I’m sitting here confirming to myself that Shoot Em Up is the greatest movie ever made and I have no one to tell.  The house is quiet, everyone’s asleep.  And even if they weren’t, they probably wouldn’t care that Clive Owen just shot the umbilical cord off of a baby, or that he’s put a dirty sock on it’s head to keep it warm.

But that’s exactly what people were used to reading on my blog.

So maybe the blog returns.  Who knows?

I’m going through withdrawal again, I’m still bored, I still hate a lot of stuff, etc, etc.  And Clive Owen just tried to pay for bullets with food stamps.  That kind of stuff deserves comment.  Fuck, the kids wearing a bullet proof vest bought with blowjob money.  I would have written this movie if I knew it was allowed.

So, good chance I’ve revived this blog for those who care.  Can’t be bothered with monarchophilia or any of the others.

I’m dead but I’m talking!

(I like turtles.)

Ok. So here’s the plan. the degenerati is truly dead. it’s sad, i know, but these things happen. I needed a change. So initially I started a blog that was exactly the same but had a new name. Some of you have seen it.

But that didn’t make me happy, goddamnit.

So now there’s two blogs. Sorta. not really “now”. soon. right now there’s monarchophilia. that’s a personal blog basically. accounts of how i fear the homeless or how the irish might be stealing the sun each night, or you know, that thing i said about supporting the Iraq war because I hate Iraqis. And also sadistic accounts of boring things i do, and EVEN(!) now, accounts of my emotional state! Kind of an old geocities personal site combined with my need to lie to strangers as much as possible. it’s like if you were a nymphomaniac: you’d need to have sex all teh time. I need to imply to the guy at the computer store that I maybe used to be a mercenary, or that my father wrote some of mariah carey’s less popular songs (I actually wanted to say brandi or brandy, but i wasn’t sure how it’s spelled).

The second blog is a group blog i’m working on. i’ll give you a link on monarchophilia when it pops up. it’ll be a political blog. “Oh no, not another leftist blog” you’re not thinking. Because you have total faith in me. It’s not going to be about like George bush or the US or something or other stuff that’s not worth mentioning. it’s going to be about things like the mindcrushingly important need to get Prussia back, and about science, and stuff in the news, and how modern greeks are actually just Slavic invaders and should shut up about their “vast history” and just admit that until they moved into greek people’s homes in like 1000CE their main focus was trying to marry their sheep and raping neighbours, or something else. Actually, we don’t have guidelines yet except that I’ve agreed not to try to whip up racial hatred against the Irish. (That will continue on monarchophilia.)

I will also not lie.

it’s not going to be a hard hitting political blog or something though. My friends and i tend to exchange links to stories and discuss them or to discuss politics in general or history and science. It’ll basically be that crap, expanded a bit. Not too much. I’ve lost my will to finish this post or explain the blog really at all. I gave this homeless woman over a dollar about half an hour ago you see, and it just drained all the good feeling out of me. i won’t do shit like this on the group blog. It won’t be all serious and asswipey, but it’ll be slightly more professional. If it’s being lied to and sado-masochistic posts about not being able to properly adjust my chair or how i think facial hair is the work of the jewish-homosinual cabal that the polish government claims runs the EU, that’ll all be there at monarchophilia. So will posts like this that begin to complain about their very existence and length and tend to just dribble off into shit.

I’m starting a new blog, somewhere else, and I’m not going to give any links from here to there.  It’ll be a secret.  I’ll let some people know.  Goodbye.

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He really says it all.

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So apologetic I am.  For some friends wonderful videos come only through my grace.  So my nonpublishing as of late has robbed them of wonders.

So I apologize.  I will return to posting useful videos.

I’ll begin with some sorta old ones.  They’ve run their course on the internet but I think they’re new to my friends.
These three deal with the man who should be President in the US.  And I say that not because of any policy of his, but because of what he is: amazing.

Starting it out with a relatively minorly amazing video, saving the best for last, here’s a video of him somehow at a presidential debate.

Crotchety old man.  Amazing.  He reminds me of myself when dealing with strangers.

But it gets better.  This next one only needs to be watched for about 30 seconds, since the next 6 minutes are basically the same.  This is one of his campaign ads, possibly the second best campaign ad ever made.

“Second best?!?!” That’s what you’re sobbing in shock through a torrent of tears right now, unable to believe I’ve lied to you since this was obviously the best campaign ad ever. But I haven’t lied to you. There is one better.

Here it is. (Make sure you watch it all the way through.)

