BIOMAGE part 1

Well, It's been a while, but that's because I've been brainstorming.  I am going to be writing a story via Blog.  Yes! it's true! It will be a M:tG "fanfic-esque kinda-thing"  It will be written as a series of journal entries.  The idea was actually inspired by the short story "Flowers for Algernon."  The plan is to update every weekend, and I will gladly take critiques, praise, and ideas in the comment section. Thank you.  (P.S. Magic: the Gathering is owned entirely by Wizards of the Coast, a subsidiary of Hasbro)

Without further ado:

BIOMAGE

6/9/2012 - I have awoken. I played this damn game for years and never had the faintest I dea that it was created by a retired Planeswalker! Oh, Richard Garfield, Ph.D, you glorious bastard, thank you.  Thank you for this!
Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever believed that the Multiverse was ACCESSABLE by a simple man such as myself! the problem is, I haven't ever developed a single mana-bond.  Not that I know of...
In all the time playing Magic: the Gathering I never could have conceived of this actually being REAL...
Wow...
Ok, uh, well, I suppose I should begin at the beginning...

I am a guy.  Simple enough I suppose. 24 years old, I like to think I'm semi-successful.  I have my own place, I work in a funeral home, and I try to avoid my family.  I struggle sometimes, but my bills are paid, and I'm just starting out, so it's whatever.

I've been playing a card game called Magic: the Gathering most of my life, I began as a small child and haven't stopped since.  I immediately fell in love with it, the flavor, the worlds, the creatures.  Sometime I imagined if I stared hard enough at the sky, I could almost make out a dragon, or if it quickly glanced towards the forest I could just glimpse an elf hiding.  My mother told me I was foolish, but I was sure it was there.  As I grew older, I contented myself playing the game, but I had a sense of restlessness, like something was struggling to ignite within me.

Then, last Sunday, I had an accident.  I was driving my car, went around a corner, and hydroplaned.  The rear of my car slid around so I was backwards in my land and the momentum pulled my through the water off the side of the road into a rather large, rather old, rather solid Maple tree.  The car gave way before the tree did.

^This has seen better days^

As I was sitting in the driver's seat, glass blown all throughout the car, the door halfway into the back seat, i felt a tug at the base of my brain.  The world vanished.  There was a loud sucking noise; nothing existed.  It wasn't "black."  There was no black to be had.  Like everything just is, suddenly, it wasn't.  Then it was again.  But I wasn't in my car.

At first I thought I had had a fit of hysteria due to trauma.  Then an older gentleman looked at me, muttered to himself and walked off.  "SIR!!!", i shouted
No response.
"SIR!!!!!!!!!" I grabbed his arm, and he turned around, touched my chest, and "flicked" me.  I flew into a stall where a mess of strange fruits spilled onto my lap.

"Damn planeswalkers, just breezin' around, no courtesy for the common man.  First that Jace fellow, then the Death-Witch, then the damn big guy that looked sick, and then the one that was dressed like you.  Ever since the man with the metal arm came around, seems like Ravnica's been quite the tourist attraction.  Now if you'll excuse me, 'Sir'", he mocked me, "I have to be getting home.  surely not as important as you, of course, but I suppose you don't care 'bout all that, now do ya?"

And with that he vanished into the crowd.

Ravnica

I'd read about this place, but I'd always though it was made up by Hasbro.  And Planeswalkers?  Oh, there was much to be discovered here, to be sure.  But if this was all real... My mind spun with the possibilities.  Lorwyn might actually exist, and Turri Isle.  And Bant! Oh, God... Grixis... and... New Phyrexia? Oh my Lord.  My mind spun, and twisted.  I sat down hard.  The possibilities... The horrors...

The power...

I needed food.  I needed clothing.  I needed to figure out just how the hell to deal with all of this. Then another revelation hit me.  MAGIC IS A REAL THING.  AND I'M A PLANESWALKER.  I can go anywhere, do anything, meet anyone...

