Pink Bunny Suit

Ubuntu 5.04 + Macbook = fuck me, ASU is gonna rock

2006-06-16T01:36:00.000-07:00

So those two excellent pieces of technology don't go together worth a shit. I bet it'd work if I usedd boot camp though... Besides that I just had my ASU orientation today. So tahts ol. Got my classes and stuff all lined up andI'jm ready to go. Mostly. Just have to manage to pull three grand out of my ass between now and August first, buts thats alright. What else'r parents for?

Blogged with Flock

Yes, I'm an e-whore

2006-03-10T19:17:00.000-07:00

So what if I'm now selling myself to two authors? They can use all the promotion they can get. So I'm helping them by getting their names and titles out there. Check out Brian Keene for sure. But Scott Sigler is a pretty cool cat as well. And his stuff is free and neet as fuck. So get it done. Click on those links. You know you want to.

Book at the top

2006-03-10T18:58:00.000-07:00

It's pretty awesome. Not as good as The Rising, of couse, and not nearly as powerful as Terminal, but it beats City of the Dead. Some parts of it were even scary to me, which is something that rarely happens from books.

"But the book doesn't come out until May 2, Andrew!" you say. "You can't have read it yet!"

Oh but I beg to disagree. Beg most fucking strongly, in fact. That banner we've been talking about? Yeah it not only helps Brian sell his book (and he needs all the help he can get with that god awful cover and title, but nevermind that for now). It also entered me into a contest to win a Conqueror Worms ARC, or Advance Reading Copy. It got it two days ago, finished the book last night, and let me tell you sir, it was mighty fine reading.

So now you have more to go on than my word that Brian is a good author; you have my word that his newest book is worth the seven bucks it'll cost you. It's worth that and more so I expect everyone who reads this site to go and pick up a copy.

Somehow, I doubt that'll be a problem...

and it's raining all over the world
tonight, the longest night

Sheriff Shenanigans

2006-03-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

"Where are you in such a hurry to get son?" The cop asked. I could already tell he was going to lie to me.

"I wasn't aware I was in such a hurry, sir." I said. "I thought I kept my speed pretty close to forty-five the whole way." And, of course, I had.

"Well I was following you for about five miles there and you were going about fifteen over around the curves." My eyes bulged at the sheer bullshit of this; first, he had been behind me for less, read less than, two miles. He had turned around at a place called Six Mile Hill and had me pulled over literally in front of the four mile marker. I wanted to mention that, while I was only in calculus so far, I was pretty sure that six minus four was two, but I kept my mouth shut.

Mostly.

"Ok, if you say so." I said. I knew he didn't have a fucking thing on me though.

Yeah so the cops were out en force tonight. I saw no less than four on the twenty-two mile stretch to my house; for a road that can go months with nary a piggy, that's a lot. After the first guy flashed his high beams at me from the side of the road I knew I'd have to be careful. His partner was, as I expected, just down the road. I breathed a sweet sigh of relief when I got past that speed trap only to tense up again when, two miles down the road, I come across another sheriff pulled over. He rips out behind me and , being a smart ass, I pull over and let him by. He wanted to read my license plate, though, so he sat behind me, like a dumbass in the middle of the road, for a little bit then pulled ahead. Eventually he dropped behind me again and pulled over someone else.

And then Six Mile Hill happened.

Ten minutes later I finishing those last four miles to my house. The bastard didn't even give me a written warning; just a casual "Slow it down" and "Have a good night."

In the words of Stephen King, man oh man.

Very Bad

2006-03-05T21:01:00.000-07:00

Or, as they say in Spanish, Muy Mal. Muy Mal is a...Well, go read the about page you fucking asshole. I'm not gonna rewrite everything here. Suffice to say that Muy Mal is good fiction from good authors and only disappoints when it's slow in the coming.

Get with the program and check out Muy Mal.

Books Anonymous, anyone?

2006-03-04T18:26:00.000-07:00

Everyone has problems. You have a problem, he has a problem, they have problems, that guy has a lot of problems. I, too, have a problem, shocking as it my seem. I like books. Reading books, yes, I like that; but more than that I like to own books. Own them and keep them to myself, muahahahahahahah!

