I have "The Sack Artist is your best friend" tattooed on my forehead backwards. I think people find it off putting. Another just says "Stupid Fuck". I don't know if I can keep this up.
I have lost all of my RPS matches by forfeit. During the first, I forgot why I was standing in a circle facing another person. My opponent threw rock and I interpreted it as an attack. I strangled him with a microphone cord (a la The Wedding Singer). Every subsequent morning I awoke in a hotel room unaware of how I got there and wondering where Snarles and the Jetski where.
Every day that I didn't begin working on the blog, I would spend listening to The Cure, Joy Division, and Meatloaf while consuming as many as many Barbershots as Übersapienly possible. I went through 32 bottles of aftershave and mouthwash in a week. 53 dollars well spent. Because I was almost out of money, in my down time I devised a plan to make more. The world Championship of Rock, Paper, Scissors. A tournament of three throw RPS games. The plan seemed oddly familiar.
Losing my memory has been quite unsettling. Most days I would lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I would try to stay in bed all day, but would eventually get lured out by the pistol I had intended to kill myself with. After becoming fully aware of how much of a sackless pussy who can't pull a trigger I was, I would sit at my computer. Typing. Because, surprise: I can read and write, although I prefer the dragon speech software for a number of reasons:
1. I find the echo of my voice, which exists only on the very edge of perception, from the closet I work in to be soothing.
2. Freeing up my hands allows me to remove the filling from multiple Oreo cookies and store it for later consumption
3. I speak as I type and also tend to talk with my hands. It is often difficult to find a happy medium between nonverbal communication and effective keyboarding. All too often, I am midway through a phenomenal sentence when one or both of my hands floats off to gesture.
Working off of these notes it is really difficult to know what to type. Stuff is scrawled onto my arms, some of it is crudely tattooed with a pen. I'm not really sure how long has been going on.
I decided to pattern my anterograde amnesia after the movie "Memento". In it, the lead character, played flawlessly by Guy Pearce, witnesses the rape and murder of his wife. He is then subjected to blunt force trauma and is left unable to make new memories and goes on a merciless killing spree. Masterful. (The movie progresses from end to beginning in five minute segments as to simulate the main character's condition). Seeking my own personal spousal rape, murder, and blunt force trauma, I sought out my dog Snarles. He was initially hesitant as he had watched the past week's bender but after a long discussion and some pleading on my part he obliged. I sat him utop the jet ski and he drove it into my head.
Having read my last post, I am sure you as well as my other reader know that I have lost my job. I guess that Landmark College didn't want to know how easy it is to sneak weapons into the building. And I GUESS the "no guns" part of my contract is a blanket clause for "no hand grenades. Long story short: the fun police gave me the boot. Had I not pissed away the money from the carnival cruise (on jet skis and Evian spring water for the pool) I would have definitely pursue legal action. It sent me into a week long drinking spree. I was almost out of money, so in my down time I devised a plan to make more. The world Championship of Rock, Paper, Scissors. A tournament of three throw RPS games. But how does one win? Some would suggest "The Fist Full of Dollars" or in layman's terms: Rock, Paper, Paper. It always wins. Humans obsess over the best strategy. As it turns out though, there is a computer that defeats every human player. It exploits our one glaring weakness: predictability and adheres to random throws. Even at the subconscious level, humans adhere to patterns. They draw on past experience whether they want to or not. To be the best I would have to eliminate past experience. I would have to eliminate my memory.
Good evening listeners,
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
im drunk
so what landmark college fired me, shut happens. id dont care. tell her to stop to marrying me. somtimes i like to drnik. alright,
step one. stuff shit into destruction.
stepo two: realize she is lying to me
step three: realize my standards are that low.
step four: realize i am bored with my standards
step five: realize i am not too bored with my standards to drop my standards
step B: hit the bench press
stepL ten thousand: oh god kill me
step infinity no no kill sven.
Step infinity plus one: facebook people
step fsfut im pretty durnk astuddy
step one. stuff shit into destruction.
stepo two: realize she is lying to me
step three: realize my standards are that low.
step four: realize i am bored with my standards
step five: realize i am not too bored with my standards to drop my standards
step B: hit the bench press
stepL ten thousand: oh god kill me
step infinity no no kill sven.
Step infinity plus one: facebook people
step fsfut im pretty durnk astuddy
Friday, August 14, 2009
CollegePictureBook.com
With 2012 just a few years away, Armageddon is upon us. The modern world will end and a select few will survive to live in a post apocalyptic dystopia. Gasoline, Un-radiated food and water will be scarce, infrastructure will be non-existent. In this world, only the strong will survive. I am excited to meet it. While everyone is out and about attempting to scrape by on old cans of beans and canned fruit, I will keep the world civilized. But what defines a civilization? Is it its ability to function as a collective group and thrive. A collection of self aware individuals who more often than not work towards the common good? OR Is it the ability to keep tabs on your ex-girlfriend using a java based website? I think the answer is clear.
Q: But Sven, the internet is down, how will you keep the world civilized?
A: Lyndon Innovation
Enter CollegePictureBook.com. In a world without an internet, CollegePictureBook.com will have all the juicy details on the one that got away. But how does it function without internet? SIMPLE!