As I passed out, the last thing I saw standing over me was an old man with dark skin, armor, and a sunburst on his clothing.

Dana

THIS IS A NEW POST FOR DANA COONS

The Shamrock Shake

So McDonald's has this nifty shake called the shamrock shake.  It is green, with whipped cream and a cherry, and is just in time to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, another useless holiday that our nation insists on pretending is a THING.  So I said to myself, "Self, I feel like we should try one of these delicious blended ice cream dessert drinkables."  So I went and picked one up.

DISAPPOINTMENT ENSUED

Why, you ask?

Well, the fucking thing didn't taste anything like shamrocks at all!!!  In fact, it tasted like MINT!  I was terribly upset.  A shamrock shake they told me.  It will taste like shamrocks they said BUT IT DID NOT.

So I begrudgingly finished this hell-treat and marched my fat ass up to the counter.  I grabbed the pimply grease ball from behind the counter and said, "WHAT THE FLYING FUCK YOU COCK STAIN, I WANTED A SHAMROCK SHAKE NOT SOME PIECE OF SHIT RUN OF THE MILL MINT SHAKE"

Ok, that last part only happened in my head, but I still went up to him and told him that the shake was made wrong.

"Wrong?"  he asked. "We followed the recipe exactly..."  I informed him that I was expecting it to taste like shamrocks, and rather than shamrocks, i got mint.  MINT   A shamrock shake that tastes nothing like shamrocks is like a Proper Gentleman without a monocle.  That is to say, HE CAN HARDLY BE CONSIDERED VERY PROPER AT ALL NOW CAN HE!?!?!?

So i told him i wanted another one that tasted like shamrocks, not mint. he asked how a shamrock should taste, with an expression on his face that said, "Sir, I clearly believe that you are either crazy or are suffering a stroke at the current time, but I assure you I will do my very best to humor you because I really need this job to put my minimum wage slave ass through community college so that someday I can get a managerial position and wear a blue shirt instead of a red one."

I informed him that a shamrock should taste like clover, as it is, in fact, a clover.

And lets face it, it's only a 3 leaf clover, not a 4 leaf clover, so its not like its special or hard to find or whatever.  Just a simple run of the mill clover.  So I'm not entirely sure why it deserved its own special name when its just a stupid fucking weed.  if it was a 4 leaf clover it'd be cool.  Maybe it would even taste like rainbows and marshmallows, but i digress...

Fact is, i demand my drink to taste as it is labeled.  so if my drink is said to taste like garden clover, IT HAD BETTER TASTE LIKE FUCKING GARDEN CLOVER!

(maybe that's why its a shamrock shake.  shamrock sounds WAY more appetizing than garden clover.)

so he made me a new shake, and before i left the counter i sampled it.

*sip*


...



............



..............................................

mint.


...


FUCKING MINT.



FUCKING COCK SUCKING WHORE-MONGERING GREEN-BLEEDING MINT!!!!!!!




FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU...

I slammed the shitty mint shake down on the counter so hard the top blew off and sloshed the dirty lying bastard in fucking mint slop and i high stepped my ass out of that eating establishment.

And that's why I don't eat at McDonalds.

BioPhilosophy

The following is a repost of my Facebook feed, just to collect all of this info in a single post.  I may expand upon this in the future. It was also on Twitter.

Jeremy Lindemann

50 minutes ago

PublicFriendsOnly MeCustomClose Friendsclose friendsSee all lists...familyAaron's Electric IncEquestria Postal ServiceHobart AreaGrammar NazisState University of New York at CobleskillHudson VCCMiddleburgh HSMacArthur Funeral HomeMiddleburgh AreaFamilyAcquaintancesGo Back

I'm developing a new theory, guys. bear with me. It's a division of the theory of evolution. I'm considering a new name for where our species is headed. Homo Animus. W're now more than ever beings of thought rather than body. We don't have to develop according to biology, but are the only creature able to mechanically alter our evolution due to the way we think. ergo, we're beings of thought, or anima.

