How to Fail at Wing Sauce

14 Mar 2009

I have a kind of knack for coming up with delicious concoctions in the kitchen, well at least most of the time.   One thing I’ve discovered over the years is that sometimes, if you’re just good enough at something,  at times you can be extraordinarily bad at it.   So I was making wings one night, mostly because it was the only thing left in the damn freezer, and wouldn’t you know… it was the frozen kind that don’t come pre-coated in a layer of delicious and heart-attack enduing sauce.   So I was left with one alternative, I had to make some damn sauce.   Now, an old friend of mine could do wonders with a couple of cans of this stuff called Nazi sauce and a stick or two of butter.   I know it sounds gross, but it was oh-so delicious.   So I decided to sort of replicate that recipe with some butter, some sweet bbq sauce, and a splash of hot chili sauce…

So delicious alone, but when combined...

So as I was setting up the pot on the stove to mix all this stuff up in, began to feel this may not be a good idea; however, when put in a situation where I should probably not be doing something like this I present myself with two options that make me either question my manliness or embrace it.

OPTION ONE, PUSSY OUT: A decidedly unmanly option if there ever was one, if I decided to back down now not only would my wings go sauceless but I would have failed at my attempt to craft a new and delicious wing sauce recipe.    Granted, there was a chance I’d fail anyway, but it never looks good to pussy out without even trying.

OPTION TWO, GO BALLS DEEP: Hell yeah!  That sounds way more macho (stupid) and manly (extra stupid with a hint of crazy)!  Don’t think about things, if you’ve already started doing them go balls deep and just pray whatever you end up doing doesn’t destroy you.   Going balls deep has been a key factor in determining American Foreign policy since the 50s and nothing about that shit has gone wrong.  In a way, with that in mind, there was no way I could fail!

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The Joy of Statistics, Logistics and … Platypi

13 Mar 2009

This site, well, doesn’t get many comments.   Page views seem fairly high though, and I suppose that tells me that at least someone is reading this nonsense, and that’s really good enough for me.   As Huxley states every now and then in the rotating quotes on the right, obscurity can only be cultivated in the dark.   Or at least something to that effect.

When I first created this site, it was much like… say, a rebound relationship.   My last website broke my heart, cut me to the bone, and made me want to pick up an acoustic guitar and write the world’s billionth love song.   So this was the first thing I made.   At first I wanted to name it Platitudes.com, for the precise reason that, unless I’m being extremely lazy in my writing, I sort of go out of my way to avoid platitudes.   You could even say that it was intended to be ironic which would have been sure to tickle the funny bones of any Gen-Xer that happened to be reading this.   As a side note to that, I  once cracked wise that the best way to get money out of those idiots is to just call things what they are, they seem to think saying something is what it is in a really droll voice makes it cutting and clever.  Ironic.  My brilliant idea was to make Gen-X clothing.   Hats that said, in small text ‘hat.’   Shoes that were in fact labeled ‘Shoe Brand Shoes.’   Expensive t-shirts that said ‘T-Shirt.’   You get the idea.  Of course, I couldn’t get the website name I wanted which sort of irritated me, so I got the Warden on Ventrilo along with another friend of mine in an attempt to coax a new name out of them since my first choice was taken.

Being the super useful Co-Admin he is the Warden cracked wise that Platitudes sounded a lot like, Platypuses.  You know, the ugly poisonous duckbeasts from that wasteland of humanity known as Australia, where everything is poisonous and will kill your ass.  Especially the music, Jet sucks.  So, the suggestion was to name the site, I shit you not… PlatitudePlatypus.com.   While not only is this a stupid suggestion, against my better judgment I said, ‘dude, who would think of something like that?’   Little did I realize that this is the damn internet.  It’s not a matter of who would think of something like that, it’s a matter of when. So I did a google search for ‘platitude.’  This lead me to an article on uncyclopedia.  What’s that you see in the right hand corner upon viewing the page?   A FUCKING PLATYPUS SPEAKING PLATITUDES!

