That is all.

Other people have told me that I am, of course. I’ve been praised for being honest, dependable, sympathetic, upbeat, giving, intelligent, amusing, and so on… but that’s never changed the fact that, beneath it all, I am an unpleasant bitch. I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve been manipulative and I’ve destroyed lives when I decided it was time to move on. I have a temper that can get set off by the smallest thing, I’ve never been considerate of the feelings of others, I’ve used guilt trips without a second thought…and above all, I am selfish. God, am I ever selfish.

Know what I’m thinking right now? Well alright… but keep in mind that the sarcasm on what follows is painted about an inch thick.

I only moved 1,237 miles to be here in Evansville so I could be within striking distance of where the man that I love goes to college. I only chose to sacrifice a well-paying job to live in this shithole of a city where I’m lucky if I make $8 an hour. I barely know anyone, but that’s just fucking peachy – it’s not like you don’t have friends. Besides, it’s not like I only see you two days a week if I’m lucky – all that matters is that I’m supposed to sit there and smile when it gets cut back to one, merrily waiting in the fucking closet until you’re ready to play with me. Don’t worry about me though, dear – no one’s ever killed themselves because of loneliness, after all. No, really… I don’t fucking mind.

Now, what brought this on? Jake wanting to play DnD on Evansville campus on Fridays. Yes, that’s right – I’m getting this upset over a stupid fucking game and how it’s going to cut into the time that he’s free to spend with me.

God, there are times that I hate me.

That is all.

That issue, boys and girls, is censorship.

Under the FCC’s Comcast/BitTorrent ruling, Internet Service Providers may only slow or cap connection speeds. They are not allowed to block any service or protocol on the internet. 4chan, as a web site, is conforming to standard web page protocols. If one goes off of this, then the truth is obvious; AT&T does not have the legal right to block 4chan, only to cap customers who are “abusing” their access to the internet. 4chan has long since been seen as a bastion of free speech, not to mention the home of Anonymous. While they’re most publicly known for their campaign against Scientology, this sizable group has also done a world of good when it comes to helping open Iranian proxies, even going as far as starting a forum offering help to Iranian protesters, showing them how to surf securely and avoid censorship. I don’t give a flying fuck if what can be sometimes seen on /b/ could be viewed as disgusting or gross – that doesn’t change the fact that, if AT&T gets away with this, it could set a dangerous precedent for censorship.

Fuck that. The world will not be that way within reach of my arm!

If you’ve got a contract with AT&T and can switch to another service, do so – and make sure that you reference this as the reason why you’re leaving. If you’re not using AT&T, then spread the word to everyone you know; boycott them. While some are reporting that the block has been lifted, there is no confirmation as of yet to back it up, while there is abundant proof that AT&T is breaking the law. We cannot let this blatant censorship go unpunished. A message needs to be sent to those foolish enough to violate Network Neutrality that it will not be tolerated. If you want to speak up, there’s already great organization going on here to help you do so.

DOWN WITH AT&T!

EDITED TO ADD: Cogent Communications has joined the club—they’re now blocking all of 4chan, as is stated on the 4chan Status page. This is going to get even uglier…

So I’ve been a regular on my friend Tyler‘s radio show over on Talk Radio X for over a year now. During that time, I’ve talked candidly about my relationship with Jake, my past, and the present – I’ve also wiped the floor in trivia more than a few times, even winning the overall competition for the Winter Trivia. It’s rare, though, that I find myself surprised by how I end up being referenced. Tonight, I found out about one of those times.

That’s right, folks… I somehow became The Bad Side’s Blog Post of the Day on July 20th. Excuse me while I gloat over beating out a post about porn stars…

^__^

…and done.

Now, what could have caught Tyler’s attention? What could I have written that impressed him so much that he, a known pervert of the highest order*, passed up talking about hot naked women to talk about an entry from my modest little blog? It wasn’t my list of five people that I could get away with sleeping with, my short fiction piece, or even that adorable little .gif of a squirrel tackling a plushie impostor of its kind.

