technobang

You might remember this. This is how this stupid website ages ago.

Well, nearly 4 years ago (in fact, in 3 days it will be exactly 4 years old) I started this disaster with a simple goal. 4 years ago I worked for a wonderful little store in Grand Rapids called Grand Professional Computers as a sales associate/technical support guy/manager/superhero. (Note how each of those titles scales in how it scratches my ego—this is important.)

The idea being that my friend Steve and I could ramble about the current state of technology and why the shit sucks. Then it became more me yelling about the current state of technology. Then it devolved further to become “things that annoy me” which included anything between seasons and Jews. Then I started feeling feelings and talking about them. Now we’re here.

I have several times attempted to bury this and start over, but the reality is very simple: I can’t. Not only can I not, but it hit me today like a ton of bricks—I don’t want to. Some of this crap I think is pretty funny. Other people have deemed it hilarious. The readerbase has changed over the years and the shit that I write about tends to vary but all in all I can’t seem to bring myself to axe the past here.

I guess we can count this as me starting again.

I moved this over to my unused domain in order to sound, I don’t know, impressive? It really isn’t I guess, but maybe I can sucker some poor idiots into reading some of the older articles and spreading it along or something.

A few upcoming topics:
– Stalking my gay roommate as he sneaks out to have sex with someone!
– Running a business and hiding this from my customers!
– Hilarious porn!
– An uncanny ability to annoy entire crowds of people in small restaurants!
– My inability to come up with interesting things to talk about!
– More exclamation points!!!!

Look, fuckers, not everything is a winner here. Read things like this thing about Twilight or dirty things I’d do to Jared from Subway or that a season can be used as an abortion joke.

I had a fan because of the last one! Honest. I took like 4 NyQuil, so I’m going to conclude this by saying hold onto your hats kids, I’ll write more stupid shit soon.

This is the part where I quietly admit that no one cares and that fatty (THAT’S ME I CALL MYSELF FATTY SOMETIMES OKAY) should shut his face.

I’ll keep this introduction short and sweet.

I found a blurb I wrote in like the 9th grade. It was a “rant” about ranting. Or more specifically, these little things I write to this day that have generally no point and usually end with me insulting any various racial or social group that I don’t happen to like at that particular moment (watch out blacks and gays!)

It makes me so angry that I actually want to find a Delorean and punch myself in the face. Hard. With brass knuckles. I was so full of myself! Seriously, when I was 14 fucking years old or however I was, I thought I knew everything and my shit didn’t stink. Turns out it smelled like death and I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground.

Let’s read.

Ranting is a form of writing that many do not bother to consider.

What the fuck does that even mean? A form of writing that who doesn’t bother to what? Seriously faggot make sense.

Many believe that it’s totally lacking substance or form. There’s a thing behind rants, though, that seems to go beyond writing essays, or papers: you’re free to say whatever you want, at any time. I can’t be censored – I write for myself. The only ones who can censor what I say are those who read what I say, and simply decide for themselves what they want, or do not want to hear. Other than that, it’s really rather free.

Oh holy fuck—you self-righteous fat sack of crap. “I can’t be censored” – sure you can, someone can dislike what you say and stuff their fist into your jaw. Not only are you then censored but bleeding from the mouth and crying like a pussy. I don’t know where you were for the past 20 years but “being able to say what you want” really means “being able to say what you want as long as nobody’s offended to a reasonable degree.” Asshole.

But there’s more than just blabbing down totally pointless stuff onto a peice of paper. There is an underlying substance to rants – a substance that takes an avid reader to decipher. For, beneath under all the pointless rambling, there is a train of thought, a train of will, even.

An avid reader. An avid reader has to decipher what the fuck you’re saying? NO, STUPID, THE AVID READER WOULD MOCK YOU FOR THIS DRIVEL. You’re not deep for writing some indecipherable bullshit; you’re incapable of writing something that anyone can understand without cocking their head, then immediately cocking a pistol and blowing half their skull off!

A peice of the person is put down onto that sheet of paper – part of their mind, their spirit. It’s not simply a bunch of rambling, but it is an assortment of words and odd thought, straight from that person’s mind. It shows the world what the writer is thinking, or how it looks upon the world… or simply the chain of events that person experienced in that day.

So you’re describing LiveJournal and aren’t able to spell “piece.” Yep.

Take this certain rant, for example. This is my chain of thought, right now, as I write. I became bored by simply listening to my extensive music collection, and decided that I needed to write.

Your extensive music collection, huh? You were BORED by your extensive amount of music? Any other status symbols you’d like to throw in there? You had a $50 in your pocket, the rims of your car that you couldn’t drive were made of gold?

This peice of paper is yet another part of me – another part of my mind. As you sit here and read, just comtemplate that fact for a minute. You’re holding a peice of a person’s mind. The one object that propels a human to do the things he or she does, or live the way he or she lives. You hold a peice of the control center of a human… perhaps, even, a fundamental part of that center.

SPELL PIECE RIGHT YOU DIPSHIT. I can’t believe I actually spit this drivel out, I really can’t. “You hold a ‘peice’ of the control center of a human” – yeah, we fucking figured that out when you said they’re holding their mind. You’re so arrogant that you actually felt the need to dumb down an already bad analogy. I cannot believe I was you. If I could perform a post-birth abortion in the past, you’d be it. Yes, I realize the horrible paradox here, but I’m hoping that the whole “alternate timeline” theory holds and I actually -can- go kill myself in the past.

