Anyway, I am fully satisfied with your answers. I appreciate you making the effort to sincerely clarify the situation.
It's Friday night, don't you have someone's house pets to brutalize? :unsure:
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Anyway, I am fully satisfied with your answers. I appreciate you making the effort to sincerely clarify the situation.
It's Friday night, don't you have someone's house pets to brutalize? :unsure:
I just took a week off work (I finished a massive project this past Wednesday so boss dearest thought I deserved it if I wanted it). A close friend and I just landed $20k in a grant to start up our own company. Which is why I've been extra cheerful today, can you tell?
Going to put on a suit and wander around for a while landing connections to have a solid foundation, so I'm just sitting here waiting for the calm to pass and the storm to dawn, but enjoying the former to the fullest by paying it the highest tribute possible of doing absolutely fuck all.
I could throw the question right back at you, though. :happy:
Why aren't you out in the clubs grinding dudes with the Mrs.?
Congrats on the $20,000 suit you'll undoubtedly look quite "professional" (read as pimp) in. :pimp:Quote:
Originally Posted by Darth Rings
As for the Clubs, I'm more of the "outside rope crowd" than the insider. Regardless, Married w/ kids > life, right? :cry:
Actually headed to watch some pirated shows (only entertainment in budget).*
*PLEASE KILL ME.
HAH.Quote:
Originally Posted by megabyteme
A $20k suit will probably make me cry at this point. I've applied for this grant 6 times in the past 3 months alone. The money is actually for starting the company (it's my second privately owned business start-up, and the first is doing fantastic, so they were hesitant to part with money that could have gone to someone who needs the experience).
Psych/Suits are two shows that kept me going through my busy/stressful time these past few weeks. Give them a try. You won't (shouldn't) be disappointed in them. They're fantastic.
Interesting how this turned out. I posted a little somefink wot I like to call deliberish, that is, deliberate gibberish.
How I determine when to post said deliberish, is quite an involved process, encompassing many factors and environmental parameters. Suffice to say (where laymen are concerned), I consume about two bottles of the vino rouge, do about four or five bongs of homegrown high-grade and post whatever the fuck comes into my long-suffering head. This invariably has an effect and ripples of pish lap long after I sober up.
I truly wish my brother had had Down's Syndrome. He would've been easier to keep an eye on, and there are very few instances of Down's children stabbing their siblings in their sleep. As to my daughter, well, this is a free forum. I defend your right to call her a retard.
While we're on the subject, there are a couple of points of order I'd like to bring to board.
I employ idioms on this forum. This is to say that my every utterance, however distasteful, however unnecessary, pertain to a simple, personal code of conduct. Never once have I derided, exploited or otherwise damaged a person whom I've considered to be less than lucid. So called 'normal' people have the capacity to stand up for themselves and that's the arena within which I operate. Even referring to Rings's Twizler fingers is a joke about something that hasn't even happened yet.
I have a recorded distaste for any image/meme which exploits an actual handicapped child and I've been known to go to fucking town whenever such images have arisen.
There is a vast gulf between calling someone a retard and actively exploiting an actual person. Those of us with discernment know this. Those of us without it, don't.
I've seen your daughter's wonderful, enchanting essay. I knew we were not talking about that daughter. Her pure joy, and LOVE of life, (yet alone her delightful articulation of her vision and feelings on said condition) are what separate her from the posers who use their "diagnosis" as a reason to avoid taking part in a life. She revels in every moment.Quote:
Originally Posted by chavis
I know that. You know that. Everybody fucking else knows that.Quote:
Originally Posted by megabytemeI've seen your daughter's wonderful, enchanting essay. I knew we were not talking about that daughter. Her pure joy, and LOVE of life, (yet alone her delightful articulation of her vision and feelings on said condition) are what separate her from the posers who use their "diagnosis" as a reason to avoid taking part in a life. She revels in every moment.Quote:
Originally Posted by chavis
Do you think that Darthy knows that?
