Salka

Zen Micro also has portable storage facility, microphone, FM radio (you can record radio stuff too). It can only play MP3's, WAV's and WMA's, but I never listen to Midi or OGG files anyway. It's also a gorgeous, compact design, has a date & time fuction, and an organizer. I got the car kit for it and it's deadly; nothing like cranking up Nine Inch Nails at 7:30 in the morning as my Mom drives me in to school. Beats listening to crackly long-wave radio. To be honest, I'm not bothered about functions like date & time... I'm delighted with the microphone and the fact I can record from the radio. It's totally sexy. It has character. Compared to the iPod Mini, the obvious direct competitor, it definitely beats it. I'm not sure how the Zen compares to the iPod (full size versions) though.

I used to get so frustrated in Tekken III, no controller lasted more than a week Your controller is obviously retarded. I recommend you buy the insurance plan on it next time.

I don't think I'd like Ron and Tim to collaborate on a project. I don't know, I think they're perfectly capable of creating their own incredible games, without the other. Dave Grossman is a really creative, funny guy. I'd like to see him at Double Fine. I don't know why, but this happened in a dream I had a few weeks ago, and it was awesome.

That man needs a razor, and snappy.

Yeah, I thought that'd draw your attention to the topic. Ha ha, suckers! Well the joke is on me. They really are having sex. Fucking fuckers. I hate this shit so much.

Wow, congratulations. That's pretty goddamn kickass!

Yeah. It's all true. The last unbelievable story I told was about The Resident Evil Hotel that we were staying in over January, while it was closed to business. I was going to get pictures, but another unbelievable story began; the story of how my Mom stopped speaking to me for absolutely no reason. So in the end, she made me walk in and out of school about seven miles every day, while she basked in the petrifying comfort of Resident Evil Hotel every night. So I couldn't get pictures. In the end, my Mom DID apologise to me. She drove past me one night about two weeks after it all began. It was raining and dark, and I had no reflectors or anything. I was almost invisible, walking miles in the dark and rain on this narrow country road. She wound down the window and asked coldly if I wanted a lift. I'm as stubborn as she is, so I said no, also very coldly. However, that was because I was in fact, very cold. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly, "I really am. I don't want to lose your friendship." So I got in the car and said, "continue." "It's just... I got really angry. I shouldn't have left you in town that time, with no money or anything. You didn't do anything wrong, it's just that... sometimes, Oscar drives me over the edge," she explained. "Maybe you shouldn't stand so fucking close to it all the time, then." Oscar remarked casually from the passenger seat. Well, oh man. she jammed her foot on the brakes, turned around and screamed, "OSCARRRRR!!!" and I honestly thought she was going to kick me out of the car and not speak to me for another two weeks. Still, I'll see can she take pictures of various places around the hotel next time she goes in there, even though they won't be as scary with drunk people in wedding outfits stumbling around. And when there are hot drunk girls in short skirts knocking about, I hear that the Watching Paintings don't bother looking at you any more.

Yeah, I know. My life does kick ass, doesn't it?

My parents don't HAVE to imagine that scenario. In other news... I'm going to see Thin Lizzy on Thursday next. Woooo!