No, folks… it was my Twilight review.

Yes, that’s right – I have accidentally found what is apparently supposed to be my niche when it comes to this thing. Looks like I’ve got to do more of those now, doesn’t it? Thing is, I’ve got no idea what to do next since I am rather picky about the movies that I watch. This is where you folks come in – make suggestions in the comments! Keep in mind that I don’t do straight-up horror movies, nor am I really a fan of gore for the sake of gore.

* I say this with all love and affection, being one myself.

It is with some level of amusement that I present to you a short story that I wrote at roughly 3 AM during one of Winnipeg’s coldest nights. I was probably missing Jake more than usual when I sat down to type this out… so hopefully the sentiment isn’t drowned under the cheese. This is ‘Finding the Nerve’.

It’s not too late to turn back.

Hazel eyes trapped behind glasses narrowed softly at the thought as she stared up at the house before her, hands crammed deep within worn denim pockets. For all of her earlier decisiveness in even walking out here, those doubts had begun to creep cold trails within the heat of her emotions. The idea of turning tail and just going home, of just continuing to feign that nothing was wrong was a tempting one…but why should she spend another night tossing and turning as she tried to sleep, every cell within her singing to the point of waking her up in the throes of passion with his name upon her lips? As she stood there, doing the best she could not to shiver, she realized that simply considering what she was about to do had blown away any chance of her going back to the way she had been; living a lie was no longer an option.

Sighing softly as she braced herself, she ascended the steps to his front door. Her nerves were practically vibrating themselves out of her body with panic as she raised her hand, forcing her fingers to fold into a fist before rapping upon the door. Then… silence. Maybe he wasn’t home? That would be just her luck. Taking a shaky breath, she began to count to herself – she would give him until she reached thirty before she turned tail and went back home. It wasn’t her fault, after all, if he wasn’t around. Yeah. That was an idea she could handle.

She had reached twenty-five when she heard movement inside; simultaneously, her heart leapt and fell as the sound of him fumbling with the locks reached her ears. Was it too late to ditch the idea? More than likely; he always checked through the peep-hole instead of asking who was there. For a moment, she wondered if this was how it felt to be on Death Row, knowing that there’s no escaping the fate about to come crashing down. Then the door opened, washing her in golden light as he stood there, leaned against the door frame. Even as nervous as she was, seeing him made her smile; the messy blond hair, those green eyes that even now pulled her in, held her attentions and desires whole…

“…you alright?”

His voice is enough to startle her from her reverie; a sheepish grin came to her lips as she nodded, managing to get out a response. “Yeah, I’m alright.” When he withdrew from the doorway to let her past, she made sure to do as she always had in pulling him into a halfway hug. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart pounding against his chest when they were close for that moment. After he had stepped back and relocked the door (sealing her fate, eheh), he leaned back against it, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her. Had she told him that she needed to talk to him? Yeah… that explained the way he was looking at her.

“So what’s bothering you?” Even now, when she knew he was probably tired, he managed to be concerned for her. Since she had been pretty vague, she could almost imagine the turmoil in his own mind as he considered what could be tearing his friend up inside like this. She didn’t know what her words would do; part of her was once more tempted to make something simple up, just be content with hanging out with him a bit before he had to go to sleep. Firmly slapping herself within the depths of her mind, she took a deep breath. There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable.

“…I love you.” Those three little words broke something open within herself, emotions long held firmly in check roaring over her like a tidal wave. She found words coming forth unbidden, an eloquence she had never quite grasped coming to full bearing within trembling hands. Every little thing she had felt came spilling from her lips, from how she sought excuses to be close to him to how he haunted her dreams like a handsome specter… his hold on her thoughts never releasing come dawn. Looking down at the wood-paneled floor like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, she struggled to blink back tears in the awkward silence that followed.

