Wednesday, January 28, 2004
I received 17 hours notice that I would need to come in at 6am on my normal day off of work for training on computers that should no longer be supported because they are obsolete. Ofcourse, I need to wake at 4am to get there on time in order to avoid the fucking REMORHAZ in the tundral stretch that is sometimes refered to as a 'sidewalk'.
Hi? Can I have some bull with all this shit? No? Then can I use the printer to make some updated resumes?
Hi? Can I have some bull with all this shit? No? Then can I use the printer to make some updated resumes?
Monday, January 26, 2004
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Finally got the network going. Turns out that there was a nazi-quality firewall installed with the av software that came in my mobo driver bundle. The mofo was really hidden.
Thing is that I found it because of my experience (re: using customers as test subjects for my exploration of xp) at work. Hurray!
Thing is that I found it because of my experience (re: using customers as test subjects for my exploration of xp) at work. Hurray!
Friday, January 23, 2004
Tee hee!
I almost have windows all configured now, and it almost looks like win2k again...which is nice, since the damn thing won't let me alter the colours of the default xp skin.
I almost have windows all configured now, and it almost looks like win2k again...which is nice, since the damn thing won't let me alter the colours of the default xp skin.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Useless Postal Service
Saturday, January 17, 2004
Thursday, January 15, 2004
I wish they'd just hurry up and do it so that we can take the blame away from the game and put it on mental instability/parents as it should be.
Friday, January 09, 2004
I hate humans so fucking much.
They come at the lion with all the same tech as they do with human criminals who are cranked, mentally unstable and have GUNS, yet they can't take the fucking lion alive?
I hate my own species.
They come at the lion with all the same tech as they do with human criminals who are cranked, mentally unstable and have GUNS, yet they can't take the fucking lion alive?
I hate my own species.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
I can't wait to set my tamed grizzly on some annoying paladin and then blast him into the arms of his 'god' with a long rifle.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Besides the fact that the beta starts at the end of this month, the other big WoW news is with all the fucktards freaking out about how 'unattractive' the horde females are.
For those that are unaware, the horde races include:
Orcs.
Tauren (minotaurs, basically)
Trolls
Undead
Now, if I were a Blizzard artist, I would be thinking "fuck all of you morons, you'll still buy the game anyways and I'm not going to change all the god damn beautiful artwork just because you want something to wank off to". It appears, however, that the boss of the artists wants to appease the masses...or at least just wants to lie and pretend they are doing something about it.
I think they should leave the art. I also think you should have to pass a test of some kind that deems you worthy in the eyes of the devs to play the game. It would be very similar to the test I envision people will have to pass in order to be allowed to breed children.
For those that are unaware, the horde races include:
Orcs.
Tauren (minotaurs, basically)
Trolls
Undead
Now, if I were a Blizzard artist, I would be thinking "fuck all of you morons, you'll still buy the game anyways and I'm not going to change all the god damn beautiful artwork just because you want something to wank off to". It appears, however, that the boss of the artists wants to appease the masses...or at least just wants to lie and pretend they are doing something about it.
I think they should leave the art. I also think you should have to pass a test of some kind that deems you worthy in the eyes of the devs to play the game. It would be very similar to the test I envision people will have to pass in order to be allowed to breed children.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
I found it odd that they were so surprised. They should have known it was coming, especially the soup can. The soup sits on the top shelf with an excellent view of the window and the outdoor weather.
They should have all known how cold it was outside.
The soup probably thought I was reaching for the Mac and Cheese again - going for one of my old favorites. I couldn't help but grin when I snatched the can from the shelf, not even bothering to read the lable. I had picked that one weeks ago, on a different shelf. Among hundreds of its peers, it was the one that my pale arm reached. It was the one I purchased.
I poured it's insides into a bowl. The bowl was clear, the pasta and beef guts of the can on blatant display to the rest of the kitchen.
I could hear the rest - all of them - trying to hide. Trying to blend into the counter, the fridge, the shelf. Trying not to be afraid. Trying not to look hearty.
I looked around, tasting them all with my eyes. Mentally mashing them and combining their tastes, their textures, estimating what they would feel like - how full I would be after I was done. I was drinking at the same time; a beverage called Fear.
A white flash! My arm arced out, the room recoiled. I paused. The room relaxed - I had not preyed. The click of a dial; I drank deeply. The Terror Box - some call it an oven - is my favorite tool. For I can cook so many things in it's molten maw.