Step 1. Find whatever writing material you can and, using an ink made of your blood and soot, scrawl on it your personal information, relationship status, favorite bands, ect. Really, don't be shy. Include your home address, favorite foods, all that good stuff. Just because the apocalypse has come and gone doesn't mean we can't enjoy the simple privileges of anonymous narcissism.
Step 2. Find all of the pictures you want, tag some friends if you please. You might just have to skip scavenging for food but this is important. Food and water are going to have to sit on the back burner for a bit.
Step 3. Put all of this in an envelope and hang it on a hook in a clearing. One of "The Chosen" will ride by and, without stopping, grab the envelope. Do NOT attempt to talk to them.
Step 4. Should you watch to see who picks up your envelope, it will go a bit like this:
"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts. And I looked and behold, a pale horse. And it's name it said on him was Death. And Hell followed with him"
Step 5. Sitting in a dank corner of a warehouse filled wall-to-wall with 3.5 inch floppy disks, I will take the personal information and begin typing it up on a Mac One. All pictures will be redrawn with the arrow keys in whatever imaging application the Mac One has. I will work night and day, the closest thing to sleep I will ever know will be using a home made flame thrower to hold off Lord Humungus and his general: Master Blaster. They want my floppies.
Step 6. I will copy your profile to floppy disks. If you've got twelve friends, I'll make twelve disks. If your a huge whore and have roughly 2,000 friends, most you don't even know personally, except for the time they were your beer pong partner and you gave them a squeezer in the bathroom at the end of the night, I'll make 2,000 disks. What would CollegePictureBook.com be without the sluts.
Step 7. The disks will then be placed in a bag and picked up by one of my many couriers. They will ride horses, or bikes, or motorcycles, one will have a gyro copter. They will race against the many gangs and remnants of the American government that populate the wasteland to deliver said disks. Many will die. As The Chosen distribute the disks they will likely expose your friend's positions to the enemy.
Step 8. You load the received profile onto your computer and enjoy.
Step 9. When you want to update your profile, simply start at step one.
Before you question the legitimacy of this program, arguing that my time is better spent finding food or making guns, I want you to count the number of times you went on Facebook yesterday. Mankind is in a new era of necessity, in short, we have evolved a fourth basic need. Food, water, shelter, Facebook. Facebook isn't some passing trend, it is the future. Fifty years from now, the presidential address will not be broadcast on ABC, NBC, Fox, or any news channel. It will take place on Facebook as a series of carefully planned status updates. Without Facebook we lose what separates us from the animals. It used to be that sapience, or awareness of your own existence, was what separated us from the animals. They have now given self awareness tests to dolphins, dogs, and elephants. They all passed. I have yet, however, to see any of those animals drunkenly "poke" the girl they like on a java based website.
By preserving anonymous social networking, I will preserve mankind.
-S.L.
Q: But Sven, the internet is down, how will you keep the world civilized?
A: Lyndon Innovation
Enter CollegePictureBook.com. In a world without an internet, CollegePictureBook.com will have all the juicy details on the one that got away. But how does it function without internet? SIMPLE!
Step 1. Find whatever writing material you can and, using an ink made of your blood and soot, scrawl on it your personal information, relationship status, favorite bands, ect. Really, don't be shy. Include your home address, favorite foods, all that good stuff. Just because the apocalypse has come and gone doesn't mean we can't enjoy the simple privileges of anonymous narcissism.
Step 2. Find all of the pictures you want, tag some friends if you please. You might just have to skip scavenging for food but this is important. Food and water are going to have to sit on the back burner for a bit.
Step 3. Put all of this in an envelope and hang it on a hook in a clearing. One of "The Chosen" will ride by and, without stopping, grab the envelope. Do NOT attempt to talk to them.
Step 4. Should you watch to see who picks up your envelope, it will go a bit like this:
"And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts. And I looked and behold, a pale horse. And it's name it said on him was Death. And Hell followed with him"
Step 5. Sitting in a dank corner of a warehouse filled wall-to-wall with 3.5 inch floppy disks, I will take the personal information and begin typing it up on a Mac One. All pictures will be redrawn with the arrow keys in whatever imaging application the Mac One has. I will work night and day, the closest thing to sleep I will ever know will be using a home made flame thrower to hold off Lord Humungus and his general: Master Blaster. They want my floppies.
Step 6. I will copy your profile to floppy disks. If you've got twelve friends, I'll make twelve disks. If your a huge whore and have roughly 2,000 friends, most you don't even know personally, except for the time they were your beer pong partner and you gave them a squeezer in the bathroom at the end of the night, I'll make 2,000 disks. What would CollegePictureBook.com be without the sluts.
Step 7. The disks will then be placed in a bag and picked up by one of my many couriers. They will ride horses, or bikes, or motorcycles, one will have a gyro copter. They will race against the many gangs and remnants of the American government that populate the wasteland to deliver said disks. Many will die. As The Chosen distribute the disks they will likely expose your friend's positions to the enemy.
Step 8. You load the received profile onto your computer and enjoy.