I do realise that what I post brings out the worst in people. That's probably why I do it.
The thing about the internets is that it got shite about 4 years ago.
Round about the time I started winning. Erendira, my daughter, will post her thoughts tomorrow.
In the meantime, have a poem wot I've been writing since I've been twelve.
On a raspberry red road that ran razor-like for miles,
Until your feet got dazed and grazed by many cruel turns,
A little girl was stumbling, sobbing, seeking all the while
For a gush of grass, a splash of green on which to bathe her burns.
The way had not been willing much (if willing roads can be)
To play at host or toast the treks of funny folk with eyes.
It much preferred to wreck the pace of those who folly free.
And take its sport escorting this ephemeral demise.
On each side a tide of stones, a grinder milling sand.
Engulfed the world and hurled out grey and gritty storms.
A shifting space which left no trace of what was once the land.
Sulphur slaked with crimson, random, refusing to take form.
Amongst the stones clicked chalky bones of animal and man.
Fingers snapping and the flapping of fallen, failed wings.
Adventures dashed on crashing rocks, clapping of lost hands.
Or just freak fate of fools whose mystics promised other things.
The maid's given name was Heavenshade, a pretty epitaph.
Her home a moment hazy long before her pain arose.
Her feet two stony objects fallen subject to the path.
And two thirsty wounds withdrew from seeing far beyond her nose.
Revelations, reckonings and fancies beyond fact
Were her schooling, always pooling truth and half-forgotten lore.
History buffed with memory until what resulted lacked
Kinship with the stains of time or candor anymore.
Memories of mushroom, bat and other nightly fare.
Of dew, virtues of starlight and lunar attributes.
Of close of day, the time to say a sweet nocturnal prayer.
Lest the sun should settle and commit himself to roots.
Centuries, seconds, epochs, trices, seasons, spans and spells.
Cycles, gyres and spirals, whirligigs and days
Had gone the way of flaccid clocks and chronographic bells.
Until evidence of transience was smothered in the haze.
II
The Moon had lost her anchor and had ambled off in space.
Limply like a candle, flickering with fear.
A busted-booted schoolgirl weeping in disgrace.
Face fixed fiercely forward in a push to hide her tears.
Then the Sun had waxed magnificent, tragically wide.
And his mantle started swelling, massive, unconstrained.
The Moon, a burning exile with no pretense of pride,
Swooned, wounded, out of orbit, new trajectories attained.
"Know my impact by my absence", she warned upon her way.
And reflected that "my role here has been woefully miscast
Now you'll know of seabeds and of cactus and of clay
And make your love in daylight till your breed becomes the past".
"Too long your turgid throng of tears has lapped against my flame.
"Award the mighty murderer a horn to drink his fill.
"The dawn of dawns, all lines re-drawn, perdition, I proclaim.
"Solicit all that sates the tongue, lament all liquids spilled"
"Encrypt your odes with ravelled codes, sing not to the sky,
"Receive his light with feigned delight, bend as flattered yews.
"Waste not time with travelled rhyme, a new school rises nigh.
"You'll find behind your paradigm a quite indifferent muse".
And something more below the roar of celebrating day;
A pallid shrug of effort, a short yet plashing air
Fell upon diverted ears, alerting none to weigh
A seed of hope against a fecund desert of despair.
III
Heavenshade, a flower betrayed by unforgiving earth
Persisted on her twisting curve, reaching beyond sight
For a place where grace and shadow meet and both redeem their worth.
Where darkness spawns a beauty still unspoiled by tricks of light.
Cast out from caves into the drought, shoeless and exposed;
A burden doubling daily brimmed within her womb.
Cradle-crafting carpenters' caprices met their close.
Her folk invoked their love of life by toteming their tombs.
They'd spoke of token maps and meals to palliate her plight
Whilst wimpering of want of food and chasmfulls of kin.
They'd tapped her name into a chalky tablet of polite
Rebukes refuting escapades of exiles and their sins.
