leaving, but lately it seems like I'm stagnant. People around me are growing, learning, changing, and I'm no different from day to day. I'm afraid people will start liking me less, (Ha ha, you're right, that isn't possible, ha ha (I was joking. I'm sure some people still tolerate me. . . for now!)) that people already do like me less than they did a little while ago. I do the same things day after day, and while much of it is still as great as it was, most things are growing stale. I'm worried that I'll end up doing the same things I'm doing now for the rest of what would be a meaningless existence. I'm finding it harder to laugh at things. I just wish I could know how people feel about me.

Well, glad that's done. Go read about people who hate cilantro www.ihatecilantro.com, perhaps it'll make up for that whiny piece of garbage I just wrote.

1st Casey James Payne Memorial Song of the Week

2007-11-11T23:08:00.001-07:00

Well, I told the late Dillsworth McOddington that I would post at least one song every week that I thought he would be listening to, were he able to. This week's selection is "Burnin' For You" by Blue Oyster Cult. Listen, and think of happier times.

It's A Trap!

McBurton McOut
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Now playing: Blue Öyster Cult - Burnin' For You
via FoxyTunes

It's Blogging Time

2007-09-02T16:20:00.000-06:00

You know how I know it's Blogging Time? 'cause it's Sunday, and Sunday is the day we blog.

Saturday is the day we go to McOddington's house and teach him to use the video recorder again, but Sunday is the day we blog.

Conditions are perfect. There's nothing good on TV, most people are in church, web comics aren't updating, and Ubiquitous is at work.

You turn to me and say something sexy like "If you don't write a new blog, you'll have two fewer testicles when next you wake up."

Oh yeah. It's Blogging Time. (1)

Now that that shameless ripoff is done, let's return to the issue brought up in our (2) last blog, that of my then imminent education.

Despite my fear that I would hate having to go to school again, I don't yet. The parts where I'm actually in the buildings, that is, and not walking from my parking spot 3 miles away that I payed 599 US Dollars for (5). I wouldn't mind having to walk a lil' way from my car (6), except my major (physics) has an associated minor (back pain.) My tekstbook (7) for my physics class, which I carry around in my satchel (8), ways approximately three times as much as I do, and that's just for one class.

Speaking of which, let's discuss that physics class. It's held for three hours every Tuesday and Thursday, and is taught by a Professor (9) with an extremely thick Russian accent. Now, for normal conversation, where you only need to make out about a third of what is being said, this is fine. For more technical matters, like, say, PHYZIKS, it's almost incomprehensible. I find myself thinking about anything, except for whatever concepts he's going over. It's not going to be fun. Fortunately, a lil' someone named DR. EUGENE CLARK (11) taught me everything we'll be going over in that class, so I think I'll be fine. Did I mention that ole' Gorby points at everything with both middle fingers? (12).

In summary (Read: "I'm getting tired of writing this blog.") (13) all my classes are really easy, and I'm enjoying spending time in the library. Tune in. . . eventually, for an in depth look at my Japanese class!
____________________________________________________________________

And by "Our", I mean "My". You should just feel grateful I let you see it. Even though it's on blogspot, and not in my diary (3).
Bear with him, he's trying to make a joke. Don't laugh, though, it'll only encourage him (4).
Not only does McBurton refer to himself in the third person, he also argues with himself, that bastard.
But I'm not bitter! Nosirree!
I do, however, mind that I had to pay for it. For the price they charged me, I should be able to drive through the school to my classes. Or perhaps the professors could come to my car, that would also be acceptable. As it is, however, I'm not even guaranteed a parking spot anywhere, much less close to the buildings.
Intentionally misspelled, you'll understand later.
Savers, 5 dollars. Bar-Gains!
Henceforth, we'll call him. . . Gorbachev
OK, I'm a little bit bitter. But you don't know that, cause it's hidden down here in a later footnote.
As in "I'm Mr. Clark, Bitch!"
And you say "that's it!?", but I know what you're really sayin'. You're sayin' "Oh, yeah, that's it!"

What Do You Want To Do With Your Life!!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!!?!?!!?!?!!???!?!?!!?!?!?

2007-08-16T13:24:00.001-06:00

I Wanna ROCK!

What I don't want to do, however, is go back to school.

I went to high school for nine years. I'd say I've done my time! Unfortunately, one can barely work fast food with only an associates degree, so a week from tomorrow I head off to the UVSC, majoring in Physics.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love the ladies (1). I also love physics, but I hate having to do anything, even if it's something I enjoy doing. If someone was forcing me to write this blog, not only would I not enjoy doing it, but it wouldn't be funny (2). When I reached the point where I had to go to Karate to get payed, I didn't enjoy it nearly as much (3). In psychology, this is called the Overjustification Effect (4). So, now that I have to go to school, I don't think I'll enjoy it, even though physics is awesome. Also, I have to pay to go there. T_T.

The End (5)

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Now, if you've never seen Anchorman, let me assure you that was hillarious.
Yeah, yeah, you shut up. You know who you are.
Fortunately, I don't get payed very much, ha HA!
I used to be a psychologist, before I started getting plutonium in exchange for psychologyzing.
Yes, I know it's short, quit your whining.

Car Wars V: The Checker Strikes Back

2007-08-03T18:09:00.000-06:00

I know that before I went to Mexico, ever so long ago, I promised you a blog on the subject. I acknowledge this. Mistakes were made on both sides, and the practical upshot is that the aforementioned blog never happened. However, let's let bygones be bygones, and I'll give you a short synopsis of that trip.

It sucked.

Would you like a slightly longer version?

It sucked a lot.

