Idiocy"Can I ask you a question?"Idiocy9 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
"How do I turn my Playstation on."
Oh, fuck me. Another one. "There is a switch on the back. It has a circle and a line on it. Flip it."
"I did that. It won't turn on."
"Is it plugged in?"
"Is what plugged in?"
"The wall socket."
"Should it be? I thought it was battery powered!"
"..no. Take the cord, and plug it in."
"The one with the plug and the square and circle on the other end."
"There is nothing like that."
"It's long and flatter than the other one."
"Oooh. You mean this one with the yellow red and white wires?"
"..no. I mean the other one."
"But this is the controller!"
"JUST PLUG ONE OF THEM IN."
"Okay okay." (there are tinkering noises and then a click as he hangs up.)
(Two hours later)
"Hey, is this the guy I talked to about the PS2?"
"I plugged that thing in, and my house shorted out! What the hell?"
"..what did..you plug in?"
"The thing with the yellow cords. I stuck it int
How to create an UTAUloidHow to create an UTAUloid4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Hello, thanks for clicking this.
In this tutorial, I will tell you a bit more about how to make an UTAUloid.
First, you must ask yourself:
What language do I want to make my UTAUloid sing in?
Most people use so called "recording lists", also known as "reclist" to record the sounds used for their UTAUloid. Without a reclist, recording is almost impossible for a newbie like you.
These links have a lot of great reclist.
Maybe you can find one that is for your language!
Two CV VC lists: One in Japanese, one in Bulgarian.
A (kind of) complicated English reclist.
Many CV reclists in languages such as English, Dutch, Spanish, Filipino.
Some of them are not perfect.
... What? There is none that is in your language?
You can still try searching on oth
Love HerLove,Love Her3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her kick against my ribs,
the sweet shrieking of her iron voice.
Love her body,
her winter skin beneath my fingertips.
Pull her close and through my green eyes lies
the ending of the world.
She breaks the silence,
death on the other end.
My ears ring with her whispers,
another man is dead again.
There is safety alone and nothing else,
that spouts then from silver lips.
A soldier's only lover,
protect me from the world.
War Horse - a movie reviewNothing in cinema offends me more than a bad war film.War Horse - a movie review3 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
I could simply caution you against watching it, but it's a bit late for that, and I needed to vent my spleen -- so I decided to get creative with my review...
WAR HORSE -- CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
1. It's 1914, and you're a struggling Boer War veteran and farmer from Devon, England. You need a workhorse to plough your field so you can pay your evil landlord rent. You go to the livestock market. Do you:
a) spend all the money you have in the world on a flashy thoroughbred colt just because your evil landlord wants it
or b) remember that war is on the horizon, and times are going to get even tougher, and what you actually need is a workhorse?
2. Ok, so you picked a). You're an idiot. You've now realised that you're an idiot, and you're in a fit of drunken rage. Do you:
a) shoot the horse
or b) sell it to someone, anyone, to make back at least a little of your lost money?
3. Damn, you picked a), but luck
You Can Say That Again*Flash fiction Island styleYou Can Say That Again4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Jesus saves! I cast you out in the name of Jesus! So screams the preacher man slamming his palm against foreheads to drive out demons. Not more than a few feet away from the pulpit, an eighteen year-old member of his congregation claps her hands and shouts hallelujah!
Jesus' name is again invoked a few days later as they lay sweating and groaning in the back seat of a rented car.
-See me and come live with me is two different ting
The girl is pretty in an unrefined way, brash and loud and totally unselfconscious.
Baby powder coats her neck, chest and back, visible in her low cut top.
Her rival, five years her senior, cuts her eye in contempt. 'Country booboo,' she thinks. 'She look like fish ready to fry. Plus she skin ashy and she look like she doan know how to use hot-comb.'
Despite her belief in her superiority, her man doesn't come back.
-Puss and dog no have d
The Girlfriend SongThe Girlfriend Song8 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Hey,don't you wish you were a high-class,cut-price motherfucker?
With lots of pics of pretty ladies sticking in your locker?
And don't you wish you would get lucky ten times in a row
And learn a lot of spicy tricks that no one needs to know?