Well yeah. Own them, anyway. I especially like to own rare, signed, limited edition copies of books by midlist authors who, unlike most of their big press counterparts, have talent. Most of the time there are 400 or less copies of a certain book. Every time the books cost much more than your average hardcover.

And now to my problem: I'm broke, bitches!

Mien Confession

2006-03-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

So you're stealing from a charity. So what? It's just one book. They don't really need it. Hell, they don't even know they have it yet.

It's such a nice copy though. They might make five, ten bucks off it.

Yeah? And waste what, the fifty or more it's worth. Sure. Go right ahead.

It's theirs though. Someone might, you know, look at the title page and see the signature.

And maybe you'll never get this chance again. Ever think of that, smart guy? This is one of your favorite books, first edition, autographed, and you're gonna piss it away on 'might'? They 'might' just as likely leave it sitting on a shelf for ten years, marred with a one dollar sticker, then send it to the dump and let it fucking mulch. How'd you feel then?

Or some nice old guy could come along, remember when he first read the book, remember how good it is, hell, maybe it really means something to the old fart. He buys it, find the autograph, and is so happy he lives another five years. What about that?

What about what? It'll probably be found by some cheap fucker who'll notice the signature, notice the edition, get the book for a song, then take it to eBay and buy more booze with the money. How's that fit into your little plan?

Well...Shit. I don't know. I don't even like the book that much.

Oh fuck you. Yes you do. You love it. You've read it what, seven times? Twice this year.

Yeah...

So what are you fucking waiting for? Just take it. No one cares. You aren't hurting anyone. Take it.

But...

No. Shut up. No more. You lose, take the book, go home. Pansy.

Yet another quote

2006-03-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

It is possible to store the mind with a million facts and still be entirely uneducated

Alec Bourne

I don't know who the fuck Alec Bourne is. Wikipedia, that glorious realm of knowledge, doesn't either so I must infer that he isn't a big person in the world. But this quote hits the nail on the fucking head of something thats been bugging me since 10th grade.

Just what in the hell are we actually learning? This is the first year when I've been sitting in a class and thought "Hey, wow. This information might actually be useful to me." This has now happened in a grand total of two classes: AP Calculus, the hardest class I've ever taken, and U. S. Government. Besides these, though, I don't see a point in attending school any longer. History? Fuck it. The way Mr. Post teaches it rewards laziness. It's actually better to not read the chapter at all and just look up each and every question on the test. What is this teaching us, exactly? It certainly isn't teaching college test taking because believe me, I know we don't get handy books for that. In fact I'm fucking exstatic that we are getting free college credit for this cause it's a joke.

I'm finished now I guess.

English 102 is pretty cool as well.

One last message

2006-03-01T23:40:00.000-07:00

No, I don't have some emo sob story to relate today, and, inshalla, I never will. But I was reading a Comedy Goldmine entry over at SomethingAwful.com about jokes with realistic endings and this one really made me think:

As their plane spirals towards the ground, a young man asks the pretty girl next to him if she would have sex with him, as he does not want to die a virgin. Surprised by this request, she declines, stating that in addition to the sheer inappropriateness of the idea, the mechanics of copulating in a crashing aircraft seem very difficult if not impossible. He agrees and admits that he was only trying to lighten the mood. However, she was busy putting on her oxygen mask and didn't hear this last bit. They both spend the last moments of their lives in anxious reflection.

Sad huh? Well, yeah, but I don't feel bad for the passengers. Well I do, but not because they died. Just how it goes y'know? I feel bad for them because I know, in those last moments, all I'd be wishing for is that I could somehow get one final message to my friends and family. Just a simple "Hey, it's cool. See you on the other side, if that's how it works. Later." But most of the time we can't get those kind of words across because we have no way of knowing when anything will happen.

And you know what? Just the way it goes

you can never go back

And while you're at it...

2006-02-28T14:59:00.000-07:00

Pick up the rest of Brian's books. Go to Borders or B&N and ask them to order you a copy (they will NOT have any on the shelf. If they do, give the store manager a big kiss for me). Or better yet, order them from everyone's favorite online retailer. You know the one. Even better, order them from Clarkesworldbooks.com, a small online store that has generally lower prices than Amazon, ships everything for $2.50, and has a wonderful connection with Brian, allowing them ship books to him to be signed and personalized. You won't regret any of them.