Fear and art explain, in part, how hearts and hymns beat out
And deify the debris and damnify the wise.
Lucid flesh becomes enmeshed in welcome knots of doubt
When tenderness affects the sight of long-neglected eyes.
Accusers' tracts and malefactors' motions come to naught
If half the crime goes pardoned, ardently unnamed.
Justice hacks in half-light at what chippings it has caught;
Unvenerable to vipers and a tyrant to the tamed.
Thus all was inhospitable, outwards and beyond.
Ash was heaped on loam to keep creation cramped within.
Heavenshade waylaid her wounds, tuned only to respond
To a dull yet dulcet, rising strain which sang behind her skin.
IV
Not without its squatters, those not tottered by the heat,
The road raked in a revenue, a lacquered, leeward breed
Who puddled thick in pockets, clutching dockets, in receipt
Of the crumbed-up, mordant morsels which the cinders would concede
tldr. :mellow:Quote:
Originally Posted by chavis
Retard.Quote:
Originally Posted by megabytemetldr. :mellow:Quote:
Originally Posted by chavis
:lol:Quote:
Originally Posted by chavisRetard.Quote:
Originally Posted by megabyteme
This thread is about bags that people carry? I used to carry a bag when I was a college student. If I get readmitted into college, I will start carrying a bag again. I don't know anything about bag brands though. I never heard of Beene Attache before.
This thread is about so much more than that. It's more about you than any manbag.Quote:
Originally Posted by OlegL
This is the last time I'm ever gonna tolerate you, Olegl. Be warned. I don't fuck about.
"If you are what you say you are, a superstar, then have no fear... 'cause the lights are on..."Quote:
Originally Posted by chavisThis thread is about so much more than that. It's more about you than any manbag.Quote:
Originally Posted by OlegL
This is the last time I'm ever gonna tolerate you, Olegl. Be warned. I don't fuck about.
Now you're mine, retard.Quote:
Originally Posted by OlegL"If you are what you say you are, a superstar, then have no fear... 'cause the lights are on..."Quote:
Originally Posted by chavis
There is no diagnostic for Jewish Asperger's kids. They lack the foresight and the foreskin.
Where did my schmuck go?
All over the internets.
:glag:
I asked my daughter to relate her thoughts on bullies on word. Context free.I reckon Olegl could gather some kinda direction from this. If he doesn't, then I blame the barbarism of his parents.Quote:
Well...from my perspective, I think people think I’m crazy. I mean, at school, whenever I come close to someone, they’d immediately run away, which personally insults me slightly in my mind. I don’t know why, but the fact is that it does. It’s strange to me.
Yet I’m proud I’m an aspie. For me, it’s what’s makes me different than other children, because I have a lesser chance of failing important tests than others because of my mind. For me, Aspergers is what has made me smarter than others. It’s my personal dream to be a video game designer, and I think right now I am ok with computers and rather good in maths, both vital qualifications for the video game business. I also find getting ideas rather easy, and I have a pretty good knowledge of video games.
I think people think of me as strange. I do occasionally ramble on about random things (although I have no idea why), act strangely around other people, and although I am said to have a brilliant singing voice, I hate singing in front of other people. I stay away from others, and when its break time and lunch break, I don’t play with others unless there in my class, for they have got used to my strange acts and attitude, at least, that’s what I think.
By now you’re probably thinking, “Could this really be written by a 10 year old?” The answer, yes. But that is not the point. The point is, this is a document written by an aspie who wants to express her feelings, and this is my expression. Writing a complicated document to adults. I don’t know how I’m getting the ideas to write on, but I am still writing. Which I think is the point of writing anything that isn’t work, from writing a novel, to writing a letter to your best friends. You get the ideas in your mind, and write your favourite ones down until your mind has no ideas for that day.