I know you know I've said these things a thousand times before
You know there's nothing in the world that ever heals this sore
You know that we're all getting high on puppets in a thong
Once more I'll make you sing with me,'cause that's the girlfriend song
I'll skip the part where I would rant against the human kind
But when did you last choose the things you'd like to haunt your mind?
Commercializing girlfriends having horns instead of wings
Swallowing endlessly the edge of everyone who sings
And maybe you don't always go and buy the next big hit
But lust is something on which you don't have the guts to spit
Divide and rule,they say,there's only legs there to divide
The girlfriend song's for all of you who cannot choose a side
"Freedom and love ar
I Always Wanted Loveyou embedded in my heartI Always Wanted Love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but oh, little did you know,
rotten flesh still grows
I begged, please,
hurt me so
I'll know it's true
all the stories tell
love is pain, is betrayal,
is anguish, melancholy, tragedy,
and rebirth; because you need to
excise cancer if you want
(to be alive)
cut me down- I was born to
fall, fall, fall head over
heels for you.
suck me dry, bleed me out-
my heart thunders
far too loud.
I want to slide into alignment
with all the other stars,
star-crossed lovers, crossed-
fingered paramours. I want to leave
old and love new.
I beg, please
kill me now, so I can die
knowing I really loved you.
As the Sun WalksI will rise and walk the sidewalks as the sun walks them.As the Sun Walks3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With careful steps I will do my best to stay up and awake,
Though the sun has no problems with this,
I do we are far apart, Sol and I, fire and earth.
I will rise and walk the sidewalks as the sun walks them,
To the best of my ability, be the tip of the invading spear as it
Mirthfully chases away the night, calling that day has come,
Let Night retire to their mutual couch!
I will rise and walk the sidewalks as the sun walks them.
For the morning is a sort of table, a place of parley between
Light and Dark, and between silence and noise.
You, walker, with me walk the sidewalks of Clinton where
The faithful scholars walk, and the two of us will be quiet.
Perhaps we will speak, but it will be a calm speech,
masochismi.masochism2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the cracks in my spine
and the bruises on my ribs
from when you held me too tightly
have never fully healed–
not because you haven’t completely let go,
but because i need a sign
that what we once had wasn’t just make-believe
(and maybe i prevent the cracks from closing,
and maybe i bruise myself black and blue
in the same spots that you held me too tightly
so that they never fully heal–
because you have completely let go,
and i need assurance
that your touch was tangible, that what you gave me was real)
but even if the cracks did fill
and the bruises did fade
and where you held me too tightly
this aching in my chest
will always be a reminder
that you did love me once before
TwilightI must admit to having read and liked all four of the Twilight books. However, the books have since been ruined by obsessive fangirls also known as Twitards. Yes, the Twitards who have denigrated into this macabre cult worshipping at the feet of Stephanie Meyer. "I'm in love with Edward/ Jacob/ my own self-indulgence" proclaim most of the 'Tards; forever cementing in my mind gross images of *insert character here* and *insert self-proclaimed dumbass here*. Meyer herself even knew these kinds of criticisms were coming. She said in an interview with MTV thatTwilight5 years ago in Editorial More Like This
'You see the punch coming; that doesn't mean it's not going to hurt when it hits." Of course it will hurt her feelings that her wet dream boyfriend of the "perfect marble" features and zero personality is getting slammed. There is even a ludicrous petition circulating the internet asking people to sign up for the injustice against Stephanie Meyer and her "marvelous" books. Appare
When Your Hell BeganAs soon as Dean descended into Hell, Alastair had plans for him.When Your Hell Began4 years ago in Profiles More Like This
If there was one thing that everyone was mistaken about Alastair, it was his choice of soul. Anyone would think that such a twisted, merciless maybe even perverted, infamous torturer such as Alastair would relish the opportunity to get his hands on a dirty, evil soul. But the truth was far from that.
In fact, the kind of soul he loved and enjoyed the most was a pure, clean soul a soul the likes of Dean Winchester.