The Long version of the story

Imagine, if you will, driving to Mexico. Then imagine driving to Mexico with someone who talks a lot, and insists on making conversation with you. Also, you dislike him. Now, imagine driving to Mexico with this individual, with another fellow who's a rabid conservative idiot. Finally, imagine driving to Mexico with a loud mouthed blow hard, a conservative fool, and the conservative fool's son, all of whom are in italics!

What you are hearing is the sound of ultimate suffering. Between conversations on auto repair, and the Sean Hannity Show (1) marathon, I lapsed into a coma, to awake mere moments ago.

If only! Due to my having almost exceeded my italics (2) quota, I'll not describe the other individuals who went on this trip, but they were, almost without exception, to put it gently, intellectually repulsive. How long did I get to spend with this sterling crew? Why, Ten Days! Ten Days Of Fun!

The trip back was almost exactly like the trip down, only there was country music playing nearly the whole time, and we got to wait at the border for 2 hours. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, the Fool began singing along!

The awful nature of this trip was mitigated by the fact that we actually did do some work that helped some people in need of help. I was responsible for drywalling most of one house (3), and for actually building most of another house (4).

Regrettably, we must leave that happy time, and return to the present, where (6) the KKK is rising again.

According to The Man, one has to get one's car inspected on a roughly yearly basis, so that he (7) can make sure we don't "get in accidents" and "become injured" (8), or "kill people." Despite my professed "pro death" standpoint, I'm all in favor of my own personal life, so this seems OK to me. In accordance with this so called "law, therefore, I went to get the KKK inspected (9). After 3 hours of waiting (10), I was informed that she had passed, except for whatever portion of the test covered the windshield wiper fluid (11). Now, I'm all in favor of my safety. However, being able to squirt fluids on to my windshield from my hood does not, to me, appear integral to my safety (12), but who am I to buck The Man?

In compliance with this "regulation" (14), I inspected the windshield wiper fluid receptacle, and noted that it did indeed leak. With the help of my father (15), I determined that the cause of this lamentable state was the pumps connected to the fluid receptacle. To allow you to better picture these pumps in your mind, I'll describe them: they're very small, and made of plastic. (16) Black plastic (17). I assumed that it would be a fairly simple repair for me to process. And, in a way, it was.

I just had to give Checker my soul.

The immortal one.

I think to myself "what with those pumps being so small, and so apparently fragile, and so made of cheap plastic, they should be fairly inexpensive." With this thought in mind, I withdrew 50 dollars from my bank account, believing this to be more than enough to cover this small expense. After mislaying the Checker I generally frequent, and the subsequent finding thereof, I entered, and was pounced upon by an apparently helpful short man with a bizarre sunburn on his face (18). I informed him of my need, and he trudged dutifully over to a computer. The following is the conversation exactly as it occurred.

"What can I help you find?" (19)
"I need two windshield wiper fluid pumps for a 90 4-Runner" (20)
"You need a pair of patent leather pumps?" (19)
"??!?!?!"(20)
"Is this the bayou?" (19)
"I need windshield wiper fluid pumps" (20)
"For what vehicle?" (19)
"A 90 4-Runner" (20)
"A 1994 WHAT?" (19)
"No, a 90 FOUR RUNNER" (20)
"A 1994 Taurus?" (19)
"No, A Toyota 4-Runner, year 1990" (20)
"I see. . ."(21)

Here there is a pause of approximately five years, whilst he looks up my car. This process consists of pushing "7" to indicate that it's a Toyota, and "12", to indicate that it's a 4-Runner.

"4 or-"(19)(21) (22)
"Six. Six cylinders." (20)

/pause for 6 more years whilst he locates the part, using much the same process as car selection.

"Ah, here it is." (19)

We then walk 20 feet to the windshield wiper aisle, where he points out the part, and informs me of the price, 33 effing dollars per pump.

Now that that's sunk in, we can discuss the many questions that arise as a result of this course of action.

Question 1: Why are these pumps in the windshield wiper aisle?
Question 2: Why do I keep typing "winshield?"
Question 3: If these pumps aren't located behind the counter, as I assumed they would be, did he not just direct me to the correct aisle?
Question 4: HOW IN THE NAME OF STEPHEN COLBERT CAN THEY JUSTIFY CHARGING THAT MUCH FOR THOSE BLASTED PUMPS!!!!!!??!?!????!?!?!?!?!?!????!?!??!??!?!!?!?!??!?111

The answer to all of these questions is, of course, I don't bloody well know.

In the end, I had to go take out a loan on my future children to pay for these pumps, and they were installed, in a manly fashion, by me.

I'd better not have any trouble registering this thing.
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Or, as they say in Mexico , the Sean Hannity Show.
Italics
When one reads "house" in reference to a dwelling in that part of Mexico, a good rule of thumb is to replace that word with the term "shack".
I did all of the insulation, put up most of the drywall, did a good portion of the framing, and fixed the retarded drywalling mistakes of the other members of the crew (5). From this we can draw the conclusions that yes, I did build most of that house, and yes, the other people working on that house were a bunch of lazy Sons of Bitches.
Even if you don't know how to do drywall, you can probably figure out that SHEETS OF SHEETROCK SHOULD NOT OVERLAP.
Surprise!
The Man
Injured bad.
Presumably by one of The Man's henchmen.
Due to the fact that when you're without a car in American Fork, you travel at relatavistic speeds, this is actually approximately 393810372178 x 10^24 years.
I told her to study!
Some have claimed it's a fox news conspiracy, others have said it's merely a plot by The Man (13) to put the fear in to the people.
In Mexico: El Màn.
Yes, I'm aware it really is a regulation.
Ahongus McBurton
DAH! DAH DAH DAH DAH!
DAH!!!
It was as if wombats with sunscreen saturated feet had been instructed to walk across his face, and he was then left in the sun for roughly a thousand millennia. Of course, he may just have had skin cancer, in which case none of this is funny.
The employee, who we shall henceforth refer to as "cancer man"
Me.
I've heard this question many times before.
Why does it matter how many cylinders it has? This has nothing to do with windshield wiper fluid!