I took a slow step, feigning a ponder. I needed to not think about the choice, I had thought long enough on the icy trek to my abode. The cold wandering was surest torture, but the rewarming of my extremities was the most blinding of pain. Pain for which their would be payment. I had decided in my frostblinded state that the potatos were the blame, the payment: in souls.
The doors wide, I could see them - taste them. The hole from the previous raid on their family was gaping. A chest wound which oozed not blood, but tuber. My invitation. Four of them didn't have time to scream before they were wrapped in metal and bathed in heat, the rest were silent as the doors closed, entombing them once again.
The cold darkness of the fridge gave way to warm lights. Pale hands. Margarine. I looked at the bread with sadism of such power that the kitchen nearly ruptured.
"It rubs the margarine on its skin", I told the bread. As expected, the bread was too terrified to move an inch, curled as though it were inanimate on the fridge shelf.
Knifework. Microwaves. 350F.
Hearty
They should have all known how cold it was outside.
The soup probably thought I was reaching for the Mac and Cheese again - going for one of my old favorites. I couldn't help but grin when I snatched the can from the shelf, not even bothering to read the lable. I had picked that one weeks ago, on a different shelf. Among hundreds of its peers, it was the one that my pale arm reached. It was the one I purchased.
I poured it's insides into a bowl. The bowl was clear, the pasta and beef guts of the can on blatant display to the rest of the kitchen.
I could hear the rest - all of them - trying to hide. Trying to blend into the counter, the fridge, the shelf. Trying not to be afraid. Trying not to look hearty.
I looked around, tasting them all with my eyes. Mentally mashing them and combining their tastes, their textures, estimating what they would feel like - how full I would be after I was done. I was drinking at the same time; a beverage called Fear.
A white flash! My arm arced out, the room recoiled. I paused. The room relaxed - I had not preyed. The click of a dial; I drank deeply. The Terror Box - some call it an oven - is my favorite tool. For I can cook so many things in it's molten maw.
I took a slow step, feigning a ponder. I needed to not think about the choice, I had thought long enough on the icy trek to my abode. The cold wandering was surest torture, but the rewarming of my extremities was the most blinding of pain. Pain for which their would be payment. I had decided in my frostblinded state that the potatos were the blame, the payment: in souls.
The doors wide, I could see them - taste them. The hole from the previous raid on their family was gaping. A chest wound which oozed not blood, but tuber. My invitation. Four of them didn't have time to scream before they were wrapped in metal and bathed in heat, the rest were silent as the doors closed, entombing them once again.
The cold darkness of the fridge gave way to warm lights. Pale hands. Margarine. I looked at the bread with sadism of such power that the kitchen nearly ruptured.
"It rubs the margarine on its skin", I told the bread. As expected, the bread was too terrified to move an inch, curled as though it were inanimate on the fridge shelf.
Knifework. Microwaves. 350F.
Hearty
Monday, January 05, 2004
I am terrified that a single still pic of someone else's character mining copper in a game that I can't play on my computer until probably May is making me so anxious to play it.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
Name your stuff and create an account at www.theinnergeek.com so we can configure the forums.
Check the negastone for campaign info update.
Check the negastone for campaign info update.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
RANDOM THINGS ATTACK
I still like old Prodigy best.
It takes an hour to bake a potato.
Winamp needs the ability to link dynamically to removable/moving storage so that you don't have to constantly make new playlists when you roomie's comp is on the fritz.
1 paycheck from computer shopping.
Someone needs to make a Star Trek game that does not suck. Preferably with epic ship combat where multiple players can work as a team to run a ship's systems. Each player role on the 'bridge' would be in the form of a minigame (directing shields, managing power, piloting, targeting), but it would be played from a 1st/3rd person perspective in a tactical, yet arcade fashion. It would allow small teams to pilot large ships, and solos/duos to fly the smaller ones. All the systems and 'characters' would be customizable and upgradable. The larger ships would have systems designed for managing smaller ships, and thus 'Captains' would command their fleet as their extended team. They would battle opponents to aquire sectors in 'space' which would NOT be an ugo hex map. Ships/Planets/Stations would be to scale. An expansion or sequel would add a first person 'marine' mode to the game, allowing players to beam themselves onto ships with AI marines an attempt to kill the opposing crew or sabotage the ship/station. The borg would not be a playable race and would ream any players they happened upon, being controlled by a merciless AI, or a gamemaster with sadistic inclination.
Walk without rythm and you won't attract the worm.
