An Open Letter to Paul Cruse III

February 18th, 2009

Dear Paul Cruse III,

I am writing on behalf of every human that has ever existed.  It may come as a surprise to you, but in fact not every event that occurs is a direct attack on you and the fact that you are black.  Your writing strategy is such: believe in something, ignore all evidence of the contrary, write a column with only what what you may think is valid “evidence”, present a weak argument with lots of holes, badmouth anyone who may disagree, and finally appeal to a bandwagon to follow your terrible thought process.  Brilliant.

Beyond your persecution complex is also a deep love for Apple.  You’ve sung Apple’s praises in several columns instead of using your space in the Daily Illini for reasonable editorials.  You chose to use your column as a big advertisement.  I hope you sold out for a good price, because your credibility blew up faster than the Challenger.

Your columns were so terrible that I wouldn’t let my puppy shit or piss on them.  Nay, my puppy deserved better (sports section at least).  I’m glad that you feel so important that you believe that so many people are out to get you, and just you.
———————————————–

The best I can figure how you have remained on the DI editorial staff could be explained two ways:
1.  The DI wants to appear to “embrace diversity” and keeps you around (regardless of your terrible writing ability and useless columns) in order to have a black guy.
2.  The DI is full of incompetent, self-absorbed idiots that may as well all fall into a pit and save society the pain of dealing with them in the future.

In reality, I’m sure the situation is a combination of both.

Keep preaching from your high horse, Paul.  Not only are you better than everyone since you’re studying both “computer and political” science, you are constantly being persecuted because you’re a black male.  The fact that you’ve managed to live to this age, accomplish so much, and tolerate how terrible the white man is treating you is nothing less than miraculous.

Truly, you are an inspiration to all mankind, a real American hero.  We should be so lucky that someday you may hover over our heads and squeeze out a tight coil of your knowledge in our faces (much like you’ve done in the DI over the semesters).  Then we may experience a small example of how great you are.

If you have any dignity left you will immediately resign from your position at the Daily Illini and in place of your column the DI will publish pictures of missing children.  This will the best possible use for the space you have previously occupied.  Furthermore, you will make a public apology to all people on campus.  In the apology you will recognize that you are a self-absorbed douchebag who hides behind persecution as an excuse for your own shortcomings.

Cheers,
Everybody

Paul is a senior in computer and political science, and is better than you.

Biweekly

February 12th, 2009

Biweekly is a really, really shitty word.  Any ape of moderate intelligence would notice the prefix bi and assume that the number two (aka Vivoli’s constant) is somehow used.

The addition of the (base)word “weekly” would lead said ape to assume that the event in question occurs the prefix number of times during time base word time period.

Explained another way:
XYly : = Given a time period of length Y, the event will occur X times at equally-spaced intervals.

Now we come to the fun part.  The most accepted definition of biweekly is along the lines of “the event occurs every 2 weeks.”

To refer to something that happens twice a week, we’re supposed to use the word “semiweekly.”  Semi meaning half and week, obviously being the period of time.

So why don’t we say semi-monthly, or the cooler fortnightly, when referring to an event that occurs every two weeks?
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Consider the following:

biweekly –>event happens every 2 weeks
biannually –> event happens 2 times per year

How the fuck is this supposed to make sense?  How are we to decide when to use the appropriate numerical prefix attached to the time period which it divides?  Biannually does not mean every two years, yet biweekly means every two weeks.  You’re shitting in my mouth with that nonsense.
Here’s my take on what happened:
Some dipshit thought:
“hay, muh Burger Kang paychec comez evory 2 weeks, i kno dat bi meanz to (bisexxu all n’ shit) so dat meens i getz payed bianaly”

Later a slightly more intelligent person came along and added clarity:
“I recieve a paycheck every two weeks.  I know that ‘bi” is the English prefix for the number 2 (Vivoli’s constant), and that I wait 2 weeks to get my paycheck.  Therefore, the correct term to describe the reoccurance of getting my paycheck is biweekly”