Keepin Me Posted: The Post

2007-05-31T23:11:00.000-06:00

OK, so it looks like I'll be gone for 9 days to scenic Mexico, building houses for poor people. Your mission (should you choose to accept it) (accept it, damn it!) is to keep a log of things that happen whilst I am away. Important news stories, minutiae, I don't care, I just want to come back and have it be like I was never away. Yep. So. . . comment away! I expect billions of comments when I get back, or there will be hell to pay.

We Fought The Law, and We Won, Didn't We, Cosmo?

2007-05-29T11:19:00.000-06:00

Well, I didn't actually fight the law. The law and I get on pretty well, actually. He asked me what move we went to see.

Perhaps some background information is in order. After going to see "Pirates of the Carribean", (1) we were heading back to Dillsworth McCoddington's house. Little did we know, the man was going to snare us on our way back.

And snare us he did, by turning the lights of his police car on and pulling us over. I of course, being the driver, was freaked right the heck out, mostly because I was unaware I'd done anything wrong.

Turns out my taillights weren't functioning. He just informed me of the deplorable situation, and said I should drive home with my emergency flashers on, which I proceeded to do. Another plot by the KKK to end my life foiled! Thanks, The Man!
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Which you shouldn't go see if your ideal death isn't of old age in a theatre. Seriously. Don't even go.

You Know Who Else Had Long Hair? Jesus

2007-05-27T11:29:00.000-06:00

So, Apparently I'm unworthy to pass/bless the sacrament.

Actually, I'm not. The bishop said the exact opposite, in fact. The end result is the same, however.

So, here's the story. I, as many of you know, have fairly long hair for my gender. The reason behind this is that my long, lustrous locks are my one redeeming feature, so consequently I try to use my hair to cover up as much of the rest of me as possible. As you can imagine, this "rebellious" tendancy on my part (1) prompts insightfull comments from most everyone I meet (2).

I don't particularly care about these fools. They can say whatever things they like, as long as they don't try to forcibly alter my appearance. However, events have transpired lately that are trending towards that direction.

So, after I went to my before church meeting (3) my bishop pulled me aside, and after pleasantries were exchanged, turned the topic of discussion to my hair. I assumed it would be merely a conversation in which he sympathized with me, and would ask others (4) to quit hasslin' me about my choice of personal appearance. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

In summary, he said "I know that your hair does not affect your worthyness, and I know that it's none of my business how long your hair is, but because of how some people, especially older people in the ward see that hairstyle, I'm going to have to ask you not to bless or pass the sacrament untill you get your hair cut."

That's right. Because of people meddling in something that's none of their business, I'm being treated the same way as someone unworthy to pass/bless the sacrament.

That is all.

McBurton Out.
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Have I died my hair some outlandish colour, or gotten tattoos/piercings? The correct answer is no.
If we choose to interpret "insightfull" and "most everyone" as "idiotic" and "fools who think they're intelligent."
Keep in mind that I actually went to an extra meeting before church.
Read "most everyone in my ward"

Stream of Consciousness

2007-05-16T21:25:00.000-06:00

The problem with your average McBurton is that he's so darn good at everything! As a result, when he finds something that actually requires work, he fails to put the effort required to become skilled in an area. His other fault is hubris. And lack of social skillz.

So, pretty sure I raped that AP Psychology test. From behind.

Hmm. I wonder if I could sing to music that I wrote. I can't really sing to other people's music, but perhaps if it was something of my own creation it would work. Also, I wish I could play the music that I create in my head. I think it'd be good. Perhaps if I wrote it out. I've got some song lyrics written that need music; perhaps I should try to write songs for that nonsense. It'll all be whistling, so someone else'll have to sing (or whistle, I suppose, but I'm a pretty darn good whistleist.)

Oh man. Soda is the devil's only friend. Fortunately, I have enough bottled water to last out the coming zombie apocalypse.

I wonder what I'll do with my hair once it grows out so long that the current method (comb/brush and forget) will no longer work. I'm sure Ubiquitous'll be in favor of the ponytail, and I'm not discarding that option, but I think other avenues should be explored (but what would those other avenues be?).

'm pretty glad Ubiquitous is in the area to hang out with, or I'd probably die as a result of boredom and emo rage.

wigu.com

So, it appears most of my associates share my lack of "stick-to-it-iveness". We've had so many excellent plans, none of which appear to be on their way to fruition. Our webcomic, our band, and our music video are a few examples of this malady.

Would the pleasure derived from the money obtained by working at Trafalga outweigh the displeasure caused by working on weekends?

How can I become better at drawring?

I may go on a run. Shirtless. In short shorts. Details at 11.

Writing like this is hard, because I have to evaluate what I'm thinking about in terms of how personally embarrassing revealing said thoughts would be, filter the most highly ranked on that scale out, then evaluate how interesting the remaining thoughts would be to the general public and disregard that scale.

Question: Who do I like better, Douglass Adams or Terry Pratchet? Answer: I love all my children equally.

Why don't I blog more prolifically? Originally I was planning to blog once a day, but that has obviously fallen through.

The black car that I occasionally drive has been named Marcus Garvey, because it's black and cultured, yet has enough power to take me back to Africa.

Do I value lyrics or music more in a song? I love the Decemberists, and their lyrics never fail to impress, but I also like some 80's music that has crap for lyrics. Also, how important is the quality of a singer in a band? As has been ascertained already, I do love those Decemberists, but I don't consider Colin Meloy a great singer.