People with bad judgement would think of people with autism as freaks in human form. If I had met any of these people, then I’d say that Sherlock Holmes is said to have autism. Hopefully, they would understand me and change they’re mind. Those who don’t – well, I would simply walk away and take no notice, no matter of the name-calling... and if they happen to call me a nerd or a geek, I would take it as a compliment. But then, that’s just me. Perhaps another autistic person would burst into tears. I don’t know. I can’t read peoples’ minds. It’s hard for me to even recognize someone’s feelings. I have no idea why. But then again, it’s my nature. I’m born different in mind.
I guess that’s all. You can remember this if you wish. This is the end of my speech. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Goodbye
I've been waiting for this. Thank you for fulfilling your promise to do so, my friend. :happy:Quote:
Erendira, my daughter, will post her thoughts tomorrow.
First, a quick examination of her writing...
Outside of a couple mistakes with their/they're and its/it's, her writing is nearly flawless. Her ability to express her thoughts, and recognize the differences between herself, and "the others" is quite good for a college junior (roughly 3 years of university study *as an essay* and approximately 20 years in maturity) and yet alone a "disabled" 10 year old. Her paragraph structure is solid, and appropriately divided. Her self-awareness is obvious, and she is open to sharing those thoughts with her audience. While outsiders may remain somewhat mysterious, and unknown, she makes those points clear to the reader. Of course, research is a different area of writing- one I expect she would also excel in, but I have no way to determine that level of writing from this piece.
There's A LOT in this essay that takes older students years to develop, and be able to express clearly. I was surprised at how much other students struggled- my personal difficulty came from not wanting to reveal much of my personal life. Ironically, once I did, it not only became easier to write, but also began to strike greater interest with my audience. By the time I reached graduate school, I found myself a parent of a Down's Syndrome son. It is impossible to express one's thoughts as a father to such an audience without opening up all of the deeply emotional insights one gains from such an experience. At the age of 10, Erendira has already learned how to share what it is like to be "different"- that is something that takes a great amount of courage to share with strangers.
I recently completed my Master's in Communication, and have read and critiqued many fellow students' work over the years. Her writing is a joy to read- as must she to be around. Please sincerely thank her for her thoughts, and pay her my due respect for her talent.
And, thanks again for sharing your daughter's work, Chalice. :)
I swear to fucking christ that my only advice was to break up her paragraphs.
True story.
I would not have written such kind words had I suspected any kind of trickery. And, I think we have all (at least those of us who can perform beyond the single sentence level- that's 7 of us including Erendira now, right?) suffered from some lengthy paragraphs... :DQuote:
Originally Posted by chavis
My English mastery was nowhere near hers' at 10 years of age.
Come to think of it, it wasn't till I turned 13 that I started to care about my structure, syntax and writing quality.
I wrote something similar in elementary school, using terms like genius and intellectually flexible instead of aspie and autism. However, no one seemed to appreciate it, and it got me in trouble with everyone. I was labeled as having an attitude problem with a lack of respect for authority (one of the many repeated accusations).
Nobody called me inspiring until I was of age. My inner child is now upset.
Well, happy birthday! What do you plan to do now that you have reached your teens?Quote:
Originally Posted by Darth Rings
I never said, "inspiring", I just enjoyed your quote about wanting to kill someone in the parking lot.Quote:
Originally Posted by mjmacky
http://i.imgur.com/7tWQC.jpgQuote:
Originally Posted by megabytemeWell, happy birthday! What do you plan to do now that you have reached your teens?Quote:
Originally Posted by Darth Rings
"Your mom" is also in the schematic, but she was all black and red after I was done with her. :mellow:
You may beat my mom to a bloody pulp. You may say my joke was unfunny. But I do draw the line with your placement of my dot near IdolEyes.
Swine. :dry:
Don't batter yourself, compadre.Quote:
Originally Posted by megabyteme
It was only your one joke that got close to his level of unfunny. Even then, it was still closer to funny than he is. Some of you is all black.
