Making Progress; Making Waves

Yesterday's Hallow'update may have tipped you off to the fact that Hallowe'en is fast approaching. In fact Hallowe'en is coming up so soon... it's today! Happy Hallowe'en!

Hope you were able to get all your pre-hallowe'en necessities out of the way by now, otherwise you'll be in quite the scramble to get things done before any trick-or-treaters start showing up. Last year some kids showed up at my mom's house at noon, if you can believe it! It turned out they weren't trick-or-treaters per say, they were just some kids from the elementary school down the block who had their lunch money stolen by bullies.

It's kind of funny how Hallowe'en seems to have more meaning as the years go by, and other legitimate holidays mean less and less. I think that this is because of the increasing number of people who think of themselves as goths or vampires on a daily(or is it nightly?;)) basis. You hardly find anybody anymore who identifies with the Easter Bunny or Jesus. Which is kind of too bad, because no one can deny all the good that has resulted from the Easter Bunny's efforts. I mean, he brings candy right to your fucking house and all you have to do is sleep. Pretty sweet deal if you ask me, so how about some appreciation, for Christ's sake.

I went down to the hospital and finally got all my stitches out a few days ago. Now there is just a long angry red line across my stomach that turns slightly upwards on my left side. I was thinking about drawing a big yellow circle around it and two eyes and I could be Pac-Man for Hallowe'en! It would have black "Pac-Man" shaped eyes so people would know that it was in fact "Pac-Man" and not just one of those smiley faces that are all over the internet and Wal-Mart. Maybe I'll wear a black shirt but with a big hole cut in it so people can see it.

Whatever happens, I'm just glad I don't have a open wound right across my mid section any more. Sometimes it leaked this colourless liquid that smelled wierd when it dried. Mostly it happened when I was sleeping, so it's good thing I only sleep on dirty clothes anyway, or else it'd be laundry day everyday! And to be perfectly honest, that's something I wouldn't have been able to afford. Which reminds me, I really should get cracking on finding out whether I still have a job or not.

One last thing. I can't recommend that you eat Fruit Loops. I had a spoonful or two this morning before I slammed my fist down and said "No! These will not do!"

I share this as a public service. I'd feel guilty if I shirked my responsibility and let everyone's day get off to a shitty start just because I was too lazy to tell them that Fruit Loops suck.

Hallowe'en Hoopla

Howdy friends! Your old pal Scarey Larry here with this year's Hallow'update! If you haven't figured by now what makes me so scarey, then you've never smelled my balls! Now on with all the All Hallow's Eve essentials.

Costumes are back in style! After the dismal failure of last year's plainclothes hallowe'en, traditional holiday attire makes a comeback. Snoopy, Boo Berry, Legolas, Buck Adam Tomato, and Posh Spice are all especially popular this year.

Cheese, Please! Politeness counts double! Try to avoid saying things like "Lady, you've got some serious kind of problem. Now give me some candy before I go ballistic."
This is sure to garner a smaller net yield of candy than a more tactful "Please, mum, might I have a bit o' the sweets?"
The lesson: Polite people are more likely to get what the want. So can we please have some decent weather for a change? I've got golf in the morning!LOL!

Just because there are sure to be plenty of devils about does not mean it is a good time to make a deal with one! The Devil will offer you just about anything (excluding, perhaps, a decent fish burger. Some things are beyond even his power.) in exchange for the eternal damnation of your immortal soul. If you are approached by such a being, take a time out for a moment to really think about what you are being offered. Accepting the Devil's offer demonstrates really poor long term planning. If you still find yourself tempted, you may be suffering from low self esteem or clinical depression. Such persons are prone to dissatisfaction and easier prey for the Prince of Darkness. You'd be better off making an arrangement with your local psychiatrist than Satan himself... if you can tell which is which!;)

Know your history! Rarely are rewards presented without having first proved oneself adept at a given function or task. So be prepared to be quizzed on a little hallowe'en trivia at one house or another if you plan to rake in the sugared goods. I'll cover the basics "cliffs notes" style.

