She Hangs Brightly

At three in the morning, as I was walking home from my friend's house, as I tend to do after playing Xbox games (and might I add that I'm not sure if I like Burnout Revenge as much as I liked Burnout 3), I looked up at the sky and noticed something terribly peculiar: The full moon was so tremendously bright that the sky was blue and the clouds were white. It managed to overpower everything else in the sky but a couple of stars and Mars, which was also shining considerably brighter than normal. It's easily the coolest performance I've seen from the sky in a long time.

I've been getting an absurdly large number of searches for my site, and I think that this all tracks back to the Elf Slappers and how they seem to have taken offense to my referring to them (rather accurately, in my expert opinion) as, "a bunch of fucking tools." Their sheer asshattery reminds me a great deal of those people in the Horde who kneel at the appearance of that Aprifex bastard, retarded pally fuck that he is.

I was hoping to get 21 Singles by the Jesus & Mary Chain off of iTunes, but the album is for some odd reason is priced out on a per-song basis only, so the 21-song album is $20.79, which made me say, "Fuck you, Jesus & Mary Chain. Fuck you as though you were an Elf Slapper being pwned by a gnome rogue who would end up sodomizing and otherwise defiling your corpse in a manner that is strangely not unfamiliar to you." Yes, all of that just because they want me to pay more for a digital download than to go out and buy it at Borders.

Also tempting on iTunes tonight is the soundtrack to Elizabethtown, which features Elton John, Tom Petty, Lindsey Buckingham, and a bunch of people I'd probably never listen to if they weren't on the soundtrack to a Cameron Crowe film, but will no doubt begin touting the works of within a few weeks, only to regret having ever bought anything by them ten years later (read: Mudhoney, Screaming Trees, Mother Love Bone). I suppose I should just be thankful I never got into Freheit.

Anyway, I think I'm going to get an iBook one of these weeks, because I can't seem to get any work done while I'm sitting in front of my computer. The only reason I'm not playing World of Warcraft right now is because I'm currently downloading the Advent Children bootleg, which will likely still be downloading when I get home from work in about twelve hours. But I need a laptop for going out and typing on, and preferably something that I can't play games on. That said, I need a Mac, because, to a Macintosh, games are anathema; something that the Mac points to and says, "What the fuck is that?" unless it's a Myst game, because everybody loves slide-shows. Since I wouldn't be able to play games, it's the perfect laptop for me, and it's got an absurdly long battery life, which would earn me the scorn and contempt of Pantera Bread employees and customers as I type up some work while checking to see if what I'm downloading is sufficient quality for archiving, because I'm very particular about my pornography.

The Nintendo Revolution controller was unveiled this week, and it looks like a remote control. Sure, it's definitely got some possibilities, but it really needs a killer-app for me to ... well, I'm going to buy the system anyway, because I'm a Nintendo fanboy. I'm hoping for some really interesting games out of it, though, like that surgery game for the DS that may or may not ever come to America. But if the system is built for fucking Wario Ware games, I think the best use for the controller might be for throwing at the television in hopes of breaking it and never having to play another fucking rhythm game or "swat the flies off of Wario's face" type of game ever again, as they are retarded. If I want to play fucking Whack A Mole, I'll go down to Showbiz Pizza, or whatever it's called these days.

Finally watched The Aviator, which I bought about a month ago, and I have to say I very nearly vehemently hated it. Sure, Howard Hughes was an interesting guy, but I think about forty minutes of the nearly three-hour film were spent watching Howard Hughes wash his hands. After the first couple of times, I was like, "Yeah, I get it, he's a germophobe," and then every time after that I was like, "Okay, fast-forward, here we go."

Finally, Keira Knightley's on the cover of the new issue of Esquire. For those of you who don't know, Esquire is the best magazine on earth for men who have found that reading Maxim earns you looks of derision, and reading Playboy earns looks of contempt. The very name, Esquire, just says to people, "I am the type of man who wears cufflinks," and they leave you alone to your magazine, despite the photo of a scantily-clad Keira Knightley on the cover, the mention of which makes me wonder if her parents, like those of soccer player Brandy Chastain, knew that they were giving their daughter a name fit for a pornstar.

Yeah, there's really no focus to any of this, so I'm just going to go now. If you are an Elf Slapper, please feel free to alt-tab back into the game and run back to your corpse before the gnome starts playing tag-team with a night-elf, because -not only will it cost a great deal to repair your armor- but you're going to have that much more humiliation to live down. Which reminds me, a search for Elf Slappers on Google places me third! MSN places me second (though, who ever uses MSN, anyway?), with the guild's official site nowhere to be seen. I mean, I feel sorry for these guys. How would you feel if you were searching for yourself on a website and got beat out by Christian Book Prices, 7 Day Free Russian Translation, and some guy named Umgawa who thinks your bourgeois cadre is a bunch of fucking tools.


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