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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Jon's LiveJournal:
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| Sunday, April 22nd, 2007 | | 12:37 pm |
Fuckin' Army.
Still in the fuckin' Army. That'll change real soon. Sergeants said you can take the soldier out of the Army, but you can't take the Army out of the soldier. Maybe they're right. Never saw combat or nothin', don't get me wrong, not gonna play it off like I'm some hot-shit grizzled old vet. But I do know a lot more about realistically killing shit than ever I did before, that much I cannot dispute with myself. And also assault rifle mechanics, yes. | | Monday, November 6th, 2006 | | 12:06 am |
The inevitable decision everybody foresaw from the get-go of his capture, his execution-to-be, seems somewhat a waste of time. Why the government, our US government, has given him so much media exposure to (extraordinarily successfully in my opinion) defend himself is beyond me. I swear, about five or more of his defense lawyers got waxed over this whole thing during the process, even when he's on trial for killing people the guy has something to do with killing people. Which does not make him a bad leader, I must note, prior to our smashing-up of their military in Desert Storm Iraq (and their recently reclaimed seventeenth province Kuwait) were doing just fine on the global scale. Besides, who really gives a shit about the Kurds? Nobody but the Kurds. Go figure. Said something about "Curse the Asians, the Americans, down with the traitors, we are the people of this land, God is Great." Normally he's incredibly elaborate, make no mistake, but if some chump told me in one of my few remaining un-bombed buildings in my damn country that I was gonna die by hanging, I too might be mildly perturbed. And watch out for that New Eastern Front, he's onto something. Guy ran his own damn nation, he knows what he's talking about. | | Monday, October 16th, 2006 | | 3:01 am |
It would be awfully tragic, I believe, if death does not end one's existence. | | Sunday, March 27th, 2005 | | 8:33 pm |
I suppose I should put something in here that, when the time comes and I'm in prison and/or dead, people can look at and say "Yes, this is definitely a sign of something wrong" and all that other hilarious shit folks spew from their talkin' holes to try and make it seem like they're more aware of things than they are. It brushed across my mind rather recently that not more than several hours ago, I had ambition. It went somewhere though, and nobody seems to be able to find it, least of all me. I think it got lost in my head, I'm sure I'll dig it up sometime. I have evidence that it's not there, however. It seems I'm failing my math classes; mind you that's nothing new, but the kinky new element to all this is that I'm failing my English class as well. Perhaps a change of terminology is in order here, as I am relatively sure I do indeed speak English, at an above-standard level no less. Alas, this is not enough. They lust for decisive proof in the form of the information of others, re-phrased and cited by myself, and placed on a piece of paper by MLA standards. But enough of that, I'm sure there's something more stereotypically angsty I can dig up and force upon your eyeballs. Nope, I got nothing. Well, poo gas. Tomorrow, I think, I will have fun in school for the first time in my life. Tomorrow, you see, I no longer intend on devoting much thought to others, much less their regards for me. Still, I shouldn't get too ahead of myself, ten bucks says I'll be cowering in my usual pit of feigned dignity again by the end of the night. Ah well. On another note, I do wonder what the future holds for me. Oh, right. Something incriminating. Right away, yes. "my lfe is a lie and solace comes only in a razors edge a dead roseweeps for teh fallen nobody understandz my pain" Hmm. Fuck it, I'll just leave this shit to the goths and continue my nightly prayers for their casualty rates to go up. Hey, that reminds me of something pretty nifty regarding death 'n' shit. It's called a casualty, so let's be casual, eh? | | Wednesday, March 9th, 2005 | | 6:52 pm |
Damn disease.