Dimly, she heard foot-steps approaching her, watched the light become obscured with shadows when he stood before her. His hands settling upon her shoulders was enough to force her to look up, to bring desperate eyes to meet the ever-present calm in his. One of those hands that had brought her screaming so many times in her deepest fantasies raised to run along her cheek, the simple touch sending shivers down her spine as she forced herself to rest her palms upon his hips. For a moment, time stood still as she stood at the edge of her heart’s precipice, her lungs barely even drawing in breath as she waited for his decision…

Two hours later… and I’ve got a lot of material.

First, of course, I’m going to go into the bad. There was someone, I can’t remember who, that compared Kristen Stewart to Keanu Reeves… and it fits painfully well. From their facial features to the almost corpselike delivery of her lines, Bella’s entire being just falls flat and is undoubtedly the worst part of the movie. This movie could’ve been something almost decent had her performance not been as dead as the Cullens supposedly are. Most of the supporting actors fall under this same category; beyond Alice’s actress (who does a pretty good job of portraying what I have heard is a quirky character), the rest of the vampiric clan seems stilted. The evil vampires suffer from the opposite; they overdo their roles and ultimately come off as campy instead of as the scary monsters in human skins that they were supposed to be.

In contrast – and probably because of some of his own talent as well as how he compared to the rest of the cast – Robert Pattinson actually does a pretty good job of bringing Edward Cullen to life. Were it not for how a vampire sparkling in the sun makes me want to gouge out my eyes and run screaming into the sunset, I would’ve actually enjoyed the character. For all that Stephanie Meyers fell flat in creating a heroine, the hero (if you want to call him that) is actually a decently complex character that would’ve been thoroughly enjoyed if it wasn’t for the almost stalker way he behaves in the beginning. I get liking to watch one’s lover sleep, I really do… but doing that before you’ve been accepted as someone’s partner? Tres creepy.

Now, as for what else they get right; the director and production crew chose a really pretty part of Washington to serve as their backdrop. As someone that grew up in a small town surrounded by the woods, I can appreciate a pretty clearing… and there’s plenty of those. The special effects are also done well, as are the little interactions in the high school scenes – Bella being bullied a little was even done right. As has seemingly become the norm with shitty action/supernatural movies, the best thing about Twilight… is the soundtrack. Paramore’s songs are especially awesome, with Collective Soul and Blue Foundation both contributing solid songs. There’s also Muse, Linkin Park (a non-emo song, no less!), Iron & Wine, Perry Farrell… and, oddly enough, Robert Pattinson’s contributions actually don’t suck!

In closing, while I don’t want those two hours of my life back, I wouldn’t go out of my way to watch this movie again. I was admittedly shocked to find that there was actually something worth praising amongst this sparkly pile of bullshit. When the other movies in this quartet make their way onto the internet, I will probably give them a once-over just to see what comes next. Will Kristen Stewart learn to act? Only time will tell.

Oh, and before you ask… no, I don’t plan on reading the books. While I’m crazy, I’m not that crazy. This is a series that is best taken in, I think, via film instead of overflowing purple text.

Anyway, one of my biggest hobbies is e-fedding – pretty much, you make up a wrestler that competes against other wrestlers. To win, you write either shoots (think trash talk, but more thorough) or character developments – CDs, for short – and if you out-write your opponent, you win. Shoots have never been my strong point, although I am improving more and more as time goes on… to compensate for that, I’ve kicked ass with CDs since day one. Most of why they come so easily to me is simple; ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved writing short stories. Add onto that roughly a decade of just straight-up freeform roleplaying and it’s no wonder that I favor CDs over anything else if given the choice.

So my question is simple; is there really a difference between the two?

I don’t think so, but I’m not going to let those that are unfamiliar with e-fedding try to answer that question without giving you an example to go off of. I wrote this to introduce my primary character, Allison Detorre, to a new e-federation… and I am admittedly rather proud of it. Since it’s a fairly long piece, I’ll go ahead and put it beneath a cut below. Oh, and before I begin; the song lyrics I utilize are Depeche Mode – Dream On. Great song – I really recommend it.

As your bony fingers close around me, long and spindly.
Death becomes me. Heaven, can you see what I see?