Hallowe'en was started in 1778 by a tight knit cabal of closet homosexuals who hoped to bring the British Empire to it's knees by holding the river Thames hostage. When wind of this plot leaked out prematurely, a royal edict went out to all loyal british citizens, that they should disguise themselves as foreigners so that the traitors would have no one to present their demands to.

Thus frustrated, the co-conspirators retired to a local gym, but not so they could work out. Instead, they skipped that part and immediately hit the showers, where they quietly checked out each others bodies while telling themselves they were doing something else entirely. This would prove to be their last self deception however, as Spring Heeled Jack suddenly appeared amongst them. Spring Heeled Jack was a thing of legend, either a man or creature who terrorized London for a time with his fire breathing and unnatural vertical movement abilities. One can imagine that it was Jack's fire breathing abilites that most terrified the dastardly plotters, as their roasted cinders were soon discovered by the evening watchman and his nightbird.

Observing the anniversary of this event soon spread throughout the Empire, and costumes were worn by young and old alike. More monsterous costumes came into favour as a way to honor Spring Heeled Jack's atypical heroics. And all british citizens are looking for a reason to eat more candy anyway, so they just sort of threw that part in there. I mean, my gosh, look at their teeth!

So that should be enough prep to gain you the favour of the sucrose gods this Hallowe'en. Good Luck! And, hey. Don't forget to write in with your tales of Hallowe'en 2005 adventures! We love to read them, and one lucky trick or treater might just get his or her story published! Or not! Who knows these days, with the way the economy is and whatnot!

Household Oldest Professional

If someone's life was in danger, would you put your own life at risk to save them? If you witnessed a car accident, and there was a truck flipped over, and a severly injured girl was trapped inside, would you jump into that truck, whip out your trusty pocket knife, cut that girl free from her seatbelt and haul her ass out of that wreck, even if you knew that truck might explode at any second? Even if you knew you might die at any second?

Many people ask themselves this question and most convince themselves that yes, they would do something to help. But the truth is there is no real way to know what you would do until you're actually in that situation. Fortunately, most people make it through life without having to discover the answer to this question. I say fortunately because I suspect that most people would be disappointed in themselves when they find such heroic activity beyond their capacity. Most people wind up just standing around, doing nothing, frozen with shock or fear or the expectation that someone else will do what needs to be done.

But I know one person who witnessed that very car accident scenario I described above and she performed exactly as I described above. I think you can understand why I have a lot of respect and admiration for her. Her name is Stephanie, and for $150, she'll suck your cock.

As long time readers will recall, I recently spent a little more than a month living on the streets. One thing that new street persons, like I was, soon discover is that they are quickly shunned by "people who have shelters", and are forced to be drawn into the comparatively small circle of "people without shelters". A classic have/ have not scenario, though it's not my purpose to pass judgement on the human condition; I'm just reporting the facts today.

Sometime during the earliest of my homeless days, I was outside the downtown Safeway, long after hours, using my last quarter to unlock a shopping cart. I crawled inside the shopping cart and locked it back up so people couldn't get me out. It didn't stop them from poking me with sticks, but at least I was safe from being abducted by quarterless brigands. Indeed, in at least one instance, this security arrangement saved me from the clutches of the fearsome Mothman. It was largely his own fault, though, since he informed me well in advance that he had me in his sights. Anyway, this modicum of security allowed me a fitful sleep, though I awoke with a fearful start at the merest suggestion of nearby human activity. So you can imagine I damn near shit myself silly when, upon one such awakening, I saw a human figure crouching right beside my shopping cart, looking right at me.

As it would turn out, there was no call for a silly shitting of the self. This human was Stephanie. I don't know what it was about her that made me trust her, but she was able to coax me out of my self made prison, promising to take me on a tour of downtown and show me safe places, safe people, and other essentials. As we walked about, I was amazed at how beautiful she appeared in the street lamp light, and not just by street person standards. She possessed thick volumes of luxurious red hair and tits so large and firm I thought I was looking through 3-D glasses. They just jump right out at you! But I guess you've got to be like that to charge a hundred and a half for a blow job.