Is this enough random rambling? Yes.

Remember

2007-04-25T00:39:00.000-06:00

Ross, I made earth boats.

You heard it here first.

We Built This City!

2007-04-22T19:44:00.000-06:00

My first night in San Francisco, I was a assaulted by a gang of martial arts experts. Fortunately, the martial art they were experts in was Tai Chi (1), so I was able to amble away and board a cable car (2). The sound of classical Asian music haunts me to this day!

Despite this harrowing introduction (3) to it's wonders, "Frisco" (4) thrilled and amazed me for the duration of my visit. I knew I'd like the city after discovering that the Best Western (6) at which I stayed was located not half a block from "Out Of the Closet Thrift Store" (7) a bike rental agency calling itself "Blazing Saddles" (8), and a club with "World Famous Gender Illusionists" (10). Another pleasing facet of this delicious city was the delightful effect that it had on my hair. I will attempt to recreate the before and after below.

Before

After

(11)

But I digress. The majority of night one in San Francisco was spent walking through the city. It was during this gorgeous walk that I saw something that fastened my smile from ear to ear, a table that had a "free stress test" poster on it's side. This may not seem too humor inducing in itself, but as I approached, I found that the table also held some sort of complicated metal device (presumably for measuring your level of stress), another poster, the only word of which I could make out being "engrams", and a book by L Ron Hubbard (12). I also walked down Lombard street, visited Fisherman's wharf (13), and returned via cable car to the 2nd Best Western where I resided.

Ah, that Best Western. It was there that I was to experience the worst night's "sleep" of my life to date. It consisted of a reenactment of the early events of World War !!, in which my brother played the role of Nazi Germany (15), and I played the role of the European nations following a policy of appeasement. My mattress did its best to roleplay, and apparently chose the role of the unforgiving Polish bedrock. The only real benefit derived from that fitful night was blog material. This torture was recreated every night of that trip.

On the next day, I arose bright and early (16), and set out to begin my explorations of some of San Francisco's attractions in depth. Unfortunately, San Francisco's attractions didn't share my early rising ambitions, so everything was closed when I got there. So, more walking was done, and various transients were viewed. Eventually, it came openin' time for the SFMOMA (17), and there we (18) went.

The SFMOMA is truly a magnificent place, even from a merely architectural standpoint, but it did not rawk my socks to the point where they actually flew from my body. They had some excellent examples of modern art, much of which resided in their special Picasso exhibit. I'm particularly fond of Andy Warhol, and enjoy other "modern artists" such as Jackson Pollock and Kandinsky. That being said, Sturgeon's law (19) applies in full force to modern art. As a civilization, we just haven't had enough time to recognize that most of this new art is absolute bullocks! There was an entire floor devoted to vines. Vines, I tell you! Now, I love climbing vegetation as much as the next fellow (20), but I don't know that I would consider merely placing them in a room art. Call me crazy.

Footware was forcibly removed by a different art museum (21), the De Young, which I visited on my third day in that golden city. A mixture of modern AND classic art, I enjoyed this museum much more than the vaunted MOMA. It also had some interesting architecture, most of which was involved in the tower holding the observation floor at its top. My favorite pieces of art there were the Jess' featured below, and a Claes Oldenburg (22) statue of a giant safety pin (23) in the garden.

More of my exploits in San Francisco shall be discussed tomorrow. I'm goin' to bed now.

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And 599 years old
On which they served the most delicious Rice-A-Roni! It really was a treat!
And the fact that I found out The Shins had been playin 40 minutes after I'd reached my hotel that 1st night! Also, if I'd stayed for a mere 3 more days, I could have seen The Decembrists! I'm not bitter though.
Don't tell anyone I said that. The Emperor of The United States has you shot (5).
Actually, he just imposes a $25 fine, which isn't really that serious, considering most people pay more than that per hour for parking in SF.
The name was deceiving, for I saw a better western one night during my wanderings of the city. I sent them a letter to the effect that their name should be "2nd Best Western" at most, and I expect the name shall be changed shortly.
It was painted bright pink, and below it was a foundation benefiting AIDS sufferers.
It was upon viewing the second of these fine establishments that I was hit with a profound longing for Ubiquitous Partridge's company and, shall we say, unique perspective upon the GLBT (9) community.
That's apparently the correct term. No, really.
I'm not making any of this up. The last bit I found out in the tourist information bureau. I recognized the name of the club, and underneath their logo was that quotation, in at least 400 pt font. Also featured on the poster was a picture of what was obviously a man in drag.
Well, perhaps not that drastic. All that really happened was that my formidable hair curled a little more at the ends than it does normally.
I believe it was
Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health
Where I dined (14) on the first in what was to be a series of delicious bread bowls filled with delicious chowder.
Well, lunched really.
He even slept in a swastika position!
Well, decently bright and moderately early.
That's the San Francisco Museum Of Modern Art, for those of you not hip to the groove.
You may have guessed as much, but at this point I feel it prudent to point out that I was traveling with my family, not merely wandering the mean streets of San Francisco alone.
Sturgeon's Law: 90% of everything is crap.
Unless, of course, the next fellow was whoever created that exhibit.
And here's where the artist takes his work in a more abstract direction, choosing to focus on man's inhumanity to man through shrubbery.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claes_Oldenburg
There're pictures below.