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    Jeremy Lindemann It's an odd branch of though. sort of like... Bio-philosophy.
    

    58 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann BioPhilosophy
    

    22 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann it's basically about the evolution of our species beyond where we are currently, but from an intellectual perspective, rather than physical
    

    22 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann humans no longer need to adapt to their environment. we adapt our environment to us. so we no longer NEED to physically evolve.
    

    22 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann but intellectual advances continue, and thus we continue altering out thought patterns to fit our politico-social environment
    

    22 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann I wager that we're evolving currently, in terms of thought. our brain waves are changing. in theory, of course.
    

    21 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann we're the only creature in existence able to completely ignore our environment, AND able to reproduce without a sexual union
    

    21 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann and, yes, I'm aware of asexual organisms.
    

    21 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann In fact, I'd go so far as to say the only physical development we have left to endure is that of complete hair loss. It serves no purpose.
    

    21 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann We used to need it to keep warm, but we have clothing and temperature controlled environments we've created for ourselves.
    

    21 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann beyond that, we're going against the laws of nature. now the weakest no longer need to die.
    

    19 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann normally those with physical or mental handicaps would normally perish.
    

    19 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann medicine, a product of intellect has changed all of that. Thus: Homo Animus
    

    18 minutes ago · 
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    Jeremy Lindemann it's effectively self genetic engineering on a global scale. We've turned our planet into a lab
    

    16 minutes ago · 
    

    • Philip Maiello this world is full of idiots....we're creating an evolution where the least intelligent are breeding rapidly while the successful less so....we're going into the dark ages again, don't fool yoursel

      2 minutes ago ·  ·  1
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      Jeremy Lindemann PRECISELY! That's the beauty of it. We're eventually going to separate into two diverse species. One which is intelligent, and one less so. eventually one will prevail. It's all a rather interesting experiment.

      a few seconds ago · 

You're all losers.

You all suck.  Every last one of you is a complete and utter disappointment, a failure.  A waste of life and tissue. You aren't the best at everything.  Shit, most of you aren't the best at ANYTHING.

And that's ok.

No, seriously.  It's perfectly fine.  We weren't designed to be perfect.  There are one  or two "greats" out there and the rest of us are mediocre trash.

So why is it that we teach our kids that we're all winners?

When you have, for example, a Little League game, and Little Timmy whiffs on the damn swing, we as a society have gotten into the habit of saying, "It's OK, run the bases, good job, try harder next time."

You know what?  that's a really fucking terrible message.  Because someday Little Timmy is going to grow up into Timmy the Fuckwad and crash his forklift at his minimum-wage no-college-degree-required dead-end factory job and be so surprised when his boss comes out of the upstairs office and instead of greeting him with a bouquet of flowers and an, "Oh, well.  I'm sure you tried your best.  It's inconsequential that you cost the company our weeks earnings.  What matters is you TRIED.  Lets go shit sunshine and rainbows together while i fellate your ego.", he instead gets greeted with, "YOU INCOMPETENT ASS, YOU COST ME THE WEEKS EARNINGS.  NOW YOU AND TWO OF YOUR BUDDIES ARE FIRED BECAUSE I HAVE TO MAKE UP THE DIFFERENCE!" So little Timmy goes home and hangs himself from his fucking ceiling fan  because he's realized that -SUDDEN SHOCK!!!!!!- he's terrible at driving forklifts and would have been a better mechanic, but it's too late, he's 38, and there's really no going back now and he's only got his mom because no girl would ever date a man-child such as him.

What we should be doing is telling little Timmy that his batting ability sucks big black prisoner dick, and perhaps his moderately average talents had best be applied elsewhere.  So instead of holding on to a worthless dream of becoming something he's not and ending up with the state police and the county coroner cutting him off of his ceiling-mounted cooling apparatus while blood pools in his limp legs, perhaps he can find something that he's passably decent at and go on to excel at it and live a miserable, mildly alcoholic semi-stable married life with 3 lecherous kids like all of the rest of us.