Step 9. When you want to update your profile, simply start at step one.
Before you question the legitimacy of this program, arguing that my time is better spent finding food or making guns, I want you to count the number of times you went on Facebook yesterday. Mankind is in a new era of necessity, in short, we have evolved a fourth basic need. Food, water, shelter, Facebook. Facebook isn't some passing trend, it is the future. Fifty years from now, the presidential address will not be broadcast on ABC, NBC, Fox, or any news channel. It will take place on Facebook as a series of carefully planned status updates. Without Facebook we lose what separates us from the animals. It used to be that sapience, or awareness of your own existence, was what separated us from the animals. They have now given self awareness tests to dolphins, dogs, and elephants. They all passed. I have yet, however, to see any of those animals drunkenly "poke" the girl they like on a java based website.
By preserving anonymous social networking, I will preserve mankind.
-S.L.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Re: Your Wedding
Recently I was invited to Brett Stevenson's wedding. He's an old college chum of mine and I was flattered to be invited. I was instructed to send my RSVP to Bstevenson1957@hotmail.com. He told me he doesn't read the blog, so I sent this email: "Response at: TheUbersapien.blogspot.com -S.L." Well, here is the response:
Hello Brett,
It's Sven Lyndon. Sadly I cannot attend your holy matrimony. I work at the front desk of a learning center. Long story short: the girl who just started and could take my hours the weekend of your wedding is a lazy bitch with a huge growler and would rather sit on the couch eating bon-bons. You know what a growler is, that type of vagina that has just seen too much abuse. Hairy, and toothed. She honestly works about 12 hours a week, I just want to force feed her spaghetti until she explodes (like in Se7en, great movie). I want to do a "Saw" torture marathon: she faces every trap set by jigsaw in a 100 hour hell. Not just her either. Pretty much all women deserve this. They truly are the weakest sex. But since she can't fill in for me, I've gotta stick around and work.
You don't even know how bummed I am. We should definitely catch up at homecoming, I've got so many Asians to tell you about. Its like their genetics lend themselves to my abuse. There was one that I taught a bunch of fake American cultural customs. I modified another's vocabulary, replacing the word "please" with "shit." Lets just say this chick went from very polite to surly at the drop of a hat. It's like they will do anything if you have made an empty promise to marry them.
We should definitely catch up at homecoming. I just talked to Barry Sopinski. He's doing real well, hes been in the peace core for some time now. He said he'd be back as well. I can't wait to tell you guys in person about my competitive mysogeny. Abusing women (and Asians) has gone from casual to lifestyle. If I don't oppress one or both in a day, its like I don't exist. It defines me.
At this moment in time, I am recalling that your mother's name is Bertha and she was probably born around 1957. Why is this significant? Well it is quite likely that the email address (BStevenson1957@hotmail.com) supplied on that fruity invitation is that of your mother. If this is in fact the case:
Mrs. Stevenson I am so sorry for my language and opinions about women, Asians and your terrific wedding invitation. Please let me lend me sincerest apologies for the mix up. I don't even usually talk about women or Asians that way. Brett usually reprimands my behavior. You have a terrific son.
Sincerely,
Barry Sopinski
Hello Brett,
It's Sven Lyndon. Sadly I cannot attend your holy matrimony. I work at the front desk of a learning center. Long story short: the girl who just started and could take my hours the weekend of your wedding is a lazy bitch with a huge growler and would rather sit on the couch eating bon-bons. You know what a growler is, that type of vagina that has just seen too much abuse. Hairy, and toothed. She honestly works about 12 hours a week, I just want to force feed her spaghetti until she explodes (like in Se7en, great movie). I want to do a "Saw" torture marathon: she faces every trap set by jigsaw in a 100 hour hell. Not just her either. Pretty much all women deserve this. They truly are the weakest sex. But since she can't fill in for me, I've gotta stick around and work.
You don't even know how bummed I am. We should definitely catch up at homecoming, I've got so many Asians to tell you about. Its like their genetics lend themselves to my abuse. There was one that I taught a bunch of fake American cultural customs. I modified another's vocabulary, replacing the word "please" with "shit." Lets just say this chick went from very polite to surly at the drop of a hat. It's like they will do anything if you have made an empty promise to marry them.
We should definitely catch up at homecoming. I just talked to Barry Sopinski. He's doing real well, hes been in the peace core for some time now. He said he'd be back as well. I can't wait to tell you guys in person about my competitive mysogeny. Abusing women (and Asians) has gone from casual to lifestyle. If I don't oppress one or both in a day, its like I don't exist. It defines me.
At this moment in time, I am recalling that your mother's name is Bertha and she was probably born around 1957. Why is this significant? Well it is quite likely that the email address (BStevenson1957@hotmail.com) supplied on that fruity invitation is that of your mother. If this is in fact the case:
Mrs. Stevenson I am so sorry for my language and opinions about women, Asians and your terrific wedding invitation. Please let me lend me sincerest apologies for the mix up. I don't even usually talk about women or Asians that way. Brett usually reprimands my behavior. You have a terrific son.
Sincerely,
Barry Sopinski
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