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Pictures for reference

The City, The Ledgend

The Gang That Nearly Killed Me

The Car On Which I Ate My Treat

The Treat In Question

The Thrift Store Referred To

The SFMOMA

A Cool Painting I Saw At The De Young

Another Work By The Same Artist Entitled "Boy Party" Which I Post Solely For Ubiquitous' Enjoyment. BE FOREWARNED, FOR IT IS OF A SEMI-GRAPHIC NATURE
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(for the above 4 pictures, see http://sfciviccenter.blogspot.com/2006/02/de-young-museum-3-collection.html where I got them. I actually do have pictures of me doing the same thing, but I don't know where the *#*(&#^% camera is.)

What Is Your Favorite Book, And Why?

2007-04-12T10:13:00.000-06:00

Let me preface this blog with a word of explanation: this is a rough draft of an essay I've written begging for a scholarship. Tell me what you think, and what I can improve.

When first I picked up what would grow to be my favorite work of fiction, I didn’t consider the ways that this book would influence my life; I was just a 7 year old looking for something to read. When I read the opening sentence, (“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.) I knew I’d found something interesting. Now I own 5 copies.
My bedroom at the time was, and still is, covered in a thin layer of fiction. “Dune” and “A Separate Peace” held places of honor with Asimov’s “Foundation” series, and another of Orwell’s books, “Animal Farm.” After I acquired a copy of “1984”, these other books were forgotten for a while. I consumed it six times in a two day period, it replaced sleep for me that night. Every time I read it, some new meaning or subtle use of symbolism became apparent. Even after reading it countless times, some new detail becomes apparent when I read it again.
When I later took a World History class, Orwell’s “Big Brother” helped me to understand the cult of personality created by leaders such as Joseph Stalin and Mao Zedong. In my Psychology class, the concept of “Groupthink” was familiar to me; I’d already read about its application in Airstrip One and Oceania. Of course, the class I applied it most in was English. I could, and generally did, use “1984” on nearly every essay prompt having to do with literature. My familiarity with its themes of sexuality, loss, control, love, despair, class struggle and other useful topics increased the quality of my essays, and helped me participate actively in class discussion.
All of these admirable qualities are not why I’ve read and re-read “1984” however. It was, and is, immensely useful in my education, but the reason I love George Orwell’s dystopian society is for its power to change the way that I think. Politics, current events, even pop culture is viewed differently after Orwell’s haunting portrayal of fear and control.
My copies of “1984” stand littered about my cluttered bedroom as a monument to a potential terrifying future, and of a terrifying past. I still read and reread my favorite book, and I still laugh and cry whilst reading it. Since reading that opening sentence, I’ve read many great books, many of which have helped make me the person I am today, but none that have resonated with me as strongly as “1984.”
If the only thing learned about me through this essay is that my name is Allister McBurton, and my favorite book is “1984,” that’s enough.

"Mathletes In The Mist" or "My Time Among Them" (unfinished)

2007-04-03T22:30:00.000-06:00

As the title would suggest, I recently spent some time at a math competition (1). It was an. . . enlightening experience. The following is a transcription of my field notes.

9:00 am - Food sulplies are low, as is moralle. The bus seems to be sapping the strength from my body. There is talk of mutiny.

9:15 am - It had to be done. My stomach is full, but my mind still reels from what I've done. Can I ever be forgiven?

9:19 am - Arrived at Snow College. Greeted warmly by proctors, though our missing team member causes some problems. Soon sorted out. Observation of mathletes begins.

9:24 am - Various math teams are entering the clearing. After restless fidgeting, those with the most math symbols on their shirts appear to have established dominance of a sort over the others.

9:35 am - I've observed a distinct lack of grooming instincts among the males (3). Females appear to be in hiding, or elsewhere. This obviously leads to limited mating oppourtunities.

10:02 am - Sheets of paper with curious circular markings are distributed by the older mathletes. Despite repeated earlier use of these sheets, the proctors procede to explain their use. Perhaps some sort of religious ritual?

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Yes, I was competing. No, I don't think this makes me a "Mathlete". Why? Because all of the real Mathletes had matching math themed shirts. Some of these even proclaimed their mathlete status, as if it were something to be proud of, which caused my mind to boggle furiously (2). You don't see, say, urine donors or mimes walking around with shirts proclaiming that as their profession. Why? Because they would be scorned. Hence my confusion.
How many words can you make out of "mathlete?"
"Zing," as they say in the vernacular.

Celebratin' In Silence

2007-03-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the quietest gathering of boy scouts in the history of mankind was honoured with my presence.

I noticed the unusually quitet atmosphere immediately upon entering the room in which the afformentioned scouting event was being held. At first I thought this uncomfortable silence was my punishment for coming late, everyone looking on silently with disapproval (1). When this continued for some time, I thought this was taking it a bit to far. Fortunately, my lightning fast perceptual skills allowed me to realise just in time that it was not my arrival that had caused the silence which I refer to. Other explanations such as a "cone of silence", or an unusually spiritual moment were also discarded, as the moment lasted far too long, and these people seemed to have no problem with fidgeting! Why, their hands practiacally never stopped moving!

"You fool!" My brain screamed at me (2), "They're deaf!"