Shane needs to roll his stats. Gord needs to roll his stats and pick his class. Pete needs to choose a character. Ian...is pretty much ready to play, as is Caitlin. Jim needs to find his old character or just roll new stats. Anyone else who is thinking of playing should email me (capt_stumpy@hotmail.com). If you don't want to run a country, you are still invited to keep up on the world info and make a character as there WILL be roleplaying and adventures and you can act as a character in the service of a Regent player at their discretion.
I estimate that I talk to ~100 customers a month who have never called tech support before and, thus, I have not talked to before. If I assume that the other 100 agents in my department are taking similar numbers, that's 10000 new customers each month. HOW IS THERE THAT MANY AMERICANS BUYING ONE BRAND OF PC?
It's like that scene in LOTR. You know, the one where the guys are up against legions and legions of goblinoids, with no end in sight and no hope of surviving the endless flood? Yeah, that scene, only all of the main characters are already dead or at home smokin' da pipe.
Crichton may not be the deepest scifi writer out there, but his books are usually pretty fun. It's actually alright to be just fun and not have to inspire you to ponder the meaning of life on every page. Damn media snobs.
If I say that I'm a hypocrite, does that not make me one?
Church gets out at a neaby place here at 6pm right when I walk past. They all leave in seperate cars, walk home almost single file, not talking or socializing with each other at all. It must be a Catholic church.
I hope, one day, we determine that plants have sentience. Millions of fadists will have to sacrifice themselves for the horror and misery they have wrought on all of plant kind. I, however, will continue to bask in my crimes against plantmanity by baking tubers alive in a thin metal wrap at 350C for an hour and then saying things like "The metal keeps the soul from escaping".
"Hear that? Yes, it's water and steam escaping the potato skin, but that's also how they scream".
I still like old Prodigy best.
It takes an hour to bake a potato.
Winamp needs the ability to link dynamically to removable/moving storage so that you don't have to constantly make new playlists when you roomie's comp is on the fritz.
1 paycheck from computer shopping.
Someone needs to make a Star Trek game that does not suck. Preferably with epic ship combat where multiple players can work as a team to run a ship's systems. Each player role on the 'bridge' would be in the form of a minigame (directing shields, managing power, piloting, targeting), but it would be played from a 1st/3rd person perspective in a tactical, yet arcade fashion. It would allow small teams to pilot large ships, and solos/duos to fly the smaller ones. All the systems and 'characters' would be customizable and upgradable. The larger ships would have systems designed for managing smaller ships, and thus 'Captains' would command their fleet as their extended team. They would battle opponents to aquire sectors in 'space' which would NOT be an ugo hex map. Ships/Planets/Stations would be to scale. An expansion or sequel would add a first person 'marine' mode to the game, allowing players to beam themselves onto ships with AI marines an attempt to kill the opposing crew or sabotage the ship/station. The borg would not be a playable race and would ream any players they happened upon, being controlled by a merciless AI, or a gamemaster with sadistic inclination.
Walk without rythm and you won't attract the worm.
Shane needs to roll his stats. Gord needs to roll his stats and pick his class. Pete needs to choose a character. Ian...is pretty much ready to play, as is Caitlin. Jim needs to find his old character or just roll new stats. Anyone else who is thinking of playing should email me (capt_stumpy@hotmail.com). If you don't want to run a country, you are still invited to keep up on the world info and make a character as there WILL be roleplaying and adventures and you can act as a character in the service of a Regent player at their discretion.
I estimate that I talk to ~100 customers a month who have never called tech support before and, thus, I have not talked to before. If I assume that the other 100 agents in my department are taking similar numbers, that's 10000 new customers each month. HOW IS THERE THAT MANY AMERICANS BUYING ONE BRAND OF PC?
It's like that scene in LOTR. You know, the one where the guys are up against legions and legions of goblinoids, with no end in sight and no hope of surviving the endless flood? Yeah, that scene, only all of the main characters are already dead or at home smokin' da pipe.
Crichton may not be the deepest scifi writer out there, but his books are usually pretty fun. It's actually alright to be just fun and not have to inspire you to ponder the meaning of life on every page. Damn media snobs.
If I say that I'm a hypocrite, does that not make me one?
Church gets out at a neaby place here at 6pm right when I walk past. They all leave in seperate cars, walk home almost single file, not talking or socializing with each other at all. It must be a Catholic church.
I hope, one day, we determine that plants have sentience. Millions of fadists will have to sacrifice themselves for the horror and misery they have wrought on all of plant kind. I, however, will continue to bask in my crimes against plantmanity by baking tubers alive in a thin metal wrap at 350C for an hour and then saying things like "The metal keeps the soul from escaping".
"Hear that? Yes, it's water and steam escaping the potato skin, but that's also how they scream".