You won't be perfect.  But you should at least enjoy what you do, rather than pine for a useless dream that will get you no place.  Not everyone is a star.  We're all failures.  That's fine.  But you deserve to be a happy failure.

Moral: Be honest with your kids.

And now for how I really feel...

IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED DON'T READ BELOW THIS LINE.
Shit, don't even read my blog..........

Ok, I warned you, so here we go.

Honestly there are a few serious calamities I can think of without Whitney Houston being around.

First and foremost is the fact that her fucking coke dealer won't have her around for the sales.  Nigga be needin' him some dough, man. Without her supporting his ass, he's gonna be another fucking leech on the system, using my tax dollars to live.  Let's face it, filling the gap left by the powder-nosed mulatto is going to be hard.  I doubt he can do it.

Secondly, her hot tits won't be bouncing across the screen in any more music videos.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9rCobRl-ng&ob=av2e

^clicky ^

That right there is a bit of a tragedy for men the world over.

Third, its a vacancy that her manager and agent will have to fill.  It sucks to lose a source of income.  Using people for a living should be profitable, but when the bitch dies, it kinda cramps your style.

Fourth and final, it's one less person I have to rip on.  Let's face it, without idiots for me to abuse the shit out of, it's not like I could do this. And it's not like I give a shit about her feelings.  She's a pop star.

And by give I mean gave.  She doesn't have feelings any more.  She's dead.

Looks like I need to turn my attention to Justin Bieber.  Although I try not to pick on little girls.... Oh, well.  First time for everything.

So she died...

So Whitney Huston died.

Whoopty.........
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..........
.....
...
.
Wait for it....
...
......
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...............Doo?


Listen, I understand death is hard for the surviving family.  And I get that she contributed a lot to the  musical world.  I also understand that it's difficult to lose anyone, no matter what the circumstance.

But who gives a flying fuck?

Seriously, this is not as big an issue as people seem to think it is.  Let me give you an example.
Michael Jackson.
He was possibly the single biggest contributor to the world of pop music.  He was an excellent artist, but made some questionable choices in his personal life.  Whether or not they were ever proven, or even TRUE, matter very little.  The fact is the bad press stuck.  And despite that, people STILL held a 48 hour vigil for him, and his death was publicized for almost a month until the press decided to blather about something else.

I'd be willing to wager that most people would be willing to say that Whitney, although a big contributor to music, was not as influential as M.J. In addition to that, she had a HUGE documented cocaine addiction.
To that end I say, sucks, huh?

Look, everybody in this day and age knows the dangers of drugs, even those as common as caffeine and nicotine.  She chose this path and continued it.

An even bigger issue is this.  Look how many people have died.  in the history of the world.  How many of us even remember more than 20 off the top of our heads?  Even in your own family.  I'd be willing to wager that most people without significant research could even name their great-great grandparents.  And that's only 4 generations back, or roughly 120 years ago (if each generation reproduces every 30 years.  Which is generous.)  Fact is, even your own ancestors who's DNA you carry in your veins matter so little in the grand scheme of things that you don't remember them even 100 years later.  Bet you cant name more than 4 Pharaohs of Egypt without a textbook.  And they helped shape civilization.

So Whitney Huston, (along with all of these football stars and baseball players and actors etc.), who did jack squat as far as the history of the world is concerned, is nothing, and no more worthy of our tears that the guy that lives 3 towns over who just died. Mourn your family, and your close friends.
Pop stars have their own families to mourn them.  And if  you care that much about someone you've never even met, then you need to do some serious soul-searching.

...pissed me OFF...

Let me explain something to you guys.  There is a ton, I mean an absolute FUCKLOAD of shit that pisses me off.  Everything from the retardedly inane, like people that decide the "Starbucks formula" works, all the way down to the dirt bags that have decided that it's completely cool to use food stamps as they browse the web in the checkout line on the new iPhone.