Rants can take any shape or form that the writer may aspire it to. This particular rant, in fact, was meant to be partially enlightening, and partially educational. The simple fact that there are no constraining rules to a rant gives both the reader and the writer many freedoms. You could take this rant as an educational paper, or it could simply be just something stupid you bothered to glance at. It, quite simply, does not matter

There are no words to describe how viscerally infuriating this finale is. I actually had the gall to say that the complete and utter bullshit I spewed out was supposed to be EDUCATIONAL. Who would be educated by that, monkeys? Retards? Senior citizens?

There you have it. Proof that, while I still think I’m an ego-maniac douchebag who is full of himself, life kicked me in the balls and made me at least SOMEWHAT humble. If that isn’t enough at least at this point I can make rape jokes and spell piece right.

Wait, that should be enough. Fuck you if you don’t like it. Go find a Garfield comic and diddle yourself in the bathroom.

That’s both a good and a bad thing, I think.

There used to be a lot more traffic coming to this dusty old blog. However I’m guessing that my years of neglect turned this once regularly read pile of crap into an unread pile of crap.

Okay, look, the transformation isn’t AMAZING, but I still find some mild cause for concern.

So here I am writing once again about things that annoy me. You’d think that after a few years I’d cut the shit and actually do something legitimate, however I always seem to loop right the fuck back around here. I tried starting Technobang but it hasn’t been updated since I pulled this shitdick 20 year old Mac out of some dude’s basement and splooged over its awesomeness. Guess where it is now, a mere month later? On my dining room table next to a charcoal grill, various items from my old apartment, and a pair of dirty socks that either has semen or foot-sweat lining the inside of it. I might also add that next to the table is a pad where the dog pisses and shits—usually there’s a bright yellow stain covering it.

I guess that sums up where it stands on my priority list.

By the way, the fruit of my Chinese child labor has amazing HD quality, all things considered.

This is entirely out of context, but if you saw revision one of this, you’ll understand.

I also calculated the number of hours I worked last week at 102. 102. ONE HUNDRED AND TWO FUCKING HOURS OF MY LIFE LAST WEEK WAS DEVOTED TO WORK. Guess how much I get paid for it? Well, so far dick. Mostly because I’m spending so much time working that I didn’t have time to do my payroll until four days after it was due—although even then, it turns out the money allocated for my payroll was spent. You’d think that with the work of 4 people shifted on my shoulders that some responsibilities like payroll would be shifted off my shoulders to, you know, the bloodsucking bookkeeper that struggles so hard to keep me from hiring someone so he can stay on the payroll and earn extra bucks, though he claims he “doesn’t get paid.” Long story short, I bust my ass, but for some reason all I get to hear about are complaints that I can’t provide the same level of customer service that we could when we had 4 people doing the work.

That’s right. One person can’t provide the same service as multiple people. Just let that statement sink in and get back to me.

So I’m single (don’t even get me started, women are fucking cunts still—ALL of them) and my job sucks. It’s been that way for nearly 6 months now. Welcome to 2009, rabid-duck, you’ll be hearing more of the feminine bitchy whining that everyone’s grown to love alllll over again.

Also, I realize that it’s almost May and I’m welcoming people to 2009. I’m fashionably late, fucking blow me.

EDIT: I mistread the title as “sperm count” and laughed for ten minutes. I’m a fuckhead, I know. I know…

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Ooooh, a twist!

Last year I made some convoluted update whining about how the universe sucks and as a result, I should never have gone on vacation. To make a long story short: it sucked. It was vile, and I mean vile. It basically started off with this line:

“There, you finally did it karma. You balanced the universe back out so I’m a bitter, angry fat fucking nobody. Congrats.”

Here I am approaching a year later, and you know what I’ve found? That statement is actually accurate. I am a bitter, angry, fat fucking nobody working a dead end job and becoming fatter. By all rights I should be pissed at myself, God, the universe and shrinky dinks—yet I’m not. What the fuck, why not?

I guess I have hope.

I got stuck on this line right here. This typically happens when I write about subjects far too close to home. I freeze and try to figure out how in the hell I can explain anything without revealing too much or looking like a blogging faggot.

Anyway, I have hope. I guess being chained up for 6 months gave me a lot of time in my head, and when I finally came back out I realized I wasn’t the same person. Still a bitter fat guy, but yet… where’d my cynicism go? My belief that humanity is on its last legs, that as a society we’ve misprioritized and failed miserably? The fuck?

EDIT: The cynicism was right where you left it, fatass. It went in hibernation because you were free! I’m sure the blacks felt a similar feeling after they were let go from slavery, and look where it lead them? Wait, President of the United States… never mind… bad example. Sorry racism, I know you wanted in.

Whatever, that’s something I’ll sort out. Who knows? Maybe I’ll pull my head out of the clouds and go back to my normal bitter brooding ways.

I should also take a moment and apologize to people who have been trying to contact me since my halfassed return to the land of the free. I’m not ignoring you, I swear, I’m just on a mission.

A few odd notes over the course of my journey:

I miss cooking, and I’m actually going to attempt complex recipes now. Neat.

I have come to love the show Doctor Who—thanks a lot, England. I fucking hate you.

After reading through the old updates, which as we all know are rather erratic and almost bipolar, my favorites are the ones I wrote with my eyes shut. There was a girl in my head; call her a muse. She’s still there.

I’m going on vacation soon. Watch out for me, I might appear in your town. This warning is void in towns I’ve been before, so watch out Houston!

Okay that last sentence was a lie, I’m too poor. The thought counts though, right?

Right?