Man, what a lame thread title. Anyway, in light of my newly rediscovered sense of humour, I decided to host a small but elegant Poetry Remix0red thread (the title having nothing to do with Remixor, I was just trying to make it sound cool, but I guess I failed, like I fail at pretty much everything, and then some, and then I accidentally insult people without even knowing I opened my mouth, possibly because I'm typing with my fingers and not my teeth). Anyway, are you a budding peotryogist? Can you think of two words that ryhme? Great! Then let's get cracking! The aim of this thread is to write beautiful, poignant, lyrical verse (I don't even know if that makes sense, but I heard some guy say it before and it sounded pretty intelligent, and he sounded like he knew what he was talking about, and I think it was poetry). Leave your contributions here! And none of that sort of shit we have to study in school, like The Hedgehog, by Dumbass D. McDumbass. Man, that didn't even RYHME, and it wasn't FUNNY. That's not real poetry. I'll show you REAL Poetry, Mr The-Snail-Moves-Like-A-Hovercraft-Blah-Blah-Blah-This-Poem-Is-About-Hedgehogs-Because-They're-Totally-Like-Jesus-Blah-Blah-ROCK-ON!. Your name is dumb, your poem is dumb, and the name I just called you is dumb, too. Pfft! Let's get crackin'! I'll start; P.S. It must be poetry about IDLE THUMBS. On one freezing January morn, I went down, at the crack of dawn To make a coffee in the kitchen, And also to let the goddamn cat in In actual fact I don't have a cat I just said that because it rhymed. Anyway, continuing on with my poignant tale, I let in the cat and picked up the mail, And once in the kitchen I turned on the taps, to be met with absolutely no water, not a DROP, because it had frozen fucking up overnight. You twats! Angry and thirsty, I returned to my room Where I turned my attentions to an internet forum (Room and Forum don't really rhyme But I'm tired and thirsty and I don't have much time) They had nothing to say and neither did I I looked at the active users list. No wonder, say's I, They're all online. That's it. Goodbye!

Wtver...

...Australia?

Alright, so I actually put out the fire last night, and then I came upstairs again to chill out and it started up again after about an hour, at which point I got really exasperated, but continued to battle against the raging flames nonetheless. Oscar strolled over and stood with his hands in his pockets. "I need to piss," he said. "What does that have to do with anything?" I asked furiously. "Do you want to me to piss on the fire?" It reminds me of this time, last year, when a hot coal fell out of the fire in our other living room, and he panicked, leapt up, unzipped himself and started hopping from foot to foot over the coal, trying to pee on it. Ow wow, I'm actually not joking. Dad got home and complained about how wet the floor was, and my Mom- oh, yeah! I forgot she bought coca cola! Hang on. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. She makes me think somebody already did

Because they've been separated for five years and hated each other for ten, and at one point we all moved away with my Mom for two years, and then we only came back to sell this house, and now they're having sex, and I'm just like... are we ever going to sell this house? Or are we all just going to sit around having sex? Hey MOM, I'm going to have sex with that GUY you HATE that I don't even KNOW HIS NAME. HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL? Oh man, by the way, here's another reason I hate my Dad: my Dad recently rebuilt the fireplace downstairs. With wood. And now the house is on fire. I'm not even joking, it's burning right as I'm typing this. It's not even funny. I just took a break from throwing water on to it to come up here and type this, because there just so happened to be a pot of boiling water on the Range, so I threw that, and most of it ended up on my wrists. And then what DID go on the fire simply exploded into a cloud of ash and steam which burned our lungs and our faces. Now I can't even call the Fire Brigade because they'll be like, "What happened to your face and wrists?" and I'll have to be like, "Uh, I got excited and confused, and threw boiling water over myself." Like, seriously, who builds a fireplace out of wood? The same person that has sex with my Mom, maybe? I'm gonna go throw some more water on this fire, desperately, in the vague hope of saving my bedroom.

I fucking... what the fuck? I hate everything! I am unbelievably upset. This is like when you get a dog, and you keep patting it on the head and then slapping it on the nose. What the fuck am I supposed to think?

wtf r u typin that on ur fone R sumn?

Name? Electra Bigbreasts. Power? Feminine wile. She travels to Terrorist Countries such as the ones where Muslims live, and fights terror, using the power of the male imagination. Simply by looking at her fully clothed body, Muslim Terrorists imagine her naked, and are distracted while she shoots them in the head with a sawn off shotgun. She also frequents the USA, where she organizes raids on terrorist housing estates and detects Terrorist Babies by checking for things such as guns or knives on their person, and deports them to islands off the West Coast of Ireland. Although I cannot win since I do not play that game. So I shall not include the phrase. Will & Grace Truman, eh?

Pierce Brosnan actually said that Colin Farrell would be best for the role, and would (and I quote); 'eat the heads off everybody else'. I hope it's not him, and I hope it's not Ralph Fieeennnnees, but Hugh Jackman wouldn't be that bad.

April 19th is a Tuesday here. Sexy. Now, not only am I excited for Psychonauts, but I'm excited to find out what they'll come up with next. Woo.

And Yufster.