Conquer the Worms

2006-02-28T14:51:00.000-07:00

Since I'm so far behind in my journal entries I'll have to keep this one short and pointless. Actually, it may be the most useful post on my entire blog, but who knows. I want to explain the banner atop my webpage. Yes, that one. The one with the slimy looking earthworm and the information about a book. It links to a Amazon.com page for a book that isn't out yet. Do you know why?

Because I'm trying to promote that book, motherfuckers. And you will buy a copy or I'll sick the bunnies on you, and they'll be even more pissed. They'll thump you into the dirt. They'll gnaw on your ribs, assholes. So do yourself a favor and pick up Brian Keene's The Conqueror Worms before a bunch of pink rabbits hop up to your doorstep and fuck you over good.

Don't say you weren't warned

Bow to the bunnies

Books

2006-02-26T21:01:00.000-07:00

What could be more biographical about a person than what books they read? You know you liked that pun you dirty faggots.

Anyway, I've set a (somewhat) lofty goal for myself this year. I'm going to read more than fifty-two books this year. Thats over one per week. I'd like to read seventy-eight, which to the less mathematically inclined is one and a half per week, but I won't settle for less than fifty-three. I'll spend all of fucking New Year's Eve reading if I have to.

So let's get back to what I'm reading right now. I just finished Brian Keene's Sympathy for the Devil: The Best of Hail Saten: Vol. 1. It was, of course, every bit as good as I thought it would be. And how appropriate that I just read the important entries from my favorite author's blog right as I'm trying to start my own blog up in earnest? It's goddam poetic, I say.

What else you ask? You want more? Luckily I have a handy dandy spreadsheet of the books I am or plan on reading. I've finished ten books this year, so I'm on track for around sixty. Acceptable. Right now I'm reading four books:

China Mieville's Perdido Street Station, which is long but good; Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver, which is long but who's merit is still in the air; Douglas Adam's Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, which has made me laugh out loud more times in the first six chapters than even HHG2G; and, finally, Richard Matheson's I Am Legend, which is so fucking fantastic that I can't believe I'd never even heard of it until last week.

And now you know all about me, right?

just in case you never knew

The Constitution of the Pink Bunny Suit Blog

2006-02-26T13:27:00.000-07:00

I the Blogger of Pink Bunny Suit, in Order to form a more perfect Blog, establish Guidelines, insure Readability, guard from mediocrity, promote the general quality, and secure the Blessings of the Blogger Gods to myself and my Readers, do ordain and establish this Constitution of the Pink Bunny Suit Blog.

Article 1

The Leadership of Pink Bunny Suit shall be as follows:

The Master of Pink Bunny Suit, who has the sole right to Publish his Thoughts and Ideas on this blog.

Any Subordinate positions created by the Master of Pink Bunny Suit

Article 2

The Master of Pink Bunny Suit is denied these powers:

To cause this Blog to become in form like that of a Live Journal or Xanga.
To post a Photograph, of any person or thing, Created by the use of a Webcam
To inform the Reader on the details of his Day
To Impress upon his Readers the status of his Humour
To Impress upon his Readers information regarding his current musical piece
1. Unless the Message of such music be relevant to the subject of his entry

Should the master of this Blog violate any of these Provisions, he shall dispose of his Life in whichever way he sees fit, save that it be Painful.

Article 3

Rights reserved by the Master of Pink Bunny Suit:

To talk in a manner Autobiographical
To create the most God Awful, Brain-Deforming Puns imaginable and to relate these puns to the Readers.
The Master of Pink Bunny Suit may create any Amendments to this Constitution which he deems Necessary and Proper

Bloggers' Constitution mk 1

2006-02-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

No matter what George Martin says, his Not a Blog definitely is one. It isn't a very good blog because the fat bastard doesn't update it enough, but it's a blog. And since Pink Bunny Suit is a blog as well I know that, eventually, I'll get the urge to just break down and treat it like a Live Journal. I swear to you, whoever is reading this, that on that day I will kill myself. I put this in my Blogger's Constitution. More on the Blogger's Constitution later.