I was equally amazed her ability to frankly discuss the various traumas and tragedies she'd suffered throughout her life, her unfortunate decision to turn to drugs as a coping method, which then became an expensive addiction that only prostitution can support. Despite all this, she still possessed a well developed sense of right and wrong and a respect for the priciples of humanity.

I encountered her several times during my sojourn on the streets. I always looked forward to our next meeting, though I must admit it was notjust because I'd come to regard her as a true friend, which I had, but also because of powerful visions of those giant boobs squished against my cock with some kind of friction involved. I very, very much wanted these visions to come true, though they never did. Truthfully, I wasn't that disappointed because I wasn't that suprised, since street level hygiene is generally rather poor, and I wasn't too keen on having any smelly or hairy secrets uncovered.

Anyway, the time finally came when I'd gotten my act together and was preparing to return to society; I had cobbled together enough money to afford a small apartment. Though my furnishings were nothing but milk crates and stacks of newspapers, it was a place to start. A week of indoor living went by before I saw her again. I told her where I had been and wasn't all that suprised when she said "Can I come home with you?"

So now another month has gone by and we've been living together the whole time. Our bed is just a big pile of our dirty clothes, so basically the closer it gets to laundry day, the better our sleeps are. But still there is no fucking at all. I sort of anticipated that she would assume that would be her "rent". Unfortunately, I think what might have happened is that I decided to be a friend first, because it seemed to me that's what she really needed, and she must have figured that out. She knows I won't try to take advantage of her and is making me pay for my faux nobility. I still think a good friend is what she really needs, so I guess the greater good is being served this way. I dunno. It's pretty frustrating at times, especially when she comes home way late at night and you wonder how many cocks did she suck while she was out, and you're still getting a gleam in your eye every time you spy an empty bottle.

However, I have manipulated those big tits in just about every way my hands can think of. She doesn't seem very interested in this so it gets kind of boring. I guess I just can't think of enough ways to keep it interesting, perhaps for either of us. Sometimes when she's sleeping, though, I find her body makes a great "playset" for action figures. You haven't seen nothing until you've seen Nute Gunray command a legion of battle droids from atop mammary mound, or seen Greedo off on his fateful, final entry into the Mos Eisley Cuntina.

So that's basically the current state of affairs. I guess I don't have too much to complain about. The worst part really is the crack smoke. It stinks! But too much of this went into establishing background, so I'll expand on the rest some other time.

Fame Fallout

If there's one surefire way to get people to hate you, it's to have them find out that lots of other people really like you. While my sudden surge in popularity here in cloud cuckoo land caught me offguard, I was virtually instantly prepared for an accompanying backlash of negativity from certain quarters. As it turns out, my preparedness was well rewarded.

Just this very morning, I was roused from my dreams of wind dogs and go-machines by the ringing of the telephone. Placing it to my ear, I was greeted by the sounds of uncontrollable sobbing. "You son of a bitch! I'll kill you slowly!"

This of course, was my good friend Marshall, from whom I had stolen the notion of creating a blog in the first place. Unlike him, however, I had parlayed my blog into a magnificent success, while he has yet to achieve the coveted blog of note status. I personally suspect he may be responsible for a couple of rocks I discovered a few feet outside my window today. Presumably, he'd meant to chuck these chunks of geology through my looking walls, but they'd fallen short of their destination. Anyway, to him I say "I forgive you." and " Buck up, there, soldier! You're time will come! I'll see what kind of strings my new found power and influence can pull to get you into this exclusive blog of note club!" ;)


It also seems that, from the coward's comfortable cover of anonymity, some miscreant has accused me of being none other that the notorious Swami Abbajay Gutra. For those not in the know, Swami Gutra is one of the most wanted men on the subcontinent. His list of crimes include opium trafficking, larceny, extortion, training cobras as thieves and assassins, selling defective flying carpets, cattle ranching, civil disobedience, slave trading, leading youths astray, soup stealing, grand theft pachyderm, and treason. In his final scheme, before being forced to flee from India, he posed as a guide for some unwary archeologists, who hoped he could lead them to the fabled treasure of Kalind-Ortunafay-Pradesh. They left from Bombay just as the local constabulary raided Gutra's hovel. Conveniently, neither the archeologists nor the Swami ever returned and no one knows if the treasure was recovered. Some say they were all destroyed by dark forces guarding the tomb of the ancient wizard. Others say Gutra murdered those scientists to keep his escape from India a secret. Still others claim that the Swami murdered the scientists, kept the treasure, and then escaped. And still other others claim he's living just up the street from here, incognito. But I can say with absolute authority that I am not Swami Abbajay Gutra. Recant your falsehoods, you cur.