The honeyed tones of the sun in autumn illuminate the master bedroom of a two-story brick house on Bellefonte Avenue in Pittsburgh. Were it not for the music playing at full volume through deceptively small speakers that are hung from the corners of this rather airy space, one would be able to hear the hustle and bustle of Fifth Avenue as college students and professionals, adults and children alike went about their lives. The walls freshly painted a medium shade of blue, a four-post queen-sized bed with a matching dresser (both made of mahogany) occupy the space, the former covered in sheets and comforters that are in varying shades of gray and blue. Judging by how sparsely decorated the room is otherwise, it’s fairly clear that the Scourge is in the process of moving back in. Something moves just barely out of view of the camera’s lens to the left – judging by the reflection of light, it is the opening of a mirrored closet door.

Hey, you pale and sickly child.
You’re death and living reconciled, been walking home a crooked mile.

The titular character of this scene is finally visible from her right-hand side as she steps towards the bed; the woman known as the Scourge is relatively tall for her gender, but not freakishly so. The same could be said of her build, although the majority of her mass is in lean, primed muscle versus the curves that most of the other females she had seen in this business possessed. Dressed simply in a form-hugging black tank-top and a pair of well-worn jeans, Allison reaches up to push an errant ebon curl out of the way of her eyes. It isn’t until she turns to fully face the camera but for a moment that the PSW audience at home sees not only the sapphire hue of her irises but also the topography of another woman’s jealousy that mars the left side of her face, deep gashes healed over that are clearly the work of a knife wielded in anger. It’s a shame, really – were it not for that, one would think that she was quite the looker.

Paying debt to karma, you party for a living.
What you take won’t kill you, but careful what you’re giving.

Bending down out of view for a moment, she straightens back up a moment later with a good-sized Army issue duffel bag that she has dyed black somewhere down the line. This is set gently upon the corner of the bed before she opens it up, reaching inside to withdraw a small stack of precisely-folded tank tops that look identical to the one she has on. A few fluid, effortless steps over to the dresser before she opens the second drawer down, placing the shirts within before moving back to the bed and repeating the process with another neat, tidy pile. The camera follows her over on her second trip; for a few seconds, one gets a view of the military sort of cleanliness and organization that Allison adheres to before returning to the woman that is rather quickly putting things in order.

There’s no time for hesitating.
Pain is ready, pain is waiting – primed to do it’s educating.

A few more trips between the chest of drawers and her duffel is all the more it takes to put away the last of what attire she had thought fit to bring with her from her previous residence, each drawer closed once she is through placing things inside. Pausing for a moment to take the briefest of breaks, she looks out her window and into the brilliant reds and yellows of the trees that grew on the edge of her rather small yard, the branches giving her the sort of privacy that was priceless for one as well known as she. The digits of her right hand rub at the base of her ring finger on the opposing hand as her thoughts drift aimlessly, an absent gesture that used to have something more substantial to fiddle with than her own flesh.

Unwanted, uninvited kin; it creeps beneath your crawling skin.
It lives without, it lives within you.

Realizing just what it was that she was doing, Allison sighs and shakes her head before moving back towards that duffel bag. Now that the clothing is out of the way, all that’s left to unpack are a few battered paperbacks which she simply sits on top of her dresser and a pair of photo albums. One, a large blue patent leather number, she places next to the books without a second glance. The other, a smaller one covered with white silk and pearls, gives her pause. Going against her better judgment, she cracks it open to look at one of the photos inside; for a moment, she smiles… but then reality catches up with her. Sorrow flashes within her eyes as she throws the album onto her bed, the energy put into the toss causing it to bounce once before opening to a random page. As the Scourge walks out of the room, the camera lingers long enough to show a picture of her, beaming ear to ear, in a simple yet elegant wedding gown. At her side, a man with relatively long fire-red hair and emerald eyes does the same; their fingers are entwined, a silken rope dyed blue and red wrapped around their forearms to tie them together.

Feel the fever coming? You’re shaking and twitching.
You can scratch all over, but that won’t stop you itching.