Amazing. Unfortunately the US has a democratic system and so everyone’s vote is equal, instead of a system of civil wars, where a the fervour inspired in a candidate’s supporters can tip the balance. Because in that utopian system Gravel would be “elected” King. In a democracy however, too many people suck for a true hero like Gravel to get elected.

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Your Score: Sociopath

You are 100% Rational, 28% Extroverted, 57% Brutal, and 57% Arrogant.

You are the Sociopath! As a result of your cold, calculating rationality, your introversion (and ability to keep quiet), your brutality, and your arrogance, you would make a very cunning serial killer. You are confident and capable of social interaction, but you prefer the silence of dead bodies to the loud, twittering nitwits you normally encounter in your daily life. You care very little for the feelings of others, possibly because you are not a very emotional person. You are also very calculating and intelligent, making you a perfect criminal mastermind. Also, you are a very arrogant person, tending to see yourself as better than others, providing you with a strong ability to perceive others as weak little animals, so tiny and small. You take great pleasure in the misery of others, and there is nothing sweeter to you than the sweet glory of using someone else’s shattered failure to project yourself to success. Except sugar. That just may be sweeter. In short, your personality defect is the fact that you could easily be a sociopath, because you are calculating, unemotional, brutal, and arrogant. Please don’t kill me for writing mean things about you! I have a 101 mile-long knife! Don’t make me use it!

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive.

2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted.

3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.

4. You are more ARROGANT than humble.

Compatibility:

Your exact opposite is the Hippie.

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Spiteful Loner, the Smartass, and the Capitalist Pig.

*

*

If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits.

The other personality types:

The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

Be sure to take my Sublime Philosophical Crap Test if you are interested in taking a slightly more intellectual test that has just as many insane ramblings as this one does!

About Saint_Gasoline

I am a self-proclaimed pseudo-intellectual who loves dashes. I enjoy science, philosophy, and fart jokes and water balloons, not necessarily in that order. I spend 95% of my time online, and the other 5% of my time in the bathroom, longing to get back on the computer. If, God forbid, you somehow find me amusing instead of crass and annoying, be sure to check out my blog and my webcomic at SaintGasoline.com.

My root canaled tooth from last month has started bleeding in the last couple days, but today it bled up a storm.  I can’t decide whether I want it to stop bleeding or keep bleeding long enough that my dentist sees it at my 2pm appointment where I’m slated to get three more. 
And my ice coffee (just coffee I put in the fridge a couple days ago…) has a chunk of something in it and smells horrid.  Tastes fine though. 

These’ll be the times I’ll look back on with nostalgia… remember all those root canals and teeth I got pulled?  Remember when I drank Tide to win a bet, and later balsamic vinegar to satisfy a curiosity?  Or when I played poker for 18 hours and broke even?  Remember when I slept for four days without even waking up?

One and a half hours until my root canal and I’m dreading it.  Not because of the root canals, which I kinda enjoy and are slated to lessen my tooth pain, but because I have to walk 12 minutes to get to the mall, in the sun, and I’ll have to wear my summer-outdoors shirt, a barely held together black button up shirt that I’ve had since High School, when it didn’t fit me, just like it still doesn’t.  But that shirt is probably why that nice Dr. Panzer gave me a crown for free last time.  I look pretty much like a crazy homeless guy a lot of the time, except when I’m laying around in a housecoat wearing a scarf.

Dog hair streamers are flapping and weaving to and fro from my fan like the streamers from a showroom air conditioner.  It’s no matter really, I just noticed it while interrogating my fan about recent problems.

A new medication that I’ve started, yesterday that is, has today had it’s rather ugly side effects rear their, um, ugly head.  Violent shaking, constant, tiring shaking, violent constant tiring convulsions at that, a stutter and and hiss, puking, much puking, intense body wide pain, inside and out, (I can’t quite place that, but it hurts outside the surface of my skin in parts, an illusion to be sure), and an inability to concentrate;* these are my experience in this later part of the day.  Seeking relief from the shaking, which felt like it was killing me and I’m sure seemed most worrisome to those around me, they being unable to gauge the pain, I took some amount of Xanax larger that that which I’d generally use when the only purpose I have for it is to calm my murderous frustration, yet still low enough that, don’t worry, I’ll be quite fine.  Except that** I’ll sing. 