Oh, hell. More on the Blogger's Constitution now. I swear to never post any picture taken on a webcam, ever. I won't tell you my mood or what song I'm listening to at the time (the lyrics at the bottom are from a song relevant to my post). I obviously won't give you details on how my day was. Unfortunately, I do reserve the right to talk about myself. I also reserve the right to make god awful, brain-deforming puns whenever I feel like it. So just sit there and suck it up.

'nother Quote

2006-02-20T21:19:00.000-07:00

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes.

Who watches the watchmen?

-Juvenal, Satires, VI, 347
Quoted as the epigraph of the
Tower Commission Report, 1987

Ostensibly from some guy called Juvenal, I first read this quote via the single greatest comic book ever, Alan Moore's Watchmen. It raises some interesting questions, no doubt about that. Who are the people we're responsible to responsible to? Who checks them? In today's world of growing presidential and executive power, I think it's time the legislative branch stop bending over for Heir Bush simply because he shares a party with most of them. To hell with that. Even the biggest Neo-Con should be able to see the abuses present in, for one thing, the 'Patriot' Act, and the NSA wiretapping policies that go along with it. Every single congressman should be sweating the lack of an exit strategy for Iraq because it in the end it was Congress that declared war and it's Congress that will be voted the fuck out of office in November. I'll be able to vote then and woe fucking unto anyone that displeases me. One vote could make all the difference.

Let.It.Bleed

2006-02-17T19:12:00.000-07:00

Everyone has some certain thing that they just think is neat. Other people might not agree, might even disagree very strongly, but it doesn't matter because fuck them, right? Right. Well I like needles. No, seriously. Needles. The sharper the better. The longer the better. Weird right? Oh but I'm not done.

I haven't always known this. In grade school, when other kids would whine and complain and cry about needles and shots I'd whine and complain right along with them because, you know, thats what everyone did. But when I was about ten my mom, in one of those fits of reminiscence that old people tend to get, mentioned once that two years after I had finished all my vaccinations and it was my brothers turn I would sit in the doctors office and plead “Mommy, mommy, do I get a shot today? Can I? Please? Waaaaaaaaa!” and so on.

Maybe I just liked the lollipops we'd get, I dunno. It's not like I have some kind of sexual fetish for needles. I don't get off by poking my self in the arm or anything. No self mutilation for the hell of it, that kind of thing. I just think it's so cool how this piece of metal slides into the skin with so little resistance or even pain. And come on, really, does it hurt? No you fucking pansies it doesn't, so what the hell are you bitching about?

Thats why I give blood. For the needles sticks, you ask? No, not precisely. More because I don't mind the needle. Because its saves lives, you say? Heh, not a chance. My blood type is o positive, the single most common type, and one of the most useful, second only to it's bastard cousin o negative. But that makes the individual donor less important and more of a statistic. Frankly I couldn't care less. So why do I, every three months, plop myself down on a dumb reclining chair and allow some stranger to stab me with a really quite large needle so he can suck out a pint of my lifeblood? Because I can. Because I can do it without bitching constantly. Because I can do it without averting my eyes and turning pale and being a total pussy.

“I feel dizzy, I think they took too much blood.” Of course, thats it! The American Red Cross decided to risk every thing, risk being sued into damnation, by taking more than the safe amount of your blood. They have it in for you. In fact, I bet that if you ever needed blood they wouldn't give it to you. Those cockbags.

“Ugh I shouldn't've done this again. My arm hurt for weeks afterward last time.” You know what, I have no sympathy for you. If you got hurt the last time you did this then why in the ever loving fuck did you offer your sickly blood again? I pray that no dumb fucker ends up with your blood. They'd be turned into whiny bitches for life.

But despite this I like giving blood. In fact I love it. I love watching the faces of the dumb assholes who got suckered into this as they gaze upon the gigantic needle that will soon be perforating their arms. I can taste victory, assuming victory tastes like free Oreos and apple juice. Delicious.