I was slightly affronted, both by the fact that my own brain had insulted my intelligence (3), and by the fact that I hadn't been informed as to the hearing-impaired nature of this activity. I quickly became acclimated to my surroundings, and noticed that the meeting had been continuing without me (4). As various awards were handed out (5), I waited for the torrent of applause that generally follows anyone recieving anyting as part of one of these ceremonies(6). Looking quizically over at my dearest father, I saw him waving his hands in the air in an effort to applaud for the lil' deaf kids (7). Personally, I felt that as a joke it was in rather bad taste (8). This was, of course, untill I noticed that everyone was doing it (9). Apparently, that's the accepted way to applaud in the deaf community (10). I, of course, laughed at them, because that's my default reaction to something new (11), and hey, they weren't going to know about it. Soon afterward, my mother recieved a gift from one of our karate students who had just recieved his black belt. It was very touching (12), and I feel that I've grown from the experience. But seriously, hand waving? There's got to be something better.than that.
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I found this odd, as the realization of my presence is usually accompanied by various hosannas and other signs of jubilation.
Silently, so as not to seem out of the know.
Man, it must have been pretty stupid to have done something like that!
The gall of some people.!
One kid had a stack of merit badges the size of my head. Seriously, you could have killed a horse with that stack of merit badges. It was recently declared a lesser planetary body. As I was watching, they went over to some other poor sap's merit badges, shoved them down, and kicked sand in their little merit badge faces.
"Lil' Jimmy got his breathing merit badge!" *thunderous applause*
If you'd like to recreate the experience for yourself, imagine someone you know extending all of their fingers, then suddenly contracting parkinsons.
Actually, I thought it was darn funny at the time, but I was glad I hadn't done it because of the shunning that was sure to descend upon his head. Why, I might not even have gotten refreshments!
Also, some people were telling others in the audience that their friends would like them better if they did the same. How do I know this, if they were using sign language? I am a man of science!
I will continue to believe this untill one of my deaf readers tells me other wise. No one? That's what I thought.
Would you rather I feel murderous, genocidal hate? I though not.
No, really! I didn't mock anyone the entire time it was happening. That's how touched I was.

Your Friend And Mine, George Bush

2007-03-28T14:36:00.000-07:00

As has recently been established, he is the decider. This is a shame, because "the decider" is a title I'd like to bestow upon myself, and possibly name my children.(1) What powers does that title bestow, anyhow (2)? The power to decide (3)? About what? I can see it now: Happy suburban housewife "Mary Syphilis" (4) is shopping for her brood of 9. She pauses for a moment, torn between regular and reduced fat milk. Suddenly (5) she hears a shout; "Buy the two percent! I'm the decider!" (6) Tune in next week, when the Decider's arch enemy, the Barack Obomber attempts to reveal his secret identity!

In other news, I've discovered that myself and most everyone I know (7) should be accident free for the next while. The rationale behind this logical leap? My friend and co-worker Ubiquitous Partridge (8) has had more misfortune than any group of people, let alone one person could possibly hope to accumulate. Ever. To wit (9), Her backpack was taken from her very garage (10), her knee was found to have a torn miniscus requiring surgery, during the afformentioned surgery it was discovered that her miniscus was not, in fact, the problem, which was actually that her patella had been relocated to her left hip, her other knee was identified as having the same problem, she hit her head and suffered a Class 96 concussion (11), and she had to read that sentence. On a brighter note, she's now walking again! Huzzah! From this horrid turn of events, I have determined that one of three things is happening/has happened. A. She was Adolph Hitler and Joseph Stalin in a previous life. B. Karma's gettin' ready for some sort of massive retaliatory boon. 3. Somehow all the misfortune that would have visited everyone I know has been focused into some sort of accident ray, which then immediately targeted Ubiquitous. IV. She's workin' the system for the insurance. If any one of those is true, I gotta get me some of that (12).

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As in "Nietzsche Judas Decider McBurton the third, you go to your room this instant!"
And, on a related sidenote, would such powers qualify him for inclusion in the Superfriends?
Question: Would this make him Pro or Anti Choice? Discuss.
Names have been changed.
Also accepted: Immediately, surprisingly, shockingly, without warning, like the blink of an eye, murderously.
Another enemy of the people falls to his powers. You're next, generic brand butter!
With one noteable exception, to be discussed later.
The person, not the heavy metal band. See (4).
Or not to wit, that is the question. Wether tis nobler in the blog to suffer the jabs and insults of outrageous readers, or to take words against a sea of fools, and by opposing end them?
Said backpack contained various and sundry valuables including, but not limited to, her good brush and a graphing calculator worth OVER 9,000 dollars.
Which didn't get her out of physical therapy. Oh no, that still happened.
Referring to the circumstances, not Ubiquitous. Actually, disregard that last statement.

Burton Tackles the Big Stuff

2007-03-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

You know what really grinds my gears?

My conscience
Politics

Let's adress the 1st topic 1st (1). Despite 16 years of concentrated efforts to destroy all barriers (2) that might prevent me from doing whatever I want, annoying the hell out of people, and generally being an amoral son of a bitch, my conscience still bothers me on the oddest of topics. Schoolwork, for instance. Now, anyone that knows me will tell you that I haven't cared about schoolwork for about 7 years now (3). The reason I still have a decent GPA is because (5) I generally ace any test that's set before me. Lately, however, the ole conscience has been nagging me to "study" and "pay attention", and even, on occasion, "do my homework". I Know! Where does it get off? Am I suddenly developing some of those "ethics" (6) I've heard so much about?

The other issue that my conscience has been all up in my grill about is politics (7). Ever since I found out I'll be able to vote in the next presidential election (8), I've felt this curious urge to actually do research to find out who I should vote for (9). In the olden days (10), I was a rabid conservative (11). Allas, logic and reason have tainted my thoughts to the point that I have actually become a moderate liberal (12), and now I have to actually find out about the positions of the candidates, as opposed to following the conservative viewpoint based on blind faith. But I digress.