The notion gained steam when people were too afraid to speak up and point out how retarded their friends/family were for using the term biweekly when they really meant semi-monthly or fortnightly.  Nobody grew a pair and told these people to shut the fuck up.  The fire spread.  Soon there was a sprawling throng of idiots on fire who thought they were correct and everyone was afraid to extinguish the flames.  Enough bullshit, I’ve got cajones bigger than bowling balls.
———————–

Listen up America (and you other lesser countries), it’s time to take this facet of our language back….back for those of us who care, those of us who believe.  Here is a list of types of people that want to take biweekly back:

Those who care
Those who believe
Those who love
Those who love freedom
Those who despise terrorists
Those who want justice for all
Huddled masses yearning to breathe free
Children
Mentally handicapped children
Playwrights
Firefighters
The Rock
Various goody-two-shoeses
Math teachers
Volunteers
NPR listeners

We’re taking it back and you idiots who are sticking with biweekly over fornightly or semi-monthly can blow me.  I’d like to plead with everyone on that list: if you ever hear someone use biweekly when they mean fortnightly, please, please punch that fucker (or bitch) in the fucking mouth.  A quick right directly to the word hole may cause them to second guess themselves and their inability to speak (a retardedly over complex language) again.
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Don’t get me started with Spanish.  Let’s see an example of the retardedness.
hockey stick: “palo de hockey” meaning “stick of hockey
gold club: “palo de golf” meaning “stick of golf
baseball bat: “bate” meaning “baseball bat

Are you kidding my sex organs?  How does that make sense?  Stick of this, stick of that … bate?  Fuck you Spanish, you’re almost as retarded as English.  And that’s a real shame, and a disgrace to the Western (the best) hemisphere.  All you English and Spanish speaking people need to get down on your knees and start begging for mercy from the languages that make more sense.  Right now, do it.  I’m going to break into your house and shove a baguette in every place you don’t want it.

I’m an English speaker and embarrassed of my terrible language.  Henceforth I shall only communicate in ASL, semaphore, smoke signals, or a crude system of various hand gestures, winks, clicks, and whistles.

Hand gun with thumb and forefinger shooting, click click, click, nod, wink, wistle-nod, click, raise middle finger.

ILL-INI and the Small Asian Woman

February 7th, 2009

The other day I saw someone with a U of I t-shirt with a big chief on the front.  She was walking toward me so I said to her “I-L-L.”  In response, she proceded to contiue looking foward/down contiued walking past me (literally 2 feet from me).

What’s with the lack of love for UIUC?

Every person I’ve met out here that went to Prudue enjoys a good “Boiler up!”  I like the Big 10.  It’s a welcome change from all of the big name schools on the coasts that have only athletics and not much to show for academics.

Stand-and-Offend

January 30th, 2009

Stand aside adopting third world children. Being offended is the newest campus pastime. I lived in Allen Hall for three semesters when I first arrived at the University in 2004.

The rumors of hippies, pot, activists, and artsy-fartsy people were all true. I can understand the philosophy of hippies, the enjoyment that comes with marijuana, and the celebration of one’s creative nature. Regrettably, I lack the ability to understand the campus activist. On my way to dinner one evening I passed a table set up outside the dining hall just as I had done so many times before.

However, this time, a friend of mine was sitting at the table, with pieces of paper and half pencils. Our conversation went something like this: Me: “Hi Nick (name changed)!” Nick: “Hi, Joe.” “What do you have going on here?” “Well, I’m starting a protest group.” “Oh, I see. What are you protesting?” “Nothing yet.

People are filling out the top three things that they want to protest on these pieces of paper. We’ll take the top answer and protest it.” “So… you’re protesting what now?” “It’s a protest group.” “Isn’t protesting about finding people with similar beliefs and then taking action regarding a particular issue?” “Yeah, you see, it’s a protest group”

I realized that I could have a more meaningful conversation among the cereal choices in the dining hall, so I left Nick alone at the table. Over a bowl a coco puffs I considered Nick’s motivation. The group was not about a particular issue, it was about mobilization, being loud, getting into people’s faces, making a scene, getting attention, feeling accomplishment.