Bell's Palsy, woke up with it maybe a week back. Left side of my face no longer works, the eye along with it. Gonna have to wear a patch if I want even vision, so I picked up one and some eye bsandages to keep it shut. Long red hair, patch. Slightly pirate-esque. | | Sunday, February 27th, 2005 | | 12:29 pm |
Haha. My father is a Canadian, and an ass. He and my mother just head out a few hours ago to have the large hound killed (at my suggestion, don't get me wrong when I say I'm quite fond of the dog, but with his hind legs being dead weight for so long it was high time we converted the rest of him), and he calls me up just now. Says they're leaving the Home Depot type store, asks me if I want a dog. "What?" Is my initial reaction. "Yeah, hot dog. Stand's right here." Haha, goddamn. Friggin' ass. | | Thursday, February 3rd, 2005 | | 4:37 pm |
Obligations.
As part of the terms of service for something else, I have to go through with this. Agreement's an agreement. Reply to this entry with your name and: 1. I will tell you what I think about you. 2. I will tell you what song reminds me of you. 3. I will tell you who you remind me of - celebrity, animated or otherwise. 4. Last, I will try to cite a single word that best describes you. | | Wednesday, January 26th, 2005 | | 8:29 pm |
Waaargh!
Super-high post! I kept grabbing my hair in the shower while spinning around, chanting "excite us with your wisdom, Brown Butter!" in a creepy cultist monotone for about two solid minutes. Oh, and that was about five liquid minutes ago. But I'll have no gassy minutes in my house! Bum bum, doo doo doo doo doo-daaa- shooby wazzah, herbah! That was the dance sequence required of each highness post. Hahaha, man, this shit is really fucking with my head! | | Sunday, January 23rd, 2005 | | 7:05 pm |
Current trip: Spain.
By which I mean I'm high, as usual on weekends, and here's the dreamin'. 1) All of the parasite villagers and chainsaw-men and infested wolves and shit of Resident Evil 4 standing in a big circle around a bonfire, singing that "one love" song in unison. El Gigante was doing the Marley part and drumming a boulder. 2) I suddenly envisioned a desert, a dune thereupon no less, and out of the sky appeared a massive Llama's head: It wore make-up and lipstick and shit. I was busting the fuck up. | | Saturday, January 22nd, 2005 | | 12:30 am |
Today, a tribute to the cigablunt. My associate and I roll up some quality tobbaccy with some whacky tobaccy, and hoo-doggy... Man. I'm gonna go outside and enjoy. | | Thursday, January 13th, 2005 | | 8:19 pm |
Experiment completed.
For six days straight I had been high on blueberry kush. The results are as follows. 1) Beating off shall never be the same again. While on high, it was better than sex normally is. 2) Everything is better high. Everything. No exceptions. Er, except drug tests- those are probably worse. 3) I am infinitely better at insulting people when high. The smoke draws out the fire, and the flame makes the Pyron. Dig it. 4) There's always a number four. It just doesn't always have a purpose. 5) Just to correct myself, there isn't really always a number four. Only for me. And it's just a creepy paranoia. That about covers it, since I'm out of weed. Until the weekend, maybe. | | Thursday, December 23rd, 2004 | | 2:09 am |
Funk.
Man, I ain't gonna lie about this shit... I am extremely high right now. No, I shall not deny it... O, but I can't even fucking remain still. Any part of me. Like I'm gonna chake apart. I'm too thirsty. Seriously, it hurts. I have to go. | | Wednesday, December 15th, 2004 | | 8:46 pm |
Well hot damn.
Looks like it's me versus every drama queen thespian sum'bitch my school has to offer. Round one starts tomorrow, guess I'll see what those ultra-liberal cocksuckers can try and throw my way. Oh-ho, but make no mistake. They WILL be quashed. | | Sunday, December 12th, 2004 | | 8:09 pm |
Hahaha!
This here is the drunken, ambarrassing entery that everyone regrea. Not bothering with typos, me and Mt. Daniels hadan amusing cnversation. He was all like "drink meeeee!: and I was all "okay, if you insist, asshole" And then it was like that. Anyways, yeah. Somebody suck my cock, and it damn well better be a female, because I'm sure it'd feel ten times grater than normal right about now. | | Saturday, December 11th, 2004 | | 12:45 pm |
Yeah, man... Yeah.