My research on the subject of politics brought up this vital point: foreigners can't run for president! (13) It's actually in the constitution! Why the heck not? I can think of many foreigners who I would choose for president over some of our past presidential candidates (14). I've heard the argument that, if a terrorist were elected president, he could destroy our country from the inside!!!!!! Now, colour me red and call me a communist, but I don't think this is a rational point of view. I mean, we won't even elect someone who's not white, male, and protestant! How good do you think the odds of a turban wearing arab (16) becoming our president are? And even if we did, for some reason, elect a terrorist, what's he gonna do? Americans as a whole are not a very tollerant lot (17). So, lets say, for example, our new president Al-Al-Jabhar orders everyone in the United States to become suicide bombers for allah. Perhaps Rush Limbaugh, and others of his ilk would blindly follow their fanatical loyalty to the presiden to their respective dooms, but is that really a bad thing? The rest of america, of course, would ignore this command. So, all things considered, foreigners should be allowed to run for president, so Rush Limbaugh will die. There! Conscience assuaged!

FIN (42)

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The Beginning, as I'm sure Douglas Addams said before me, is generally a good place to begin.
I used the boost to get through
I kind of cared my 1st (4) year in high scool.
I know what your thinking, and you can just stop thinking it. Math will only baffle you when it's used on my years in high scool.
At this point I expect you can almost feel the modesty emanating from your monitor.
Ethics (eth-iks) Noun. A small, brightly coloured mammal feeding on insects and tree bark, found only in South and Central America.
The plot thickens!
MUAHAHAHAHAHA
Not that it matters. I'm voting in Utah. Who do you think will be recieving our electoral college votes? Obama? Not bloody likely!
Back before I discovered information.
Before I was born, in fact, I shared the most radically conservative point of view possible on abortion, that is, that it should NOT happen to me. Now that I'm reaching the autumn of my life, my views on the subject have changed. I'm now Pro- Death and Anti-Choice. I think that babies should die, but I should get to choose the one's that live. That way I can prevent the next generation from taking my damn job, while still creating a loyal cadre of infants to cater to my every whim.
You don't think that logic and reason dictate that I become a moderate liberal? Consider the following: While most of those graduating from college describe themselves as conservatives, the majority of those with upper level degrees describe themselves as liberals. Did I make that up? No, I learned it in my 4th year of high school. I think I'm working on an upper level high school degree, hence the ideological switch. Now, don't all of you start writing be angry letters about how I have my facts wrong. Actually, I take that back. I want to recieve angry letters from both of you.
I learned this on an episode of Schoolhouse Rock.
Read - George Bush, who has the intelligence quotient of a kumquat (15).
Actually, I'm sure he's a very intelligent guy, who's just been maligned by his accent and poor media skills. No, really.
Did I just make the generalization that all terrorists are muslims? Yes. Good thing no one actually reads this blog, ha ha. Before I get Jihaded, I should probably include in this footnote that at no point in time should I be taken seriously.
Our track record with those of a different skin colour isn't exactly stellar.

42. Yes, I'm aware that this blog read like it was written by wombats with parkinsons. What do you care? Noone even reads it!

You know what really grinds my gears?

2007-03-21T22:24:00.000-07:00

Checker.

Just one individual working at Checker, actually. Well, just one thing that this individual did, and that the delusions produced by not sleeping for some time now have twisted way ot of proportion, really. Did that sentence (1) make gramatical sense? Probably not. Anyhow, on to why my gears are a'grindin'.

So, KKK (2) has been actin' up lately. Seems The Battery wasn't workin' properly. I discovered this when my car died right before the light changed at the beginning of an intersection (3). It was a brisk spring afternoon in late winter. I reached the front of the intersection (4). The car died. I put on the ole' emergency flashers, and waved people around me to the right. The good people of Pleasant Gorve (5) heeded my cries, proceeded to honk at me sympathetically (7). Anyhow, eventually some kindly citizens helped me to push my car over to the side of the road, where I cried. After the weeping had terminated, I figured it would probably be a good plan to open the hood. (8) Immediately upon opening said hood (9), I noticed the massive amount of corrosion upon the positive terminal of my battery. "Aha," thought I, "I have discovered the root of the problem!" So, after a quick dose of the cure-all that is generic brand cola, I was ready to be on my merry way. Except for the fact that my bat'ry was still dead. So, a cry to my dearest mother was made. Jumper cables were produced, and electricity happened, allowing me to start my car and drive away, wiser for the experience.

Or DID it? Mere moments from my destination (10), ole KKK gives up the ghost AGAIN. I know! Where does it get off? Fortunatly, a wandering caravan of mormons (11) happened by to help pust my car once again to safety by the side of the road. Following this happy event, I walked to my destination, and followed the time honoured (12) method of vehicle repair, namely: Ignore the problem and hope it goes away. Unfortunately, this problem didn't take my subtle hints, and remained in full view of everyone, like an emberrasing zit or cousin.

Upon consultation with my friend and renowned auto expert Cooney McGuillicudy, (13) we determined that the positive terminal on my battery was indeed corroded (14) (15). Batteries were charged (once again,) and KKK was on its way back home.

The next day, Innocent Allister went off to purchase a new POSITIVE terminal for his battery. Remember this, it will be on the test. After being repeatedly assured by the (apparently asleep) Auto Zone (16) employee on duty, our hero returns to the blogcave only to find that, /ghasp!, he was given the wrong terminal (17). After much carping to the management of the household, someone with actual automotive experience was assigned to my case. While he took his vehicle to school (19), he did some manly things involving grease and rags to my car, (21) and discovered that some belts, one of which was connected to the alternator (22), were broken, so they had to be replaced. Fortunately, he had enough spare time and good will on his hands (23) that he was willing to go pick some belts up at the local Checker (24).

Well, that would have been the end of it. Belts installed, fan 'n' shroud replaced, car runnink (25). Had enough yet? We're not finished yet! (26) One of the belts they gave us was the wrong one (26), and, feeling that I had to contribute somehow to the repair process (29), I volunteered to go pick it up. I even brought the old belt (which was the right length, but the wrong style) and a sample of a different belt with the correct style of teeth 'n' thickness. Armed with these tools, and feeling foolishly confident (30), I headed off to the local Checker(31).