Sometimes, I swear that god only decides to exist to mock me.

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The Secret Legend of the American Ninja’s Blood Hunt Confrontation Annihilation

11 Mar 2009

In my last article I mentioned a very near and very dear old high school friend of mine.   Sam the American Ninja.  Somehow, if you could combine the utter awesomeness of all the American Ninja movies (somehow the count got to four, which goes to show artists who cannot get their scripts accepted must really suck), and sort of mashed it into the corporeal form of one human being, you would end up with a walking avatar of 1980’s film making wizardry.   What you probably wouldn’t end up with is Sam, because nothing about Sam was cool… even in a cheesy 80s action flick way.   What I mean is this… the American Ninja films are a million times less painful to you in the long run than a ten-minute conversation with this man was.  Let me give you Sam’s back story according to him, and before you ask… yes this is based on actual things he told me.  Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, well at least if that truth is in fact, fiction itself.

*                                                             *                                                              *

On a dark and stormy night an American Solider, stationed in Japan was killed by a clan of evil Ninjas.   His widow, fearful for her life knew that she had to protect her son, so she gave up her child and left him at a stranger’s doorstep and disappeared into the night.  The child was raised by the kind stranger… a wise old man who actually turned out with his dog ‘Interceptor’ to be … Ninja Master Shadow.  One day young Sam caught his master training in a forest clearing while he was fetching water from the well.   Shadow was standing there and all around him pots were dangling from ropes in the trees.   Then suddenly, there was a great rush of wind and all the pots exploded!  But, and this must be stressed while I say this, in order to get the full effect you have to imagine someone whispering this to you, Shadow never moved.  Also, this was totally not ripped off of those god awful Three Ninjas movies about the 2 skinny kids and 1 fat kid who defeated entire clans of ninjas with corny jokes and nerf guns.   Then, Shadow turned to Sam.


“Sam, today is the day that you must decide if you wish to learn the ways of the Ninja, for you have seen me practicing and now you know the truth and cannot stay if you do not take a vow of secrecy and swear under the ninja code that you will not reveal this truth to any outsiders.  Wahtaaaaaaaaaaa!”


“You told me that Ninjas killed my family!  How can I trust you now you stupid old man!  I will get my revenge and avenge my family by getting revenge and defeating you thereby getting vengeance!  Eat my American fists of justice!”

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Of Guild Wars, Platitudes, and the American Ninja

09 Mar 2009

Platitudes.   Everyone speaks them, few understand how utterly obnoxious they can be.   Rewind to a few months ago, I was on my ventrilo server (as in my, I own it) with my guild mates from Guild Wars.   Allow me to sort of explain that, the Guild Wars thing I mean.   You see, I purchased Guild Wars a long time ago, actually about four years ago when it first came out for the PC.  I was looking for an RPG to play online with my friends that wasn’t an MMO.   Since Guild Wars is a co-operative role playing game and not a persistent world MMO, I thought I would enjoy it.   Little did I know the horrors that awaited me.   Little did I know…

Let me plant a visual in your head to sort of describe the game play experience I’ve had while playing Guild Wars.    You see, Guild Wars allows you to play solo, by bringing AI henchmen.    You can’t solo a god damn thing unless you’re farming or vastly experienced, and the first expansion was so bug ridden you had to do some missions five times in a row in order to enchant each piece of your equipment, leading to annoyance and mostly rage.   The first six months I sort of struggled through Guild Wars was kind of like fighting that crazy asshole Mike Tyson in an electrified cage when he’s got boxing gloves that are actually spiked gauntlets and I’m armed only with a really soft pillow and armor made out of novelty plastic ears.   I chose a Warrior, because I always enjoy getting the Melee classes to do neat little tricks.   I decided to make my secondary class Elementalist.    So I’d be basically a Spellsword.   If you’ve played guild wars you know where this is going,  if you haven’t let me tell you something about that combination of classes… it only works in specialized circumstances, or when you know what the fuck you are doing.   Thankfully, I didn’t.   So I gleefully wandered around getting killed, the sheer variety of places I manged to get myself killed was really the only adventure I got to experience in my brave journey though Tyria.    Dead in a marsh.   Dead in a desert.   Dead in a magical flying castle.   Dead in a river.   Dead on a mountain summit.   Dead in river of molten lava, giving a dramatic thumbs up much like The Terminator.    Dead in a pristine field surrounded by bunnies, piggies and magical rainbows that reflect the innocence of a child’s dream playfully in the sky.     Dead along with my worthless, inept, AI controlled companions.