Last night was hot-diggity damn badass. There we was, us three amigos, with our fair share of smokes, green, and Mr. Daniels stopped by for a guest appearance. And potato chips with hot wings, my friends. I still gots me the smokes and the Jack, so it's high time I make something of 'em. | | Thursday, December 2nd, 2004 | | 7:18 pm |
The MGS Rogues' Gallery.
Now every Metal Gear Solid type game has a lineup of kooky villains that are usually just oh-so-quirky in their own kooky ways. I had the idea that me and two of me good buddies, James and Dave to be sure, should come up with our own to rid us of boredom for a few minutes. So first, one must take into account that the villainous fucks always have weird codenames. Animals, emotions, and just plain weird nicknames so far. Us, we were torn between Mr. (Insert colors here), astrological signs, card suits, and chess pieces. The latter won the day. So here's how to break shit down. Knight - The specialist, the Revolver Ocelot type guy. No particular powers to speak of, just some kickass ability. Ours is some equivaloent of a Nazi doctor with a surgery addiction and a wonderful understanding of the human body, and how to fuck it up. Eyelids carved off, lips gone, nose sliced away, and periodically replaces his internals to keep himself fresh. We decided that throwing syringes and scalpels would be this guy's thing in personal combat. Rook - The Juggernaut, like Vulcan Raven or The Fury. Just the hulking guy who enjoys smashing things and the art of clobbering. A 7'6 dude covered in tattoos in this case, with a particle accelerator rail gun sort of thing. Not much else to say, aside from 'ludicrous muscle mass' doesn't begin to do the guy justice. Bishop - The freak/sensitive, something like Psycho Mantis (coolest guy ever) or The Sorrow, and always my personal favorite. Ridiculously thin frame, and a man in the middle of the middle age. Long, spindly fingers and freakishly white skin. Eyes the sort of blue that absolutely glows, and his left hand is asymmetrically large and a diseased crimson shade with blackish veins traversing it. Receding hairline, but what remains of the silvery old guy type hair is slicked back and shoulder length. The ability, in this case, is that he can literally twist reality with that left hand. Wave it and turn bullets into butterflies, or sculpt a chair into a freakish metal-and-ceramic zombie. The power comes from immeasurable faith. The possibilities for cool shit are limitless. Queen - Not necessarily stronger or better than the others, if anything just a hell of a lot cheaper. Like Sniper Wolf, or Fortune. A really, really hot sniper chick whose only clothing is a few bandoleer straps and some body paint camouflage. That, and a white gauze blindfold since she's blind. We decided that her sniper rifle has a directional microphone/sonar system mounted on top of it, as to allow her to fire directly at the heartbeat and be able to know if objects are in the way. Did I mention the 'really hot' part? King - The leader. No superhuman abilities, no gimmick weapon, nothing like that. Just the maddest fucking skillz that ever were. The Liquid Snake type of guy. We haven't decided anything about this one yet, aside from the sheer madness of skillz. Otherwise, one of those other fuckheads would be the leader, no? Anyways, yeah. Now to force Dave to sketch them. | | Wednesday, November 17th, 2004 | | 7:17 pm |
| | Monday, November 8th, 2004 | | 4:52 pm |
Fucking liberals.