It appeared that Nick wanted to be offended. I made a mental note that Nick was a pussy in the rolodex in my head. Another instance in front of the dining hall opened my eyes to the phenomenon that being offended is the new cool thing to do. Walking to dinner I passed an “anti-chief” table set up like Nick’s table.

I had some time to kill, and I felt like learning about a different perspective on the issue would help me better consider where I stood. I engaged the young man at the table in conversation. (I’ll spare you the quotes this time) After about a minute of discussion, I was aware that this young man was against the chief because it was “a harmful stereotype”. I inquired to his family origins. He explained that his ancestors were Russian Jews. I thought surely he can’t find the image offensive, he had no ties to the Illiniwek. (I decided not to mention to him that the Illiniwek was a loose collaboration of tribes, with no chief).

His reasoning for being an anti-chief activist? “Some people are offended, and I’m giving them a voice.” I don’t remember this young man’s name, but I assure you, if I did, I’d have a new entry next to it in my rolodex. I asked him to clarify, to repeat what he had just told me. He was offended by the chief because someone else was offended. His response cleared all doubt. I had in fact, heard him correctly.

From here, I inquired who is to decide if something that is offensive is reasonable, and should be removed. He didn’t seem to understand. I should have figured. I told him, that the color of the chair he was sitting on offended me, and that he should no longer sit on it. He gave me a scowl, as I was apparently patronizing him.

I must admit, I was patronizing him to a small extent, but only because I thought my question about drawing the line in terms of “offensiveness” was direct and obvious.

He immediately took the defensive and barked about how pointless it was to be offended by a chair color. I thought that this vigor, this life would make him think critically about why he was upset. Alas, I was confronted with the truth that he was now offended, and not in a proper state of mind to begin critical analysis of his emotions.

The conversation soon ended and I went to find more meaning in breakfast cereal once again in the dining hall. Upon reflection on these two instances, I came to the realization that the college activist wants to be offended.

The college activist wants attention. The college activist wants to stand up for someone or something. I have cheered on the Fighting Illini since I was a boy. I have enjoyed the traditions of this university, and the absence of chief Illiniwek offends me.

Which one of you activists will speak out, making people aware that I am offended?

Fuck You, Speedy Smog

January 24th, 2009

Fuck you, Speedy Smog

On Wednesday, January 21st in the year of the Lord 2009 I went to Speedy Smog on El Camino Real in Santa Clara.

After passing my smog test I was assured that the DMV would receive an electronic copy of the smog certification.  The one guy working at Speedy Smog couldn’t get the printer working, so I received no printout that confirmed that I, indeed, passed the smog test.

I returned today, Jan. 23, at 2pm to get the printout before my visit to the DMV at 2:30.  Lo and behold the printer was still not working (or the guy was too lazy to try to print it for me) and I was again assured that the DMV would have an electronic record of the passed smog test.

2:30 comes and I’m at the DMV, looking to register my Explorer.  After a mountain of confusing paperwork and a woman behind the counter who couldn’t understand that I don’t live in California my smog certification is requested.  I informed her that it was smogged 2 days ago and produced the receipt from Speedy Smog.

She informed me that there was no electronic record of said smog test.

Now I’m fucking furious.  I have to make another appointment with the DMV for 2 weeks from now, and then take time off of work go to back there.  This whole nonsense is the direct fault of Speedy Smog and their inability to deliver the results of the smog test.

I’m going to go there tomorrow morning to request either a printout or my money back.  If I leave with neither, I’m going to report Speedy Smog to the BBB, where I will dispute the charge for the smog test as well as reimbursement for the time I will have to take off in order to go back to the DMV.

Fuck you,
Speedy Smog (Smog Test Only)
3467 El Camino Real
Santa Clara, CA 95051
(408) 260-8322

Old People Suck

January 21st, 2009

Normally I’d use this space to complain about Asian drivers.  One may think that I have some sort of sick need for pain whilst behind the wheel since I decided to move into “little Korea”.  However, that is a rant for another day.

Some old people are great.  Their life experience grants them wisdom that will be doled out upon request.  Some tell gripping tales of WWII, life during the depression, and the old country.  Certain old people are polite, considerate, relaxed, and enjoy their last years.  This rant is not about any of those geriatric archetypes.