The face of uselessness.

If you decide to go on a magical quest to save the world armed only with good intentions and a heart for adventure and these are the faces you see when you go to town to assemble a party, for your safety and sanity’s sake, just turn around and go home.   Trust me.

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Exploitation of the Dead for Fun and Profit

10 Feb 2009

If you live in Central Florida, you’d have to agree with me that this Caylee Anthony case has completely got out of control.  It’s disgusting how the media has been going on and on about this for months.  You’d almost believe there was nothing better to talk about.  Certainly not the housing crisis…

… or joblessness…

… or Central Florida Blood Banks profiteering off donated blood for their board of directors…

… or the endless homeless problem…

… or the rising murder rate…

…or the State’s lame duck do-nothing governor who only seems to be able to take a position when it comes to what brand of  brand of sun-tan lotion to use in between press conferences where he assures everyone that ‘everything’s going to be fine’ as long as you don’t ask questions or think about the situation at large, of course.

To think, that those are just things that I’ve thought of off the top of my head.

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Starship Rock 69 & 1/2 – Chapter 3

18 Jan 2009

3

Wayward Son

Dudelicious looked over the ship’s command room, truly impressive. Sexy women handling all the flight controls and armed guards at all the doors. A wide window panned around the room in a large circle. He was standing on the command deck with Rockbring. Rocker 69 was on his way to the infirmary, so he was not present. Rock Whore had already began to undress Nurse Kiki and continued to … do things… to her on the ship’s command console.

“So youse wanted to lay some info-mation on me?”

Rockbring pressed a button on the command console that was right next to Rock Whore’s CENSORED. An image came up, of one of them tentacles and all. “Dudelicious, we’ve been looking for you for some time. It seems you’ve attracted their attention. You’ve done smuggling jobs for a lot of my men and agents, and your combat prowess is impressive. You see the band is both a front and our focus. We pull jobs all across the galaxy in order to find the great rift.”

“The great rift doesn’t exist, ya dig. I’ve been chasin’ that wild goose fo the past five years o my life. I’m tellin’ you, there’s no hint not even a rumor of where it could be. If that’s your goal then youse is jus’ wastin’ my time.”

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Scortched Frontier – Bring Me The Disco King – Chapter 2

05 Jan 2009

The meeting room was densely populated, it was clear, upon Ezekiel’s late entry that Estrada was waiting for him. There was a thin haze of cigar smoke hanging overhead as he made his way towards a seat in the front of the room. The room itself was far too open for the couple dozen people scattered about its dusty halls.

Estrada wasted little time getting things started, he stood behind a church window as the dawns light poured in through the stained glass behind them. This was the Cathedral back in the day, now it was town hall. The general consensus around the frontier was that whatever god was watching over the old ones died with them and as a result all their holy books were purged from the area long ago. Estrada once told Ezekiel that their was enough kindling from the books that as a young boy staring into the flames he felt like he was he was in front of a great burning tower, like one of the buildings in the great cities that could no longer be reached and existed only as a memory suddenly manifested before his eyes to burn as it sure had in the cataclysm.

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Random Quote

If you always put limit on everything you do, physical or anything else. It will spread into your work and into your life. There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.

— Bruce Lee
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