I goddamn swear. You turn in something perfectly legitimate for your creative writing class, such as example below, "Jon’s Obsolete Logic What perturbs me, bothers or otherwise upsets me, in today’s fast-paced modern world filled with politically-correct oppressors of the free? Is it the right-wing leftists that “borrow” an opinion from Michael Moore and never give it back? The elephant-bearing men in suits that stick a funnel in every trailer home and wait for cash to flow into it? Not really, not on a very large scale anyways. What does get to me is that my hopes for a perfect world were crushed before I was even born by McDonalds and an actor. The American Way personified, jammed down Kruschev’s throat, and left to fester in a land already ridden with disease. I’m not a Communist, I’m an elitist. Don’t get me wrong. What pisses me off is that the one big chance for the world to go kaput with the press of one red button was gone before I was even alive to enjoy the suspense; the closest we have now is the threat of some jackass screaming “Allah achbar” and irradiating some metropolitan area. How is that supposed to kill all of us? How is that supposed to wipe the world free of all life? It’s not going to, damn it- THAT'S my problem. Life. Life, and the fact that we no longer seem to have the means of eradicating it all with one fell swoop. I have a vision with each passing night. A utopia where the entire planet is littered with charred corpses and beads of glass tainted with white ash. A surrealistically beautiful landscape, lush with sludge and brought to life with swarms of roaches that feast upon the remains of all that was, is, and could have ever been. Gray snowflakes flitter down from an unbiased sky, and for once nobody is around to know what black or white is anyways. There are no opposite extremes. There is nothing in between. There is only glass, uranium, and the invincible insect. And who would you blame? The men who made such weapons? Dead long before our time. Would you blame me, and others like me? We’d be the first to submit ourselves to the inferno. Whine to my ashes, let’s see if they give a rat’s ass. Good luck finding any rats, god be damned if they survive under these conditions. But I suppose the most pressing issue would be: how would you even complain? You’re in the void along with the rest of us. All problems solved. All crises ended. All poverty gone. All hatred obsolete. Every danger destroyed. Everybody wins- or perhaps everybody loses, nobody will be left to take the tally so what the hell does it matter? I’ll be goddamned if blasting this world and everything on it to high hell is not the only truly perfect compromise that could ever be made. I am right. Do not question it. Only know, in your mind and in your heart, that pressing the button is best for everybody. Don’t let me down. Don’t let us down. Don’t let yourself down. Just bring the world down." And it goes over well, and all is fine- and then the teacher springs it upon me that my next assignment must be more "emotional." Now what the fuck is that? I didn't spend four years learning to disregard those fucking things just to hear this bullshit. Fucking liberals. | | Monday, November 1st, 2004 | | 6:44 pm |
Hm.
I'm still alive? Could've fooled me. But there isn't much that couldn't, I suppose. | | Sunday, October 3rd, 2004 | | 6:50 pm |
A few informative words.
I goddamn fucking swear. Every ten seconds, some little negro girl is born into this world with a name like 'Bonqueesha' or some shit. I shit you not, it's a fucking statistic. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, people. Give it ten fucking years, they'll have to resort to using normal names again since by then 'Boshaquaneeqa' will be the eqiuvalent of 'Joe' or whatever. When this happens, all white people will have to use ghetto-ass names to wash themselves of the negrosity of it all. We need race barriers. Nobody's ever gonna live in perfect harmony, so let's fucking stir shit up. Speak the funk. And gays. Let's get to these fuckers once and for all. They should be allowed ONE day to parade around like queermos in public, in some isolated street, and after that they should live in seclusion like lepers. Send a priest into the colony every so often to try and salvage some, and then say 'fuck it' and give up. By the way, it offends them if you call it a 'problem'. It offends them MORE if you call it a disease. How you use this knowledge is limited only by your imagination. The same applies to lesbians. And if they're not hot and willing to have cameras watch every sexual endeavor they ever take on with each other, we should carve out their ovaries and toss the womanhood into a nearby badger pit. Not like they ever had use for it anyways, right? Criminals. If somebody really works hard to accomplish a badass crime, we should let them go. Original and creative crime and murder should be regarded as art. If some fuckhead caps a guy at 7/11, shoot him in the face until it makes a lead-flavored red drink. If somebody makes an entire house out of human remains, give them the key to town and a gift certificate to a hunting store or something. Shitty poetry filled with angst sucks and is unoriginal. So is any black article of clothing with the following Tim Burton figures on them: A) Jack skelton, B) Edward Scissorhands. Anybody wearing these articles should be quizzed extensively on either of the two movies, and, should they fail, beaten by jock idiots. Automated beating systems to wail on those in peak physical conditions are in order. Work as hard as you like on your body, fuckface. Some dickweed with some engineering knowledge can make something that does it better. Oh yeah. And the complete and random death of exactly 50% of all living matter on the planet. That'll shake shit up a bit. Get funky. |
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