Robert Graysmith: Does anybody ever call me names?
Paul Avery: What, you mean like retard?
Robert Graysmith: Yeah.
Paul Avery: No. 

liginamite

I'm watching my girlfriend sleeping. Not in a creepy way but I'm not tired at all so I'm just watching her. Okay, perhaps a tad creepy. Jack (is a nerd, J-Jack is a nerd, J-J-J-J-J-Jack is a nerd, nailed it) hosted his weekly live chat today, it begun around eleven and my girlfriend open-mindedly accepted that I really wanted to join, not knowing that it would go on till 1.30am. I think she fell asleep quite quickly but it was sweet of her to watch along next to me for a while. Several times during the live chat, she woke up and rolled around, ending almost on top of me which made the 'be silent and don't laugh because she might wake up'-thing a whole lot harder. Right now her knee is pointing straight upwards which I cannot imagine to be comfortable at all even though it looks kind of glamorous. She even has her hand strategically placed on her chest, keeping the blanket up and blocking me from taking a peek. I wonder how she does that. Just a minute ago, her elbow was pointing straight upwards as well but then she made some kind of pig-noise and now she's on her back. It's oddly fascinating.  It's almost like she knows I'm staring at her. But then I doubt she'd snore like a pig. And WOWOWOW now she did that zombie thing again where she wakes up and stares at me but doesn't reply when I ask her if she's awake. It's like she sees right through me. So creepy. WELL. Time for sleeps. Before she consumes my brains.

Foreign Thunderbird

The thunder was so loud, it just must have claimed a life this time. Not only did I wake up immediately but for split second I thought the world had finally ceased to be. My country doesn't feel like mine with it does this. This tropical rain. I sat up, wrapped in my blanket, spring tight, eyes fixated on the sepia background that seemed glued to the other side of the window glass. Two of my three windows were wide open but the rain was completely silent. I wouldn't have believed it even rained if I hadn't heard the sky crack. I must have sat there not for longer than ten minutes before I heard the light turn at the bottom of the stairs followed by determined footsteps in my direction. I curled up tighter in my blanket and pouted to let my approaching mother know, that she had made a very precise decision, coming up to check on me. She put each window on their first hatch, leaving them merely open by an inch or two. Dad had been up to get some water, she said, nearly spilled it all. It's odd, I said, I thought I died. The cowl covered gangster that for the moment was my mother, shifted into the other room. With a shaken voice she called me in there to come look out the Eastern window. I was certain she must have seen a dozen toasted corpses on the road, but it wasn't so. It was the sun. It hung just above the rooftops spitting op in front of the horizon, it hung like a blood red lump in the sky. It was never less majestic than now.  Pathetic excuse for a celestial object. I think my mother left me to my doom again because she didn't reply when I asked her, if she'd ever seen something like that before. The blue light from my screen makes the sky look green which doesn't help it in looking at all less eerie. Suddenly all the muscles in my body tense up. This time I saw the lightning flash and I can't do anything but hold my breath. I count too fast inside my head and get the location all wrong when then the ear-tearing thunder hits. In the meantime I had given up on the red sun, my helpless hero, and had returned to my bed. What was so strange about this second lightning is that it had stopped raining. It came from an empty place. And a good twenty time units after the crack, the rain started pouring again like was it the last chance of survival. The East going road is flooded now and the sun has restored some of its power, so much that I can't stare directly at it anymore and must content myself with its reflection in the street. Its orange light in the green sky, an other massive growl of thunder. It will be safer for me to just stay inside. I think something is broken.

Cole Phelps: What were you doing to the body, Ferdinand?
John Ferdinand Jamison: Are you sure you won't be upset?
Cole Phelps: Try me, Ferdinand.
John Ferdinand Jamison: I was kissing her...
[Rusty Galloway punches Ferdinand in the face]
John Ferdinand Jamison: It's not against the law! There's no law against it.
Rusty Galloway: Shut up and take your beating like a man. 