Just for the heck of it, I smoked a cigarette today. Jesus fucking Christ. How do people get addicted to these things? Even if you only start getting addicted after a couple, surely smoking even one is enough to put you off FOREVER? They are disgusting. I knew it was gonna be gross, but man, I nearly coughed my lungs up. It was like billions of tiny little people, hacking away at my throat. And it burned. Just so I can say I did, I smoked the whole friggin' thing and it was hugely unpleasant. I am still not breathing properly. And maybe you get used to it after a while, but I could feel it killing my lungs. It's like inhaling a lungful of SMOKE. In fact, that's exactly what it IS. If you like nicotine, why not just get nicotine patches in the first place and skip the smoking bit? I must have looked the exact opposite of sexy, standing there choking and spluttering with smoke pouring out of my nose and mouth, and probably even my eyes. Who here smokes, and why?!

Jesus Christ, Spaff, that was awesome! I know a kid that has no... foreskin?

Today all fifth year Honours English students in my school went to Dublin to see a very lavish production of King Lear. The theatre itself was pretty manky looking, but inside it was nice, with tiered seats and stuff. Once we were seated inside, the Director walked onstage to deliver the mandatory 'we'll kick you out if you make a sound' speech. He sounded pretty uptight and started on a bad note by telling us exactly what we could not do and exactly what he'd do if we did it. Since I'd already been threatened by the teachers for the past couple of English classes, I took out my Cell Phone and started downloading games. Apparently, 02 ACTIVE have created an entirely new genre of games; For Her. When I investigated further, I discovered there is currently only one game in existence that fits into this genre; Powerpuff Girls. I decided to opt for the slightly better-sounding Black Citadel, an RPG featuring 'battles'. I waited about ten minutes for this stupid piece of shit to be sent to my phone, and it never was. It's probably still wandering around in the sky, like a lost soul, trying to find my phone. It's probably floating off the bleak West Coast of Ireland right now. An entire game, just floating along, invisible. Do you think we'll ever have Cyber Fishermen? They could take special ElectroSMS-Nets and plunder the air of vital information as it travels peacefully from phone to phone. Before I knew it, the Director had finished talking and the play had started. Whatever he said, he must have said it good, because I didn't even hear anybody breathing in that place. I don't know if you know this, but the Stage versions of King Lear tend to be different from the script of the play. I don't even know if that made sense, but my point is, I guess it hadn't occured to me before how backstabbing the two sisters, Goneril and Regan are. And then, much to my horror, as I watched, Goneril kissed Edmund behind Regan's back!!! This never happened in the version we read! And if it did, I wasn't listening! "You TRAMP!" I gasped. It was a little louder than I had meant it to be. The actors hesitated on stage. 'You Tramp' echoed and re-echoed around the hall. It seemed as if it was never going to go away, and when it finally did, there was this silence. And then everybody burst out laughing. The people in front of me turned to look at me. The people behind me pointed. The teachers shot filthy glares down the row at me. The good news is that as I was writing this, about ten fucking hours later, 'Black Citadel' finally downloaded. I had a go. It's shit. The entire thing is set on the world map of some primitive Final Fantasy game. You can't go in to the towns, and you can't control the battle sequences. There isn't even any music. I hate it. It's shit. The future of mobile phones may involve games, but sure as hell not THIS one. And the first message I got when I installed it? "Installed, but may run with LIMITED FUNCTIONALITY". Man, what the hell? Am I gonna have to compare the specs of CELL PHONE GAMES with my CELL PHONE now?! I just wish I could return this piece of shit and download Call of Duty instead. Do many of you play games on your Cell Phones? And did the Ngage work on the same principal, ie you download your games on to it? I never did work out that Ngage thing, it didn't interest me a lot. I think as a casual feature, games on phones are great, but a phone that's also a handheld console is slightly retarded.

I know the Directors cut/add stuff that's not in the script... I just didn't want to launch into a discussion on how they did that in order to say that friend said 'you tramp' during a play. I didn't know they did it with music though. That's kind of crazy. I only read the paragraph because I saw the year '1986' there. Now I am glad I did.

But what about Psychonauts? What dark secrets must they hide in Double Fine?