As for the rest of you who don't like me, it wouldn't be efficent to personally address each one of your concerns. Indeed, for the most part, they have merely stated their disinterest or disdain for me and my blog, without stating the whys and wherefores. So I'll just issue this blanket statement that should probably cover everyones issues.

I can change. My writing style and subject matter can change. If you want to hear about hookers in the house, you got it! Just you wait! More utensil sodomy? Coming right up! Just please don't go. You don't know how much I need this. I'll do anything. I'm begging you.

The Most Precious Commodity

Wow. One thing I think people just assume is going to happen all the time is their daily routine. Granted, this is a correct assumption most of the time. But sometimes, if you get too set in that routine, and the life throws you a curveball, it hits you like a pancake and you wish it happened to somebody else. And that's just what happened to me yesterday. And today, too, if you think about it, since I was planning on writing about living with a prostitute. But's that's for another day, now.

I actually managed to get around out of the house yesterday. I was pretty motivated, though, as I'd run out of my painkillers. So it really all started while I was having my prescription filled out at London Drugs. As I wandered slowly around, looking at shampoo and coathangars to pass the time, I suddenly decided to turn back the way I had come from and was suprised and dismayed to be looking at the one face I most did not want to see... Roddy McAmsterdam. Actually, the face I did not want to see the most was the face of that junkie who stabbed me. But Roddy was a close second.

As you may recall, Roddy McAmsterdam was my chief rival for partnership at the architectural firm that had employed us both (and may or may not still employ us both, I haven't checked on that yet). We did never got along very well. In fact, he might very well be my arch enemy. If all his schemes against me had come to fruition, I'd be unemployed, blind, paraplegic, and dead. Though all these plots were narrowly averted, he was still clever enough to conceal not only any evidence of his involvement, but any evidence that these plots occured at all. Anyway, having not seen him in almost two months, I was struck how different he looked from how I pictured him in my head. It was no one thing, really, but rather a lot of little things that worked together making him seem more gaunt and skeletal.

"Whoop, whoop, whoop" he said, which struck me as a little odd. Then I realised it was just some kid with one of those electronic toy guns standing nearby.

"Hello, Roddy." I said with a noticable lack of enthusiasm.

"Whoop, whoop, whoop" he said.

"I don't understand." I replied, then I remembered the kid with the toy. But then he really did say something. "How are things at Homolka and Kreiger?"

Homolka and Krieger, as you know, is the name of the architectural firm that we both worked for. But I knew he had to know that I'd not shown up for work in almost two months, and had no idea how things were going there. Suspicious, I assumed I'd been fired and he couldn't wait to be the first one to tell me. This was all part of his set up to maximize his enjoyment.

"Why are you asking me?" I responded, careful to not give anything away. Something wasn't right here.

"I haven't been in for a while." Roddy admitted. Or was he having some fun at my expense? I decided to change the subject. "Oh. What brings you to London Drugs?"

"I'm here to get my prescription. How about you?" he said, and a trickle of sweat ran down the back of my neck. It was too much to be conicidence. Could he have been spying on me this whole time? How else would he know just the most unnerving thing to say?

"I'm also here for that same reason." I said. No point in lying when it appeared he already knew the truth.

"Really?" He said, feigning suprise. "Do you have a brain cloud, too?"

I was stunned. What other possible reaction can there be when confronted with the fact that someone has a brain cloud? I hardly knew what to say. So I just stared, and couldn't stop.

"I have six months to live... maybe."

I barely heard him say the words. I was still stunned. Brain clouds are often misdiagnosed in the early stages as mere clinical depression, but it doesn't make much difference because brain clouds are inoperable and fatal by this time anyway. I continued to stare.