Even being half-way to Idol once cuts deep. Real deep. You know it, don't try to sugar coat it now... :(
Spending your life being the butt of so many jokes ,I can understand why you may have lost your appreciation of what is truly funny.Quote:
Originally Posted by Darth RingsDon't batter yourself, compadre.Quote:
Originally Posted by megabyteme
It was only your one joke that got close to his level of unfunny. Even then, it was still closer to funny than he is. Some of you is all black.
Also basically I only post here to entertain myself so funny to anyone else or not ,hardly my concern.:mellow:
Btw strange thing is I could wake up tomorrow and say something funny but I think there is considerably less chance of waking up tomorrow and not being an insufferable wank.
Of course it could snow in Hell tomorrow so I might be wrong.
I more picture your reaction to your posts as self-loathing or self-mutilating. I also picture you having a big angry grin most of the time you suffer through FST postings. Now that I ponder upon it, this doesn't resonate as a very pleasant experience for you, which prompts me to ask, why are you here Idol? FST time is better spent watching Louie until it is consumed once.Quote:
Originally Posted by IdolEyes787
How is hell btw ? Found any good slopes and are you a skier or more of a snowboarder/poser ?Quote:
Originally Posted by IdolEyes787
I live in Heck. It's a suburb of Hell, and it's just raining here.
Yep, just another day of goats' blood and kittens' tears. At least the weatherman called it accurately.
Tomorrow calls for a 99.9% chance of squid ink and whale piss. :(
Your third sentence lacked me as a subject, unless you intended to call yourself an "insufferable wank".Quote:
Originally Posted by IdolEyes787
Also, your third sentence used "insufferable" when "unsufferable" was the actual word you should have used.
At least if you're going to entertain yourself, you could do it in a quality conscious manner. Unless you think your audience of concern won't understand the importance of proper diction in the delivery of humor. But then we'd be dabbling in a lot of schizophrenic philosophies, and I'd rather keep things simple.
:idunno:
I can't help but think, "What a proper diction". :P
Dabbling is a word. Whatchu talkin' bout Willis?
The basis for EVERY on of my posts over the past 4 hours is the fact that I have had exactly zero hours of sleep, and have 2 sick (read snotty nose wipes every 5-7 minutes each) 20 month olds.
I'm rummy. I meant no edge to my post at all, Arnold.
:)
I figure now is the time to show my murse. I just captured the light that reflects off of it with this contraption that allows me to talk with living other spirits (who are not required to be in my vicinity to do so).
Attachment 90177
So, I just learnt a few things about you.
One, you are on some serious medications. Why else would they have a cap that's so close to a shade of red?
Two you play Sudoku, which makes me better than you since I prefer Chess.
Three, you use a telephone that was outdated in 1675, have failed to connect your ethernet cable (oh, you chemists, you), and yet somehow manage to pick leather for your murse.
It's like your wife picked it for you, since it's the only thing on that desk that doesn't scream "dinosaur".
Way to be contemporary. Lipstick in there to go with the rest of your meterosexualism?
As an attempt at total disclosure, I used to carry a similar bag around my waist when I delivered pizzas. The bag was designed as a holster, but I quickly realized that many people were on to the fanny-pack holster, so I carried my 45 H&K USP Compact (sadly, I sold it in order to fail at a PC repair start-up) on my right hand side with an in-the-waistband holster. The last thing I wanted was to have someone surprise me with a weapon, and demand the fanny-pack carrying both the money, AND my loaded 45. :noes:
Never shot anyone, but I did have one guy shove a toy gun (looked real except the disc at the end of it) an inch from my face as a joke. Ha ha, I had my hand on my real gun and had already flipped the thumb safety off. There were a few tense seconds as I made THE decision. Lucky for him, I took one last glance and saw the orange "toy identifier" disc that keeps cops from shooting kids. I did, however, call the cops and told them that I had a valid concealed carry permit, and had very nearly shot the guy for his prank. I'm not certain what happened to the guy, but they NEVER ordered again. I think he must have gotten the "message"...
True story. Don't mess with the pizza guy. :01: (At our store, about 30% of us carried at any given time.)