Memories that refuse to fade into oblivion continue their pursuit as she descends the stairs into her living room, moments that once were comprised of touchably-soft warmth developing razor-sharp edges that cut into the quick of her being. Looking over at the pristine white of her sofa was no good; visions of sitting on one end while he sprawled out beside her, his head upon her lap as he slumbered burned themselves into the backs of her eyelids when she did that. The front door’s no good, either – snippets of the conversation with the now-deceased William Richmond echo in her ears, the sound of her future husband’s panicked breathing all too clear from where he was hiding just out of sight of the man whose greed would ultimately cost him his life. Shaking her head in an attempt to rid her thoughts of the past, the Scourge turns left and heads into the kitchen where similar visions haunt her.

Can you feel a little love? Can you feel a little love?
Dream on, dream on…

Perhaps it would have been a good idea after all to leave this place on the market and simply buy another home, one that wasn’t steeped in memories of the first time she had shared a living space with the man she had married all too soon. The edges of her self-control are coming unraveled, a thread hooked upon the mental image of the last time she saw Kaji in the flesh, the fire within his eyes extinguished by the sight of her walking out the door of his Savannah home. There is no comfort to be found in the almost sterile white of her dining area; the reflection in the stainless steel of her refrigerator door is of the vulnerable woman beneath the armor of the cold hard bitch which she has built her career upon. Leaning forward, she places her forehead against the cool surface of that impromptu mirror in an attempt to slow her emotionally-accelerated pulse.

Blame it on your karmic curse. “Oh, shame,” upon the universe.
It knows its lines; it’s well rehearsed.

A deep, shuddering breath.

It sucked you in. It dragged you down
to where there is no hallow ground… where holiness is never found.

Once she’s got her thoughts back under some semblance of control, she rights herself; the façade is safely in place now, the ice queen reigning over the tumultuous kingdom of her emotions with an iron fist rimmed in frost. Turning away from where she had been forced to be face-to-face with her weaknesses, the Scourge strides purposefully across the hardwood of her floor, feet almost too pale to be healthy against the honey-lacquered oak. Unlike her soon-to-be ex-husband, Allison’s solace isn’t alcohol; instead, she has buried herself in her career… and so it is into her office that she goes, the walls within a somber shade of green that speaks only of focus, of seriousness and concentration towards improving both her reputation in the business as well as her stock portfolio.

Paying debt to karma, you party for a living.
What you take won’t kill you, but careful what you’re giving.

The wall on her right as she enters this space of no play is one that would have set the cause of her unease into yet another panic attack; without his delicate sensibilities to tiptoe around any longer, the Scourge has gone back to keeping her rather impressive collection of weaponry out in the open… and well within reach. Notably absent is any kind of fire arm; instead, Allison has invested in (and learned how to properly utilize) a wide array of knives, swords, and other slashing weapons. From a shaolin spade to throwing daggers hung neatly in a row, one would be hard pressed to find a more complete personal collection that was battle-ready… and battle-tested. In the center, settled upon metal pegs that have been covered in felt, are a pair of scimitars. It’s obvious that these two custom-made weapons are the ones she cherishes most; While they are cris-crossed in such a manner that the graceful calligraphy across one of the blades isn’t entirely visible, the one atop is; [i]Astaroth[/i].

Can you feel a little love? Can you feel a little love?

Coming a bit further into her study, the Scourge soon reaches her destination; a rather sizable desk, the legs ornately carved. A replica of the VXW TV Championship has been placed in the top bracket of an otherwise empty display case; the real deal is set neatly, respectfully upon the corner of the Scourge’s workspace. The mail forwarding has finally kicked in properly, if the small stack of letters and bills that occupy the center of that mahogany desktop is any indicator; on the top is an envelope from PSW. Picking it up, she reaches into her pocket to withdraw a rectangle of scuffed steel. A flick of the wrist opens the small switchblade that she uses to open it up. Unfolding the page, she reads the enclosed letter from one Vincent Thorn.

Dream on, dream on…

She smiles.

Until then, readers, I throw myself upon your mercies and plead for your mercy!

That is all.