"Looks like that partnership is yours after all, eh?" He said with a faint smile. I just stared at him. I was too stunned at the time to understand my failure to react to him in any way was making him angry. I guess he had misconstrued my silence as indifference or some other rudeness. He sneered and growled "Fool! I was offering peace and you reject it!? I'll write my epitaph standing on your grave! So swears Roddy McAmsterdam!"

Now I realised I'd upset him. But with a swish of his cape, he was already way past the lightbulbs and extention cords before I could say narry a word.

Sounds spilled out of my mouth anyway. "Glad I'm not that guy."

In retrospect, It's sort of good he wasn't there to hear that.

"Whoop, whoop, whoop." This time I knew right away it was the kid with the gun.

"Fuck off, kid."

"Whoop, whoop, whoop."

For the Masses

Well, imagine my suprise to discover that what is arguably the worst entry in my blog entry making history, generated almost more comments than the rest of my blog entries combined.

All this just when I thought I'd run out of things to say.

Yes, I was suprised... and encouraged! I don't know what the fuck a blog of note is or what a blog must do to become worthy of said note, but it seems to have provided just the bolster my flagging spirits required. I must admit to a certain selfishness in my desire to tone things down. In my mind I had become just another kind of entertainer. I forgot about my purpose in starting a blog in the first place (Actually, I just stole the idea from my bud Marshall, but later on I realised there could be a purpose in stealing this idea). I forgot about my duty. But now I remember. I feel reborn; so to shall this blog be reborn. Let it begin...


Hello, friends. For we are all friends here, bound together under a common desire to see Good prevail in this world.

And for this desire, our's shall ever be the more difficult path, for adversity burgeons forth from every shadow and lurks around every corner. Even he who does not oppose evil, he who only stands aside as it occurs, is the ally of evil as surely as the instigator himself. Thus, it is only he of the highest resolve that shall be triumphant, and even he shall not succeed alone.

But let not our wills be cowed, nor our heads bowed, though the burden we carry be great.

Righteousness shall be given a voice. That voice will be heard. It is the mission of this blog to be a forum where I will do My part and you will say Your piece and do Your part. In this place we shall exault in the capacity of Man's body and the nobility of Man's mind. We shall test ourselves, and find no limits, for as we place none on others, so shall none place any on us. Ever shall it remain this way. You have my solemn vow.

It's our turn now. Let us not squander it.

Next time: What it's like to live with a prostitute (hint: It's not fuck city like you'd think it'd be!)

Madness and Such

You don't understand what kind of pressure I'm under. This blog was not meant to be merely just another blog. I'm trying to pioneer an artform here. And in all fairness, my efforts have been well rewarded by your enthusiastic appreciation.

Unfortunately, in order to maintain this appreciation it is almost an inevitability that I'll be forced to meet ever increasing expectations. And to meet these expectations, I am forced to go to ever greater extremes. It seems that some of you expect this blog to read like a transcript of a Jackass episode. I can tell you now that will not be happening anytime soon.

You see, earlier this week, having hit a dry spell of things to tell you about, I went out into the city in search of adventure for the purposes of reporting here. Instead of adventure, what I discovered was a 200 pound junkie who nearly sodomized me with a 1o inch knife. Luckily, he was startled by some passersby just then and he only robbed me and stabbed me in the stomach.

Well, a four day hospital stay and 56 stitches later, I'm back to report my experiences to my loyal audience. It doesn't quite seem worth it somehow. I hope you won't be disappointed in the words you find here in the future, I hope that you continue to come listen to my tales. I hope I haven't depressed you all. Go ahead and laugh at the absurdity of it all. Indeed, the burden of laughter is squarely apon you, for I cannot afford to laugh at all. There's a real chance of me disembowling myself if I do.

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

When we were kids, one of my brother's best, and most peculiar, friends, was a tall gangly fellow who was half inuit and one third uzbek. His parents made him take swimming lessons three times a week and it goes without saying that when it came to swimming, his skill was far superior to any other person we knew. But we were only seven and four at the time, so we really didn't know a lot of swimmers to compare him against. Still, it seems reasonable to assume that his swimming abilities were better than average for that age (he was five).