Old People Are Slow And Constantly In The Way
I understand that after 80 years that your joints, muscles, and bones are not in prime condition.  But why do you have to do every goddamn thing so slowly and in every one’s way?  I was on 280 the other day (coming from 101) with a geriatric in front of me doing 50mph.  It is much more unsafe to go 50mph in a lane where people are merging from a major freeway than going 65-70mph in the same lane.

Along with driving like snails, old people walk slowly in the middle of aisles at grocery stores, they talk slowly when they verbally communicate with the world, and they eat so slowly that if you ever go to a restaurant with one, you’ll be ready to leave by the time they’re done with their salad.

I wouldn’t mind the slow pace if Oliver and Gertrude didn’t insist on occupying the highest-paced, most trafficed areas where society travels.  Get the hell out of my way, you old fuck.  Just because you have nothing to to and have time to wander around like a zombie doesn’t mean that I can afford the same luxury.  Move as slow as you please, but don’t hold up the rest of the world.

Old People Are Often Confused
I don’t care that you don’t understand.  I want you to get out of my way.  Show me a retail store with a sign that describes a sale and I’ll show an old person who doesn’t understand it.  Signs like “30% off Valencia Oranges” are apparently too confusing.  Did they not have percentages back in 1931?

Old people love to talk with the poor clerks at the registers.  “My kids don’t call me because I’m a giant pain in the ass, and I really want to talk to someone.  I’ll go to the store and bitch about something so that employees will have to talk to me.”

That’s exactly what I want.  You find something that you don’t understand, then bitch out the 16 year old behind the counter while I wait with an cart full of purchases.  Continue making a big deal about it, nobody else in the universe has anything better to do than listen to your saggy old ass complain about how you don’t understand.

I understand that most geriatrics never went to college.  I don’t expect a 75 year old man to do calculus on demand.  I do, however, expect basic mathematical skills.  This includes and is not limited to the following:

  • Adding 1
  • Subtracting 1
  • Taking percentages in 10% intervals
  • Doubling a number
  • Addition and subtraction of integers between 0 and 25

Really, these are the basic skills that will successfully propel one through 97% of life.  These are operations that everyone learns before they are 10 years old, regardless of decade (in the past 250 years).

To all old people: I don’t care that you don’t understand.  Just like you don’t actually care about understanding.  I know what is going on.  You’re not being cheated or abused.  Get the hell out of my way.

No, don’t say anything, for the love of– ugh.  Now you’re talking about your cat.  I don’t care.  I DON’T CARE!  There are millions of domestic cats and I’m sure that what yours does is no different than any of the others.  I’m nodding and saying “yes” in hopes that you’ll shut the hell up soon.  Great, you’re done talking, but I still need to go in the direction that you’re blocking.  You don’t realize that anyone else exists, so I’ll just stand here and look in the direction that I want to be moving.  Waiting, waiting, waiting.  What time is it?  What can I do while having to wait?  Finally, you moved.  Time to walk out to the parking lot where I’ll be stuck behind another one trying to drive.

Old People Smell Terrible
I flew from Chicago to San Jose last May and had the luxury of being on a flight with several geriatrics.  One old woman got up and went to the bathroom 7 times (on a 3.5 hour flight).  Each time she passed me I smelled a wave of shit.  Human, stewing shit.  Just like if you’re watching hockey and the players skate past you.  Two seconds after they’ve skated by, you get that wave of BO.  This was a wave of shit, 7 times, each terrible.  Why was this woman on a plane?  What a great situation to put everyone.  I can only imagine that this was her final plane ride home to pick out a gravestone and select a coffin.

I understand that your body is degrading and that you can no longer smell anything.  That doesn’t magically mean that your corpus no longer produces a smell (just like it has for the last 75 years).  Make an attempt, please.  Cologne or perfume can smell good and mask the smell of your uncontrollable bowls and rotting bones.  I’d much rather smell “Mon Studio” than poop.

Closing Thoughts
I understand that as the human body/mind age that the speed and cognition are reduced.  This is not a blank check to disregard the rest of humanity’s existence.  You are old, you are slow, you don’t understand anything, you shit yourself every 10 minutes, and you have no concept of anyone else.  You are constantly in my way and contribute absolutely nothing to society.