The friendly (and substantially more alert (33)) Checker employee (34), with stunning speed and accuracy (35), declared that the belt that I had was, in fact "A V belt", which was what I had come to retrieve. Allmost he did convince me (36) that I had come in vain, but my sample convinced him otherwise. With lightning alactrity, he said "Where'd you get this belt? Like, a generator or something?"

Now, imagine, if you will, the responses cropping up in my frustrated brain. If you came up with "Yes, I bring all of my generator parts to Checker EFFING AUTO PARTS," or possibly "are you stupid? These belts were bought from this very store for my car not half an hour ago," you have but begun to plumb the depths of my mental anguish at this point. In my pain, I croaked out. "No. It's. . . (pause for dramatic wheezing) a 1990 6 cylinder 4-Runner. It's a car." (37) Then, as quickly as it had begun (38), it was over. I drove home, more manly things were done with grease (39), and I swayed in the ecstacy (40) of having a working vehicle again. I think it even works better now(41)!

FIN (42)

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1. Just typed "scentence". What would that be? Some sort of meaningfull statement expressed through smell?

2. My 4-Runner, so named because it's white on the outside, with a blackened heart full of hate. And oil.

3. Is it called the "beginning" of the intersection when you're the 1st one in line at the light? I don't know, nor do I care. Who's writing this blog, you or me? For that matter, who's reading this blog? Noone, that's who!

4. See (3)

5. No, that's not a typo. I just thought "Gorve" sounded funny.(6)

6. This is your brain. This is your brain off sleep.

7. What exactly was honking supposed to accomplish in this situation? Were they under the delusion that I was unaware of the light having changed, despite the cars whizzing past me on the left and right? Did they merely not notice my emergency flashers and hand gestures indicating my inability to move? Were they merely dicks? I'll leave that one to the philosophers.

8. At least I'd look manly, which was a step up from the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth that was going on at the time.

9. Hey, both KKK and THE KKK have hoods! And they're both white ones!

10. Seriously. In like, 5 more moments, I would have been parked.

11. Acceptable other words for a large group of mormons: ward, stake, flock, herd, murder, gaggle, brigade, battalion, legion, family.

12. By me.

13. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

14. Presumably by liquid satan, or whatever they keep in those batteries.

15. I'd add that, at this point, my knowledge of basic car mechanics prompted me to say "I think it's the alternator, since it didn't recharge whilst running," but modesty forbids it.

16. "But I thought he said it was a CHECKER employee!" I hear you cry. Refer to the end of (3)

17. Why is our hero so certain that he recieved the wrong terminal? Will he escape from the ice cave in time? Will Nestor be able to save the farm? Tune in next footnote to find out!

18. The terminal I PURCHASED had 2 wires coming out of it. The terminal I was REPLACING was obviously manufactured by some obscure south american country with a religious fixaction on wires.

19. I love that car. Not only would I race it against anything but, say, a SuperCobra, but it also has a radio/CD player that works (20).

20. God is in it. Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Checkin the station.

21. Tee hee

22. We're not savadges anymore, we don't HAVE to resort to all caps.

23. In addition to the grease.

24. The plot thickens!

25. I kept trying to write running, but apparently in soviet russia, blog writes you.

26. An MGS (27) refference and a Yakof Smirnof refference in the same paragraph? I assume you've stopped reading by now.

27. You need a footnote to tell you what MGS is? You are dead to me.

28. Personally, I suspect it had something to do with the power steering. Why? Because the steering wheel moves much smoother now, and I'm hoping it's not because it's going to fall off in my hands, that's why!

29. Something like reconstruction for the south, I would imagine.

30. The key word here being foolishly.

31. Crap! Can't remember why this footnote's here! (32)

32. Ah yes, I was driving the afformentioned vehicle of the gods again. Sweeeet.

33. I can only blame the cocaine I'm sure he ingested before work for this fact.

34. Who I shall NOT refer to as "Arthritic McTattoo", since his name never comes up.

35. Stunning in the sense that neither of those attributes were, in fact, present.

36. To become a christian.

37. I included every possible detail I could think of at this point, hoping to have him return with something that would possibly result in my vehicle working.

38. Almost exactly as quickly. Picture about 30 minutes of his fevered (he had this fever to the extent that he was bedridden.) searching, and then another 30 minutes of attempting to figure out how to exchange things on one of them fancy computers.

39. See (21)

40. Except for the fact that I had to reset all of my radio presets.

41. It idles lower, and it's much easier to run alongside it whilst it is doing so. Trust me, I'm an expert on this matter.

42. The End

McBurton's McBlog

Voting, W00000!

Wiiiise Fwom Youw Gwaaaaave!

Carry On My Wayward Son. Carry on IN HELL

Casey James Payne 3rd Inaugural Bicentennial Song of the Week

You can look, but you can't touch!

2nd Annual Casey James Payne Memorial Song of the Week

Hmm?

HA!

Sheldon Contest

My Whiniest Blog To Date!

1st Casey James Payne Memorial Song of the Week

It's Blogging Time

What Do You Want To Do With Your Life!!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!!?!?!!?!?!!???!?!?!!?!?!?

Car Wars V: The Checker Strikes Back

Keepin Me Posted: The Post

We Fought The Law, and We Won, Didn't We, Cosmo?

You Know Who Else Had Long Hair? Jesus

Stream of Consciousness

Remember

We Built This City!

Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health

What Is Your Favorite Book, And Why?

"Mathletes In The Mist" or "My Time Among Them" (unfinished)

Celebratin' In Silence

Your Friend And Mine, George Bush

Burton Tackles the Big Stuff

You know what really grinds my gears?