It seems our mother also thought that his swimming skills were quite impressive, for she never failed to start cursing and spitting at the very mention of his name. One thing we had learned to recognize about mother was that she couldn't stand to see other people's children winning approval and recognition for worthy achievements. I guess this was because the one thing she had gained much recognition for (and no approval) was the fact that one year earlier her husband had accidentally died in the clutches of his own garden hose.

In the recognition and approval department, it must have seemed to her that there was little prospect of improving her position with one son who was best known for his deathly fear of plants and animals, and another son who was best known for nothing at all. With our sister being less than two years old at the time, the chances of her accomplishing anything worthwhile were too far off for the impatient matron of our brood. It was thus that my brother and I found ourselves enrolled in swimming lessons.

Though my brother took a quick liking to this tall inuit/uzbek/tad o' something else, I found him to be obnoxious and conceited. He was always bragging about how fast he was. In fairness, he really was fast and it sometimes seemed to me that the water got warmer from his speed swimming. But I guess it could have been just pee. Though I didn't realise it at the time, I now suspect the latter to be the more likely, for reasons soon to be disclosed. You can decide for yourself.

Anyway, it wasn't long before he declared his life's ambition to race and defeat all the creatures of the sea. We started calling him Jock Cousteau.

As Jock and my brother became close friends, he started turning up at our house more often. My mother and I, for once, shared a common grief as neither of us liked Jock at all, but my brother suffered from a serious shortage of playmates. Rather than uniting against this common foe, my mother took this opportunity to torment me further by forcing to play with them. But it would be because of this that I first came to suspect his expertise in the pool was the result of overcompensating for deficiencies in other areas.

During the sunny afternoons which call for shorts, I started noticing a brown streak that usually appeared on the inside of his left leg (it would sometimes turn up on the right leg too, but that was rare). The only thing that was certain was that there was never a day when there wasn't a brown stripe on one leg or another. Curious, I asked him why he painted his legs like that and he said his mom made him do it. Even to my young mind, this rang false, and I was determined to find proof of what I personally believed to be the truth. My suspicions were confirmed during a sleepover when a little espionage revealed that Jock didn't sit down to poop. For whatever reason, his parent's toilet training methods had failed to convey this important bit of technique to the young lad.

In any case, the shit streak dried quickly and didn't stink too bad most of the time. Regardless, an already unpopular houseguest, he became an even more unpopular houseguest. I think it was mostly because of the little brown flakes he left on chairs, or maybe it was his curious habit of rubbing his legs together like a cricket. Whenever his visits concluded, passersby could hear the voices of children ringing out from all over our house "Mom! I found poo!"
Mother soon forbid him from the house and before the summer was over we had been withdrawn from swimming lessons and never saw him again.

A few days ago I though about him for the first time in years. I wondered what had become of him and whether he'd ever overcome his difficulties with defecation. Lo and behold, the very next day, I see a report on CNN, featuring none other than Jock Cousteau and how he'd just been clocked swimming faster than a beluga whale.

I'm not entirely sure whether this tale should be taken as inspirational or tragic. I guess if we say it's a little of both it'll appeal to a wider demographic, which is more important than trying to force a moral apon the audience anyway.

Know Your Enemy part II

Ok, now for the top five most deadly robots. This part is a little bit different than the first, which concentrated mainly on generic types of robots. This last part focuses on indidvidual robots who have distinguished themselves from the faceless masses. This means they should be avoided under almost all circumstances. It's going to require a lot of careful planning to take any of these units out.

5. Faker - This robotic duplicate of He-Man is presumably the most powerful robot in the universe, though there is little empirical evdience to support such a claim. Nevertheless, he is possessed of many of the same abilities as He-Man himself, though possibley to a lesser degree. Unlike most robotic duplicates, Faker is easily distinguished from He-Man in that his skin is blue and he wears an orange version of Skeletors' oufit. Because of this, some speculate that Faker is merely a prototype in Eternia's robot duplicate technology.