Go as slow as you want.  Be as stupid as you want.  Just get the hell out of my way, because I’m neither slow nor stupid.  I’m not asking you to change your diaper or learn a new language.  I’m asking you to be slightly more considerate of everyone else in the universe.  GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY.

New Blog

December 26th, 2008

I’ve updated to the new blog.  All of my old articles still exist, and I’ll get around to posting them in due time.

I’ve decided to stick with WordPress for now.  When I get a little free time I’ll pick up a PHP book and create my own site from scratch.  For now, this is much, much easier.

Chi-Town and ‘Frisco

June 6th, 2008

It’s official.  The stupidest people are saying “Chi-Town” and “‘Frisco” to refer to Chicago and San Francisco respectively.

Please stop.  You sound like an idiot.  You’ll notice that the people who use these words also don’t know the difference between your and you’re as well as affect and effect.  What is the motivation to open your mouth and sound like an uneducated jackass (I’ll beat you to it: “I dunno, you tell me Joe”)?

You’re so funny. I’d like to add to the list of retarded nicknames for cities, including many that you don’t live near.

See if you can figure out what city I’m talking about, and observe how retarded (and similar) the nicknames are to Chi-Town and ‘Frisco.

  • Salt Lick City, UT
  • Sea-At, WA
  • My-me, FL
  • Akorn, OH
  • Bacon, GA
  • R’Mond, VA
  • Dicksburg, MS
  • Chatnug, TN
  • Boozeman, MT
  • Flag-Town, AZ
  • Ov’r, DE

I sincerely hope that all of you idiots soon adopt these nicknames for the cities that they imply.  I thought about including what the actual city was, but then realized that it was too obvious.  However, I added the state abbreviations to help those readers with more advanced cases of down syndrome.

I’d rather spend an hour in a broken elevator with a tipped-over box of scorpions than sit down to a meal with people who say Chi-Town and ‘Frisco.   You people disgust me.

On Quality and Goodness

May 31st, 2008

There are two definitions of “good” that I’d like to explore.

The first idea of a thing being good (or levels of goodness thereof) is based on how well it serves its functional purpose.

The second idea is that a thing being good (or levels of goodness thereof) is based on an expert opinion. I believe the former definition to be of value when considering necessities.

However the latter seems to offer more functionality in daily life. I’d like to point out that there are no degrees of “goodness” defined as I know them. Hang in there with me, this isn’t a discussion about degrees of goodness.

Let’s consider cheese. I am by no means a cheese expert. I know hardly anything of the process, I do not know names of any exotic types. I’m a complete novice. Suppose I go to the store and buy a block of generic brand sharp cheddar.

I go home, cut it up, and eat it with some crackers. One might consider the cheese good because it has successfully accomplished its purpose by adding flavor to the crackers. An expert in the field of cheesecraft and cheese taste may regard the cheese as “bad.” But it served it’s purpose to me!

I ate it, and it was pleasing to the taste. We have two polarized conflicting views of the “goodness” of the cheese. I contend that we must separate the ideas of “good” and purpose-filling. In the world of cheeses, mine is terrible. However it fulfills its purpose effectively.

I believe that this separation takes a great deal of maturity. Just because you like something that does not mean that it is good. Goodness must follow quality. And quality can only be judged from experience and knowledge.

I am an inexperienced cheese taster with very little knowledge of cheeses, therefore I am a poor judge of quality on the subject. Again, separate the idea that it fulfills its purpose and that you like it. Experts exist in every field: cheeses, wine, music, mathematics, driving, fishing, etc.

They are the ones with the knowledge and experience to judge the quality and therefore “goodness” of the things in their respective fields. The obvious consequence of this idea is that we all have varying levels of expertise in different fields. I may know a great deal about mathematics, but lack in depth knowledge of rugby.

I feel that whenever we interact with each other we must consider that person’s expertise in that field. Suppose I am working on a circuit board, trying to build an electric clock.