It's good day. It's windy and cold and dry and veins are being missed all over the place. bruising occurs. And when I donate blood again in May I'll get a free coffee mug. How sweet is that?

can't you see i am evil, double-edged razor

Quote of the Week 2/13-2/20

2006-02-16T00:37:00.000-07:00

"Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world."
-Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash

This is absolutely, undeniably, infallibly, true. In fact, the only way this could be more true is if it went "At least once every ten minutes, until he is twenty-five (at which point he thinks it once per hour), every man on the face of the planet thinks..." I think this is one of the defining characteristics of men(boys). We don't ever want to let go of that hope that if our family would just be killed by Colombian drug lords so we could swear revenge or if we would just contract a terminal disease and decide to fight crime until we expire. And you know what? It's good. It's healthy. It's fun. We can see it and if we just had the courage we could live it...

I am reborn. Baptized in flame.

Annoying Bastard

2006-02-15T23:57:00.000-07:00

I worry about the future of humanity. Not all the time. I didn't used to. I can't help it, though, when it happens. Some people are just so dumb my teeth hurt. When I meet these people it sets me off. Take this fine young lad I met at the library today. At first glance, nothing wrong with him. As long as he stays in his little section of the library, reading his Star Wars comic books, letting me do my job and put these books away, I love him and embrace him.

Then he comes over to me and opens his mouth, and from this point forward will be known as the Annoying Bastard.

AB: "Where do you keep the Green Day CD's?"
Me: "We don't have any Green Day albums. Sorry. Did you look them up in our card catalogue?" AB: "No. What's that?"
Me: "Never mind. If you go ask the librarian at the information desk she can help you out."
AB: "Where's that?"
Me: "It's right over there. See?" I point out the desk with the large INFORMATION sign above it.
AB: "Ok." He wanders back into the children's section.

At this point it's unfair to call him an Annoying Bastard. Even I can admit that. He's just The Kid that's Keeping Me From Getting My Gigantic, Overfilled Audio-Visual Card Shelved. Ten minutes later, though, he evolves into That Kid Who Really Needs to Go Back to His Star Wars.

AB: (Sneaking up behind me) "How about Hillary Duff?"
Me: (Jumping only slightly) "What? I think so. She's in the pop section. Right there." I point.
AB: "I already looked through that whole section, there isn't anything."
Me: "Ok, let me just have a look real quick." I go to the Pop C-D Section in our music section. As I look through it,
AB: "Oh, I didn't look there."
And Hillary Duff is right where she should be (though there may be dissenting opinions, i. e. she should be burning in the flames of hell or in my bed or what have you. People can't agree on anything these days). I hand AB the accursed disk and try to get back to doing my actual job and not covering for the Info librarian, but the little monkey suprises me once again.
AB: "What about 50 Cent?"
Me: "What?! Aren't you a little young for violent, overdone gangster rap?"
AB: "Do you have it?"
Me: "No. We don't."
AB: "You guys never have any music I like. You need to get more music. And more Scooby-Doo movies."

At this point I'm desperate to get rid of AB. I was already playing catch up for the other three people who were supposed to be working yet managed to leave no trace of it, as well as do my part plus stack up 100 chairs that don't like to be stacked and now this kid is asking me for 'American Rejects', a non-existent band. I can only assume he means The All-American Rejects and that he simply doesn't have a brain (a common side effect of his musical tastes).

The ultimate kicker, though, is when he tries to take my Donnie Darko DVD. The one I had already checked out. I told him this but he insisted on taking it, and at this point I've had it. I consider snapping his neck. I consider breaking out his gigantic front teeth. I consider, very strongly, taking that Hillary Duff CD and decapitating him with it.

I end up dragging the AB over to Sylvia, the poor, poor person staffing our INFORMATION desk and dropping him in her lap.

This would be a good point, I think, to mention that AB is in seventh grade. He's at least twelve years old.

Fresh Start

2006-02-15T23:51:00.000-07:00

A fresh start here at Pink Bunny Suit. Clean slate. New beginning, as it were. This time it's for reals, I hope. Here's to good times, good rants, and Gonzo Journalism, should I aspire to such heights.

Here's to the last four months of high school, god damn it.

Heil the Pink