Don't get me wrong, I generally attempt to be a positive person.  I really, REALLY do.  But when I see the abrupt downward spiral of our society, it's... aggravating.

"Mommy, I wanna get the movie." "No, sweetie, we can't do that today." "But I WANT it..." Please, Timmy, we can't-" "I WANT IT NOW!!!"  "ok..."

How may of you have heard this?  YOU DON'T GIVE IN TO THE FUCKING KID YOU IGNORANT BITCH, HE'S A CHILD.

It is your job to be a parent, and that means educating your child on what it means to need to work for something.  Just caving in to this little shit teaches them nothing.

Furthermore, on a slightly different note, I also hate when people have double-standards.  Like when one person is expected to

You know what?  Fuck this.  I'd rather be distracted.  Typing on a schedule also pisses me off.  Screw you guys, I'mma go watch Ruby Gloom.

To be continued when there are fewer distractions.  I hope.

Good Girls and Bad Girls

It's Sunday.  Go away.

...

What, you're still here?  And you expect a story.

Fine.

uh.  ok, here you go.

Once upon a time there was an old woman riding a train with her two grandchildren.  They were misbehaving terribly, and no matter what she tried, whether it be stories or games or threatening their lives, they wouldn't sit still.  Suddenly they came to a stop upon their journey and a man boarded the train and sat in their compartment.  The man was doing his best to ignore them, but noticed the difficulty that the grandmother was having.  Finally he asked if he could tell the children a story.  The grandmother readily agreed, and thus the man began:

"Once upon a time in a small village there lived a little girl.  This little girl was very well behaved.  In fact, she was so well behaved that she had been awarded several medals.  She had a medal for honesty, and one for loyalty, and one for kindness, and one for helpfulness...  She had so many medals that they clanked and gleamed as she walked down the street.  She spent a lot of time polishing her beautiful golden medals, as she was awfully proud of them.

One day this good little girl was packing up a basket full of good things to eat, along with a few gifts for her sickly old grandmother who lived in the woods.  The girl always tried to visit her grandmother every week and make sure she was doing well.

After she had the basket packed, she put on her red cloak and set off into the woods, following a very well-tread path.

Little did she know that a very hungry wolf had noticed that she followed the same path every week (good girls are so predictable), and this wolf was rather hungry.  And wouldn't you know it, The little girls medals were clanking and making it extremely easy for the wolf to follow.

The little girl was skipping along the path, bright golden medals glimmering and clanking cheerfully in the sunshine, one for Generosity, and one for loyalty, and one for Honesty...  They all gleamed and chattered. Suddenly the wolf attacked!  The girl shrieked and ran, dropping her basket full of her grandmother's food, hoping that the wolf would be distracted, but wolves generally don't care for Veal Marsala or Chicken Cordon Bleu.

The little girl took shelter in a clump of bushes and tried to breath as quietly as possibly.  Sadly she was shaking out of fright and her medals clattered and the wolf found her and ate her.

The End."

The grandmother glared at the storyteller and frowned as she said, "My, that was an awful story.  Does it even have a moral?"

The Man replied, "Of course it does.  If she had been a little less good, maybe she'd be alive today.  Nobody likes a Goody-Two-Shoes"

The grandmother looked very cross as he stood up to exit at his stop.  "Well that's just terrible, encouraging children to misbehave..."

As the story teller slid past her he smiled at the children, turned back to the old woman, and replied, "Well, at the very least I was able to keep them quiet for 10 minutes, which is more than you can say you did."

The End.  Now kindly shove off, Imma go watch the Super Bowl.  Go Patriots!!

Drama at a Funeral

The other day I was at a funeral home for a service, and this young girl, maybe about 14 or so, was standing at the door, staring in the glass of the door pathetically, apparently not wanting to come in.  After several minutes of watching her wistfully gaze in through the frosted surface that is the window I decided to assist this unfortunate young lady.  Perhaps she was so overcome with emotional distress that she wasn't able to enter the building...