My friend Chris comes up to me and tells me that the circuit is good. Chris does not know anything about circuits or electrical engineering, he is interested in political science. Chris leaves and Fred enters the room to tell me that my circuit is good. Fred is an electrical engineer with years of experience.

In this case, it’s obvious that Fred’s knowledge of the field is far superior and we put more value into his opinion. Both Chris and Fred reach the same arbitrary conclusion.

The real meaning is drawn from our knowledge of the background of each person. Consider the same scenario, however this time Chris says that my circuit is bad and Fred considers it good.

With something so clear cut, almost every reasonable person would not get upset. It is a blunder to not consider the level of expertise of the people in which we converse. The immature conversationalist/philosopher will quickly become offended when a conversation partner describes something that is held dear as bad. He has not fully considered the separation we have been discussing.

A more mature and careful philosopher will consider the experience of the comment maker and assign a level of value to the comment. Just because you like something that does not mean that it is good. When asked if something is “good” or not, it is more wise to admit ignorance than to pass faulty judgment.

So the next time I tell you that your music is crap, you suck at math, and you are a terrible driver, consider the fact that I’m fucking better than you at all of these things. I don’t go around bitching about things of which I have no knowledge.

I know more about these topics than you do, and you have a range of topics in which you are more knowledgeable than me. Don’t get offended, it makes you look like immature. Instead, think about how the subject fulfills its purpose and its quality.

_______________________________________

If you skipped down here to read here’s the short version: I will only comment on things that I know better than you. You are a child for getting so easily offended. Think about it, and quit being a bitch. Personal value of an object does not imply quality and therefore goodness.

Note: the desire to describe things as “better” or “worse” is an interesting topic for another discussion (perhaps it’s inherent to human nature?) that I may consider at a later date.

An Open Letter to Africa

April 7th, 2008

Dear Africa,

Genocide in Darfur and Rwanda? AIDS crisis? For too long, I’ve sat idle while thousands of travesties took place in Africa.I’ve never before declared that an entire continent can blow me, but now is the time to take action.

Here goes: Africa, blow me.

Let’s stop fucking around. You’re poor and full of diseases. Why is your default behavior to have more children? I can only imagine the thought process goes something like this: “Gee, my life is really crappy. I’m hungry, I have essentially no home, and I’m struggling with these diseases because my crappy society lacks modern medicine.

I mean, sure it’s fine to dance around with drums to drive spirits away, but deep down, I know that doesn’t really help anyone get well. I’ve got the solution to all of my problems: I need to create more people. What an idea! Now someone else will be born into crippling poverty and disease. I’m sure that someone will be a productive member of society, only acting in an honest and forthcoming manner.”

“Africa is home to less than 10% of the world’s population but has more than 66% of all HIV/AIDS cases worldwide. In 2006, more than 2 million Africans died from AIDS.”

Sounds like you’re doing something wrong.  Maybe you should work on improving your situation. The bleeding hearts in the United States would love for you to donate money to feed these people.

Why should I pay for someone else’s poor decisions? Here’s my angle: I give you a box of aid (in the form of medicine or food) and you get sterilized. Now you can have all the sex you want, without crapping out more kids for some asshole activist on campus to tell me are “my responsibility.” Then, I teach you how to get your own food, or I let you trade valuable resources (Africa has valuable resources?) for more food. Being stupid, and having a shitty community is easy to fix.

Do what someone else has done.  Listen to people who are smarter than you.  All you have to do is try.  Listen to people who are smarter than you. What has Africa done for you lately? Occupied useful space in your newspaper? Offended you by showing images of poor, starving people on television?

At what point do we let Africa decide Africa’s future. Listen up idiots: quit giving a shit about Africa. Let Africa decide if it’s going to remain diseased, poor, and hungry. “But they can’t do anything about it, blah blah blah.”

Bullshit. Major change (for the better) can’t take place without a large quantity of indigenous people wanting what’s best for everyone. Has no civil war successfully taken place on this planet?

Is it so great to live in crappy poverty, keeping it that way for your children? Or maybe there’s something better worth fighting for. Maybe your (as a whole) situation could be better in the future? Go help yourself Africa, because I don’t give a shit about you.

Again, blow me.