4. V'Ger - Considering what a big deal they made about this satellite gone wild it must have been quite the hubbub. I can't really remember, but it took the crew of the Enterprise one whole movie to fight it. Didn't it make that guy melt in the transporter or something? Maybe V'ger, in a new form, was both that thing that talked to whales and also God from Star Trek V. If so, then it would seem that V'ger's power is truly cosmic in scope and on the verge of limitless. What if V'ger's intellect was contained within Lore and it's raw power within the Crystalline Entity? Puts a whole new spin on that one where they teamed up. I guess.

3. Brainiac - The sight of this metallic villain's Skullship hovering overhead has spelled doom for many a world! So if you happen to spot it, there is little cause for optimism. Brainiac seeks to possess all the knowledge in the universe and destroy everything else. This goal makes little sense to our squishy thinkers, but that is what makes Brainiac so dangerous. We have little chance of comprehending his motivation and his means of achieving them. Conversely, there is one factor that his computer brain can never fully account for... the human factor! Our not-necessarily-driven-by-logic behavior is our best chance at confounding him. Realistically though, the only thing that can really stop Brainiac is Superman. And since Superman is a fictional character, when Brainiac actually does show up, we're fucked.

2. Unicron - "Not the Chosen One's" need not apply when it comes to challenging Unicron! Only the Matrix of Leadership can stop this planet sized machine, who's only goal is to consume all matter in existence! Only the Chosen One can open the Matrix of Leadership, so all others who are not Chosen Ones would do well to keep as far away from this thing as possible! A couple of future guides I'm working on, "So You Want To Build a Spaceship" and "So You Want To Steal a Spaceship From Area 51" will be essential to your survival if Unicron shows up in your solar system! Look for them soon!

What diabolical machine can be more threatening than the planet eating Unicron! Read on, and tremble, as I unveil the number one most dangerous robot in existence!



1. C-3P0 - Don't let his golden appearance fool you, this is one droid of no value to your cause. Built by none other that Darth Vader himself, this phantom menace excels at psychological warfare. Watch in amazement as the morale of you and your teammates slowly erodes under his withering barrage of pessimism and generalized anxiety. As if that wasn't enough, among the 6 million forms of communication it claims to be fluent in are the elder tongues of unspeakable horrors that drive men mad! But these are not the only weapons in this droids' arsenal. Though seemingly lacking in any combat ability, it is a poorly documented fact (but a fact nonetheless) that C-3P0 sided with the Battle Droids and took up arms against the Jedi during the battle of Geonosis. Keeps your friends close and your enemies closer, they say. C-3P0 is an enemy that pretends to be a friend, and you don't want it anywhere near you. Shoot on sight.

Know Your Enemy

Expanding on some of the earlier tips on surviving the robot holocaust, here's a sort of "top ten" list of some robot types to watch out for.

Robotic Threat Index


10. B.A.T.s - Standing for Battle Android Trooper, these are the automated legions of Cobra, a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world. Each one is equipped with a modular arm that accepts a variety of manipulation or armamnet attatchments, including hand, claw, machine gun, flame thrower, and rocket launcher. Out of all the robotic menaces, this one is probably the least fearsome. Like the Battle Droids of the Trade Federation armies, they answer to organic masters and possess no robotic agenda. They are basically slow and mindless walking guns. Also like Battle Droids, they are built with quantity in mind over quality. However, Battle Droids exist in far greater numbers than B.A.T.s and thus score higher on the threat scale. Battle Android Troopers are only sometimes designed to communicate and never take prisoners. That being said, anyone who can bloop a frag should fare well against one of these things. You don't need to be a HOR to take on a B.A.T. and if you can't take on a B.A.T. by yourself, then maybe you're not the HOR you thought you were.

9. Battle Droids - Three types of robots of various lethality are being included in this category. Even though these types of machines have successfully conquered at least one planet, as a group they still still score relatively low on the threat index. These types all share certain qualities, such as being under the control of organic masters. This is important, beacause these robots will not necessarily seek to exterminate all life. These robots also recieve an operating signal that is known to originate from droid control ships. No type of Battle Droid can function without this signal. Though this may make the signal source seem like a tempting target, the facts are that this signal source can be ground based or come from orbit, which might be difficult for you to get to. Also, you'd better be sure there isn't multiple signal sources before you concentrate all your efforts on taking out one source.