When Dean Winchester first arrived to one of the deepest depths of hell, Alastair was thrilled. He had not met the young hunter before but he had heard enough to be interested in him. All demons or any other souls that knew of him said the same thing handsome, arrogant, brave, stubborn, determined, hot-tempered and righteous.
And, all demons who had been sent back to hell by Dean Winchester wanted to have a go at him.
Knowing this, Alastair declared that Dean Winchester was his and under no
On the Unsuitability of Fairytales for ChildrenThe following essay will appear as an Appendix to the sequel of my fantasy novel, Her Unwelcome Inheritance, which is internationally available in paperback and digital formats from all major online booksellers.On the Unsuitability of Fairytales for Children2 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
On the Supposed Unsuitability of Fairytales for Children
Shortly after supporting a local library event promoting fairytale literature, the folklore department at Lightfoot College received an animated communication from a very concerned mother regarding, in short, the "unsuitability of fairytales for children."
As this seems to be a rather widespread idea (I might mention the Daily Telegraph article of February 12, 2012) as well as an oddly long-lived one, I take the liberty of public response.
It's not Rocket Science a poem for Jack ParsonsIt's not Rocket Science3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Lucifer took a hit, landed
face-down & flat-broke
back in the 40s
out on the West Coast
eyes the colour of Swarfega
teeth rotting, shoes worn through,
and dying for another high
too early for acid he takes
the mescaline trail
down into the Mojave
where the rattlesnakes are
locked in their kundalini and the
stillness flickers like god
across a lizard's eye
Lucifer hitched a ride
over to Pasadena
to see Jack and the Rocket Boys
see what they can do
to put him back in heaven
too long in the desert
Jack's already on the last reel
inchworm.I have a riddle for you, you said, and I smiled,inchworm.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
twisting my hair in my fingers.
good. I like riddles.
if theres a worm, you said, stuck at the bottom of a thirty-foot well,
and every day he climbs two feet up and
every night he slides one foot down
he gets out of the well on the twenty-ninth day, I said.
I know that one.
I have one for you.
you sat back a little and your lips twitched.
okay, you said, hesitantly.
if theres this relationship, I said,
stuck in a huge rut,
and every day it takes one step forward and
three steps back,
when does it reach the point that I can trust you again?
Apologies to LaoEach day is its own microstep--Apologies to Lao3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
since I woke from my mother's womb,
I longed to mimic new words, trammel
the sound until it blossomed
like a newborn, and oh how I birthed
stories--told them how I wanted
the author's sacrosanct title
once I've grown. But growing meant
learning the practice of citizens
and their due contribution: beast-slaying
nature of please, thank you,
an apology: sincere
or not. Then there is time--the first
breath of nine, exhalation
of five, the suffocating mandate
of overtime. You grow used to it:
the cyclical disappearance of parents,
pervasive need of sleep, a home-
cooked meal's gradual transmogrification
to a microwave's impatient beeps,
the drive-thru's static, monotoned voice
by a man who has already learned
what I am learning: to cherish
the alarm's morning hymn over my mother's--
now I'm rarely late for work--can navigate
those can-lined aisles, the cold-grey
of the warehouse with deep strides
until I lose track of every step within
my eight hours--my mind
The Longing of Swan Lake.The Longing of Swan Lake.5 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
How still the moon?
Soon I shall see its full reflection
shining in the deep blue pools
of my dear mother's tears
that I do glide
so aimlessly upon.
I softly swim
cocooned in white feathered beauty
singing the sweetest of songs -
yet, but a voice unheard.
The sorcerer has cast an evil spell on me
kidnapped my human form
from morn to midnight
it is only then
I am set free
to seek my love for all eternity.
When day does break
I drift again
a gilded swan
wondering where my life has gone?
One day my Prince will come
he shall rescue me from such suspended grace
celebrate his love aloud for his enchanted Princess..
Make me his bride!
stay by my side
banish this evil magic that beholds me.