If something happens which leads to me needing to take Xanax, say someone starting to discuss cultural theory or Marxism near me in anything but laughing, dismissive, “that’s fagtarded” tones, you should xanax me up and ship me off to an open mike singing event, or to a karaoke thing.  I’ll sing Molly Malone, followed by Loch Lomond, and followed even after that by songs I’ve made up, and amongst them somewhere, tearfully, “Tomorrow belongs to me” a song stripped of it’s nazi/cabaret context in my heart.  The songs I’ve made up are usually fake operas, fake country songs, or fake protest songs.  Fake, I say, because they are mocking mimicry of the real thing.  And, with some pride I might say, I can assure you that these are written as they spill from my mouth, without forethought whatsoever.  The pride there is because few believe that they aren’t at least semi-crafted, my rhymes rarely faltering.  Oh, no, truthfully, by “few people believe” I mean my friend Kyle once commented on how cleverly they flow and some shock that I just made them up as I go along.  Kyle being, despite a dear friend, someone I convinced that the actor who plays McNulty on the Wire is an admitted serial rapist who in each episode, facing the camera, mouths the words “catch me if you can” to the police watching it, and who I had to spend quite some time one day talking out of a sudden belief in some crap-fangled 9/11 conspiracy theory based on the idea I think that there were no planes or something.  But still, someone commented on it.

The song I made up today, laying facedown in my bed, bottle of Xanax in one hand, dirty sock I had struggledto remove from my foot in the other, is one that I have had some longstanding plans to create.  Seeking to defame Paul McCartney, (once I was a hard worker in various political organizations: an organizer, a leader so much as such was allowed in the extremely-not-suited-to-my-politics groups in which I worked — these days when I make the rare, pomp accompanied exit from my bed it is to do things like mail an envelope
filled with mustard back to Habitat for Humanity or to defame insignificant musicians I’ve shown no previous interest in.  This is what you have done, rest of the Left!  Though I’m sure no one’s really complaining… I’m so intolerably assholish that my leaving is both a lifting of a burden and paradoxically, unnoticed), I’ve planned to write and release a song in his name called “Too many homos in London”.  I wrote it today, by which I mean sang it while half asleep (I don’t write those things down, so like someone else said, I’ve forgot better rhymes than you ever thought of), and too my ears it was beauty.  Purest**** beauty. 

there was more but i need to sleep.

*-And they say the semicolon is dead!  Ha!  Only in it’s proper form, I say.

**-Has “that” passed it’s day in such statements?  I remember in grammar matrices you could remove “that” in that sentence form, (but not this).***

***-Does anyone want a blog filled with strange, jocular(?…!) footnotes about grammar?  I do, I do.  A blog about monarchism, footnotes about grammar, pictures of obese children, video of celebrities crying.

****-To simplify my life and my inability to be attracted to anything, I made myself my own standard of beauty late in high school.  Because my beauty is intense and pure, many others have done the same with me.  But secret people… you don’t know them.  They live in Canada…

I just dreamt that there was a children’s Crusade against me and I rather roundly won. I wish i had in-head video of those little fuckers trying to use a trebuchet for you. I may buy some Slav children and try to re-enact it. Seriously, it’s like $5 for a Romanian baby thee days. Someone’s gotta sort that place out.
Of course, I’m sure if my life runs it’s course at some point the children will organize against me. So just sit tight and wait it out and you’ll see something nightmarishly entertaining down the road.

I plan on having a poker tournament sometime.  Well, I’ve been planning on having a poker tournament for sometime.  It’s taking time like all i do though.

I’ve set benchmarks for assessing progress, and I’m coming along on all the material goals (high grade chips and cards, a table, chairs, adult diapers), but am getting nowhere with the actual plans.  this could be blamed on laziness, but instead I choose to give credit to Eisenhower on this.

He taught me to favour planning over plans.  And he was right.  If I went off and made plans for some poker tournament, then think of all the shit that could go wrong causing the plan to unravel.  Setting a date would be difficult, people would cancel, someone might die, an epidemic could hit.  But instead by just planning, I have everything in place in case the Nazis try to challenge me to set up a poker tournament immediately.  “Oh yeah Hitler?  Well it just so happens I have everything right here to run one, even an automatic card shuffler that requires outdated giant batteries from the 1930’s.”  And then Hitler would surrender, and there’d be streets named after me for being the guy to finally defeat Hitler.

But my refusal/failure to actually make plans for a tournament more and more makes me think it’s just never going to happen.  Which is too bad because I really need to practice face to face play before I go on a cruise in January where I plan to spend the entire time in the Casino playing poker.  So far my face to face play has just taught me that I’m incapable of both remembering what my hole cards are if they aren’t on screen in front of me, and incapable of realizing I don’t know what they are.  So I giggle a lot and keep raising.  And if we make it to showdown, I’m very often as shocked as you are by what I went all the way with.  This isn’t really a winning strategy. 

Well, my exposed jawbone just started to hurt like shit, so I’m going to go use some mouthwash, take some painkillers, and lay down.  Screw this post.