Well, let me back up a bit before I continue, so that I may more appropriately lay the groundwork for the rest of this story...

Attend ye Gods, and despair...

So the family was a Brooklynese Italian family.  (Maybe they staged this so that some of Psycho-Ex's friends could come and scope out the locale...)  And of course the deceased family member had moved up to New England where we currently are years ago, so all of these citiots (a portmanteau of City and idiot) had invaded my beautiful, sleepy, north-eastern town.  The local florist was losing his mind.  There had literally been three different daughters in his shop asking that he ABSOLUTELY MADE CERTAIN that their arrangement was bigger than their sister's.  I wish I was joking.

(Because, you see, it isn't about the deceased at all, it's about being the BEST DAUGHTER FUCK YOU SIS I WIN)

Anyhow, the florist had decided that he might need to rent an 18-wheeler to deliver the massive arrangements, one of which required two men to lift.  I swear I'm not shitting you.

So all of these people had established themselves as needing everything to be a massive production, and about them, rather than their dad. We have a well documented case of a city mentality happening here, and as such we can assume that, being from the city they have grown up in relative privilege and luxury, with taxis, automatic doors (this becomes important in a bit), and gigantic floral arrangements.

So now it's the day of the service, and things aren't going quite right, it's all drama, etc.

Finally there is a minor meltdown just for show, where-in the eldest daughter was panicked because her younger sister was 5 WHOLE MINUTES LATE YOU GUYS.  

5

FUCKING

MINUTES

LATE

In case you weren't aware of the gravity of the situation, the oldest sister was weeping over her dead father's casket in full view of all about how her sister was never late (because driving on uncertain roads in New England while you've grown up in the city NEVER makes anyone late EVER.  Especially in the winter, right? RIGHT?)

And Big Sister couldn't reach Little Sis on the phone, because in the north east cell towers are few and far between, unlike Brooklyn, whereupon they are mounted to each and every building.  Yet in Old Bag's mind, this very clearly meant that her iddle-widdle sister was bleeding out in a ditch somewhere, and we'd have to buy another casket and perform a double service, and the funeral director, the FUCKING FUNERAL DIRECTOR, should go look for her in God-Knows-Where.  Suddenly sister walks through the door and Older Bitch is clutching her, CLUTCHING I say, and weeping, and lamenting, and telling her how the sooner they get out of this Twilight Zone of the United States and back into glorious Civilization, the better; she was convinced that she had lost her, etc.

Anyhow, now that the gang's all here, we can go back to the beginning of this story.  The young lady that was peering through the door turns out to be younger sister's daughter.  I opened the door for the poor young thing and I asked her what was wrong.  She told me she was fine and went inside. I shrugged and went back to what I was doing.

A few minutes later she brushed past me in typical city attitude, and exited the building as another gentleman entered.  After about five minutes, I happened to look outside, and noticed her once again looking into the building forlornly.  I decided to ignore her, until she came in herself.  I'm not a door-man.  She didn't come in, and she didn't vanish.  I sighed and opened the door for her again.  (turns out I AM a door-man in my off-time.  Who knew?)

I politely informed her that if she wanted to come in all she had to do was open the door,  and was rewarded for what I thought was an incredibly helpful and sensible piece of information with a blank stare and the words, "your door is broken."  I went to look at the door, and it was fine.  I told her as much, and she says to me, (brace yourselves, it's pretty mind-blowing) "I stood in front of it for, like, a while, you know, but the sensor must be dead or something and it didn't open."  I told her it didn't have a sensor, it wasn't an automatic door, to which she developed a perfect (O.O) face and replied with shock, "I didn't know they made non-automatic doors!  That thing must be REALLY old!!!!"

My forehead still hurts from the facepalm, and I'm not sure I'll ever recover that lost bit of faith in the upcoming generation that represents what humanity is about to become...

And I STILL hate Citiots.