For now, I count each shooting star
every evening birdsong
feel the descending chill of nightfall with joy
I wait you see, in anticipation,
I wait for the glory of a full moon
and it's short, sweet release
A. M. Young (Please respect Copyright)
Searching for the SunI.Searching for the Sun4 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The day everything ended, she was standing in a parking lot, weary from a long day of departures and destinations, staring up at the sky. Clouds strolled west, their armfuls of grey dripping out of their grasp and spattering onto the asphalt, onto her upturned face. They rolled and crashed into one another, piling up high in the stratosphere like mountains of cottony stone. Once, they had been at war, and their arguments had sliced across the countryside with the recklessness of a summer fire. Now, though, something had calmed them. Perhaps they were tired from their travel like her, or perhaps it was the sun, gently wedging them apart with scalding fingers. Its light had almost gotten lost behind the celestial battle, but soon grey faded to white, white flashed gold, and the sun finally reached down to where she stood, there next to her father, on the last day he remembers before everything ended.
It was hard for her to imagine now, how she could have gotten lost so easily thos
Gracei.Grace2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Well what's the problem?"
"You're here talking to me, talking about nothing. We've been sitting here for... for fifteen minutes, just sitting here, and you haven't said a single meaningful thing. You've just been talking and talking. If you wanted to confess, you would have confessed something by now, you wouldn't just be sitting here prattling on about how I'm the only 'man of God' you trust. That's not like you."
"Is something wrong?"
"With you, not me. There's nothing wrong with me."
"There's something wrong with you."
"Nothing is wrong with me.
"Timothy, you're a shitty liar. I'm not going to say anything. You need to talk to me. To me. I'm not a gossip, you're not a liar."
"You won't believe me."
"Then it doesn't matter, does it? If I'm not going to believe you."
"You just won't believe me."
"Then just tell me. Tim. Timmy"
"He came to me. In a dream. In aa vision."
"He? Like, God?"
"Not God, but an Angel. He called himself Michael. He came to me and said
Bildungsroman"you fell firstBildungsroman2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and i followed,
tumbled like bricks
in the wake of your
is the story i told,
and you agreed,
the night i've tried
to dissolve: when i
lay on your bed,
cut my sleeve,
was my muriatic acid
when you hardly
knew my foundation:
i collapsed like bricks
Old hauntsNumb fingers fumble at coppersOld haunts3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and a dodgy purple lighter which is unfit for purpose.
Giant splodges of stars
as if God - in a frolic of youthful exuberance
went wild with a paintbrush.
Granite delicately held by shape and contour alone.
Slotted together: a melee of ankles, hips, spontaneous larynx.
Careless hopes, dreams wide, menthol cigarettes.
Thoughts all quiet.
Nothing But the Blood~Year 2012~Nothing But the Blood4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was evening near the Chapel in the Wood, and the grass was shiny and wet at the site of the Battle of Morning Sun.
The church, with its white steeple and antique bell tower, was revitalized. A missionary coalition seemed to have drawn everyone back, even me, and we were having a good, old-fashioned revival to celebrate.
The old parsonage across the long lawn was long since bought out by a funeral home. A will was being read there that night, and some school buddies of mine were in attendance. They were more interested in hooking up with locals than in collecting an inheritance. This intrigued me. I slipped out of the revival to go spy on what I hoped would be my acquaintances getting down and dirty. I was not disappointed. The dichotomy in my presence at these events is apparent, but, sadly, such was me.
While observing, I was seized by a fit of conscience, and returned to the church.
Falling Into StarlightI am falling. I have been caught by a monster which cannot be seen, but for the path of destruction it carves through the cosmos. It pulls me in, and as I plummet the universe bends and folds back on itself, and for a brief moment I can see everything that is and ever was.Falling Into Starlight2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In the twisted relay of light I see the nebula that was my birthing ground. Its radiance surrounds me with heat and color. Bursting clouds and arching forms in writhing wings of gossamer, painted with hydrogen and illuminated from within by the glow of its children.
Mother nebula had formed me, along with my sisters, from parts of herself. Coaxing and coalescing until we were strong enough enough to shine on our own. Then she breathed into us life and our hearts began to flutter with the embers of fusion.
In our mother’s embrace, I played with my sisters, plunging into misted veils and swinging through spangled swaths of life-dust. She would tell us tales of the far reaches of the galaxy, where the giants dance