Aaron, sir

Sådan går det med sådan nogle spil. Præcis det samme er sket med L. A. Noire for mig, som også skete med Assassins' Creed II. Jeg spiller i en eller to timer hver anden, måske hver tredje dag i to uger. Og lige pludseligt så sætter storylinen farten op, og jeg bliver bidt og hænger ved og tager fire-seks måske otte timer flere dage i træk, jeg bliver helt besat og BANG, spillet slutter efter 25-30 timer. Og så går jeg helt ned med flaget i en uge eller der omkring, jeg bliver helt desperat. Jeg hører soundtracks og læser trivia og kigger på merchandise. Til forskel for AC II, desværre, så har L. A. Noire ikke en bunke af tilknyttede spil, som jeg kan glide over i. Det har en lille bunke DLC, men så er det faktisk overstået. Så må man starte forfra, hvis man vil have mere. Og det er nok det, jeg kommer til at gøre. Starte forfra. Jeg er blevet lige så forblændet i Cole Phelps, som jeg blev i Ezio Auditore (for slet ikke at tale om Jack Kelso og Leonardo DaVinci); det er for nemt. Så nu kan jeg sidde lige her og overveje, hvad jeg nu skal gøre, medens mit hjerte gør lidt ondt, fordi jeg savner dem. Men det går over. Det gør det altid. Jeg skal bare lige have lov at flyde lidt i det først.

Homophones

Nu er jeg blevet student, og jeg kan ikke mærke forskel. Jeg glæder mig ikke til verden, den er lidt for stor og lidt for uoverskuelig og lidt for krævende. Jeg står under bruseren og er ked af det, fordi det buler ud, hvor det ikke burde og er flat, hvor jeg ikke vil have, det skal være det. Der er ikke meget ved at få en flot hue på en krop, jeg ikke bryder mig om. Og nu går det op for mig, at min far mener det, mere end jeg troede. Jeg troede, det var en høhø-tør-gammelmandsting, når han insisterede på, at jeg skal på universitetet, men manden mener det sgu, og så drak jeg en masse hvidvin for den var god, og ingen skal bestemme, hvad jeg skal gøre med mit liv, og fordi jeg er en dobbeltrebel, drak jeg også absint, og så havde jeg en fest (og tak til mine yndlingsminions (og undskyld)). Jeg skulle over på skolen i dag, jeg skulle aflevere nogle bøger, og jeg skulle ind til byen og have fat i noget hårfarve. Det tog mig en hel time at komme ud af døren, efter jeg havde besluttet mig for at tage afsted og skullet min computer. Jeg stod halv påkædt i mit værelse og stirrede på tøjet på mit gulv. Og jeg kiggede ud af vinduet. Og så var der gået en stille time. Det føles så forfærdeligt ensomt at være blevet student. Så desperat ensomt faktisk, at jeg lod en Tobias stoppe mig, da han sprang ud foran mig inde ved Gammeltorv og spurgte mig, om jeg kendte Unicef. Jeg stod faktisk og talte med ham i godt tyve minutter. For helvede. Kan man nå at fortryde?

Charlie: What we hoped to achieve was to meet our makers, to get answers why they made us in the first place. 
David: Why do you think your people made me?
Charlie: We made ya 'cause we could. 
David: Can you imagine how disappointing it would be to hear the same thing from your creator?

This should have been a post about anal sex and god

I morgen bliver jeg student. Om tretten timer, faktisk. Og jeg glæder mig ikke engang. Ikke rigtigt. I dag har jeg været begejstret over at have ramt de trehundrede spilletimer i Skyrim siden den sektende januar. Skidefedt. Og betydeligt sjovere end at blive student. Men studenteriet giver en fiks hat, og det skal man ej heller kimse af. En fisk hat, endda, som jeg har redesignet, fordi jeg ikke vil have at kors (eller for den sags skyld noget andet religiøst symbol) på min hat, og det "religionsneutrale" ahornblad var simpelthen for dumt. Et symbol, der symboliserer "jeg brød mig ikke om nogen af de andre." Lidt meningsløst. Så jeg fik, og tak til Axel, lavet model til og senere smeltet en sølv Minecraft pickaxe, en lillebitte en, to cm, som nu sidder på min hat for at skide på religion og skide på traditioner. Så skal jeg eller ud og køre, tolv timer, med treogtyve mennesker, alt alt for langt, for meget alkohol, for få venner, al for lidt interesse. Jeg er vanvittigt ligeglad. Men det er overstået hurtigt, og de siger, man skal nyde det. Det eneste, jeg kan skænke det en tanke for, er, at bannerne for helvede ikke må have dårlig grammatik. Hvis de oveni købet er bare lidt halvmorsomme eller kloge, så ville det jo være til at holde ud. Jeg vil nyde oldtidskundskab i morgen. Det skal blive sjovt, Medea, Lysistrate, Achilles og Sokrates. Jo. Så må jeg forsøge at slå ti-fods pik og et par hundrede jomfruer ud af hovedet, fordi ellers bliver den eksamen måske en smule akavet.