Battle Droid - The standard infantry of the Trade Federation armies. Individually, they are no more a threat than B.A.T. However, as already mentioned, these things are deployed on a planetary invasion scale and exist well into the billions of units, while there are probably only a few thousand B.A.T. units in total. Battle Droids are usually programmed to speak any indigenous languages and often take prisoners. Universally equipped with a blaster rifle that they are not particularly good shots with.

Super Battle Droid - The most versatile, and thus probably the most dangerous of the Trade Federation units. Each one is equipped with a wrist mounted, twin barrel, rapid fire blaster. Their humanoid configuartion allows them to traverse most types of terrain. They possess greater than human strength and their durable metal chassis can withstand multiple hits from standard blaster fire. Programmed with two personality types; "ill-tempered" and "purportedly comical".

Destroyer Droid(Droideka) - Though technically the most dangerous of the three types, the droideka is hindered by several weaknesses. It's peculiar, tripodal configuration and pointy legs are severe drawbacks when these units must traverse soft or uneven terrain. Thus they are encountered mostly indoors. They are also vulnerable in their wheel mode and during their transformation sequence when they cannot deploy their forcefields. Despite all this, the only real option when a droideka has it's shield up and it's guns trained on you is to run away!


8. Robocop 2 - This is one scary looking robot, and it's not all for show! It's fearsome foursome of arms contain a cutting torch, a saw, a battering ram, and a gatling gun, and some suprises, no doubt. Though possessed of human level intelligence, expect this unit to be in the service of an even more malevolent mastermind. For Robocop 2 is made into an easy slave via it's addiction to the narcotic of it's own design, called Nuke. Pretty ironic, LOL! Needless to say, unless you run afoul of the mastermind's diabolic scheme, expect encounters with Robocop 2 to be rare, especially outside Delta City. A hatch on this units' back can be opened to remove the brain inside, but not by anyone of less than Robocop level strength.


7. ED-209 - Graded slightly more dangerous than Robocop 2, because while Robocop 2 is easily controlled, ED-209 is completely out of control! These Enforcement Droids respond with violence to the slightest provocation. Unfortunately, it's never easy to say what these units will regard as "provocation". Watch out for it's rocket launchers! Anything less than a cobra assault cannon (not related to Cobra; a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world) is not going to stop these things. These units are for sale, so they could technically be found anywhere, but are mostly localized around Detroit.

6. Terminator/ Cylon - These two types are similar in terms of goals and means to achieve those goals. Both want to exterminate all mankind. DO NOT APPROACH! They'll kill you on the spot no matter what's on your mind. Both have legions of identical infantry units, though I give the edge, in terms of intelligence and durability, to the terminator units. The Cylons, as a space based threat, and having obliterated the populations of twelve worlds(compared to the terminators' one world), obviously have the advantage in terms of numbers. Both types also use infiltration units, who are designed to be indistinguishable from normal humans. The Cylon version is more difficult to detect, but they use only twelve different versions(or eight, I forget). So if you uncover one of these cylon undercover agents, remember the face! If you ever see that face again, congradulations! You've uncovered another cylon agent! Both types of robots use nuclear weapons, so be ready for radiation, nuclear fallout, and that sort of thing.

The rest later!

Hooray for Hockey

If there ever was a sign of divine intervention right in front of our collective fucking face, it's the "nothing short of miraculous" return of hockey to hockey places all over the place. And I for one say thank fucking God. There is only so long I can go on hearing silence when what I should be hearing is "he shoots he scores" "time out" or "what a trail of mustard that is".

I remember all the greats from my youth; Corflab, Mongunaro, Eisel, Von Neurath. Those were men who played hockey, not for the love of the paycheque, but for the love of the game. These were men who would scoff at the rinks full of hockey hair who're only after $$$.

But I'm the kind of guy who says "Screw all that! Game on!" even when it's not really relevant or appropriate. It's because of a medical condition I had as a child.