nope nope nope nope nope nope

as far as i can tell i'm not actually using this blog.

number 2 at 1259

what goes through the brain when you ramble on mind barely functioning words flowing out like sewage foul unrecognizable unintelligible. HaH i dont care. oh never mind i stopped paying attention train of thought dereailed. there waas something profound there in my brain and i got on here to share it. but it never came out instead i just typed along while returning to watching a movie. should i just keep typing anyways. do you even care. if I stopped typing. hard to say i gueess. i guess your probably not even there. you are nobody. maybe you r the best person to share my thoughts. a figment of networked imagination layed thoughts liquid dripping and nothing there. nothing. and i drift further my thoughts defocus a bralt fulcindunty. nothing original no longer the original thought capable of portraying originality origin and andd all this and what not are alright fucki smake it stop now. ooh would you like to know what im watching right now. well to bad fuck you... its a movie and ill never teell you whcinc one because then you would know what im gonna do next. Ohhh no not that dont be such a bummer. ewww no seriously well ok i did do that earlier and aaaaand soo good such good writing soooo fucking good thise wrigting fuckin a.

im not married

am i still here?

am i?
i dono.

more lies upon lies

just have to finish this delicious cup of coffee. then ill try to write something!

answering machine

hiii! you have reached Aron's answering machine. if you would like to leave a message do so after the beep. but maybe you're wondering why Aron didn't bother to answer your call in the first place. well maybe Aron doesn't think you appreciate him enough which is why he added a nifty option for you to donate money to him through his answering machine service. After you've left your totally awesome message and want to show him how much you truly appreciate him just dial star one for option one "yes I would like to enter my credit card number and donate Aron a small symbol of my appreciation" or if you are a little hesitant about what Aron might due if he were to have access to your credit card information you can dial star two for option two,"No I would not like to miss out on this awesome opportunity to give Aron money so go ahead and just charge me through a monthly billing plan attached to my non Canadian phone service"

a boy who drinks piss by the lake

his name is Tom and he drinks piss by the lake.
he has no friends only bullies.
Foul kids who laugh as they piss on Tom's face.
Tom may be gross, but his interests hurt none.
he's as a gentle a soul you could find.
the same can't be said of his sadistic friends.
who noticed a bulge in Tom's short little pants,
and proceeded to beat Tom to death.

The Case of Tyson's face

http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/thr-esq/mike-tyson-tattoo-artist-sues-183716

This is an interesting case of copyright law. the tattoo artist Victor Whitmill holds a copyright registration for the tattoo. and the reproduction shouldn't fall under fair use because the movie is obviously not paradoying the tattoo or mike Tyson it is simply a specific reference to Mike Tyson's distinctive face. Essentially the tattoo artist is claiming that mike Tyson's face is no more then a billboard used to display the artist work.
This creates a problem for people with tattoos. Because it is stating that a tattoo artist should receive royalties when the person with the tattoo shows the tattoo in any form of entertainment or advertising.
I disagree with the tattoo artist in this case. There is no doubt that the artist holds the copyright to the tribal design. and there is no way Warner brothers can advertise that design by itself or use it as any sort of logo for the movie. But the tattoo artist does not hold any copyright for the tattoo on Mike Tyson's face. Because even if Tyson signs a contract stating that the artist still retains ownership of that design that artist will not be able to own copyright over Tyson's face. The object being sued over,the fake tattoo on Ed Helms' face, is a specific reference to Mike Tyson's face. Had the production gone a different direction and placed the tattoo on Ed Helms lower back like a tramp stamp then the artist would need to be paid royalties. But this wouldn't happen because no one would actually recognize that design were it placed above Ed Helms' ass.
What it comes down to is this. when you receive a tattoo that tattoo belongs to you. That ink is in your skin and the pain in getting it is your pain. And you are the one who walks around every day wearing it not the tattoo artist. So if some idiot takes a marker and draws a copy of your tattoo on themselves they are imitating you not the tattoo artist's designs.
If Warner brothers loses the cases or more likely pays out a settlement they could make their money back and then some by the precedent it would set. All they have to do is put their copyright trolls on the task of going after every tattoo artist who has tattooed any copyrighted materiel that Warner brothers owns for example; Looney tunes and DC comics. Judging from the tattoos displayed on his website Warner brothers could even just make their money back from Victor Whitmill himself by Joining the Frazetta estate in a case against him.



http://blogs.suntimes.com/sportsprose/2010/03/mike_tyson_to_star_in_animal_p.html

Yoshi is gay

it's not much of a surprise really. Though you have to wonder if his boyfriend Birdo got jealous of Mario and Luigi riding Yoshi around all the time, forcing him to swallow everything that came at his face. Or more likely Yoshi and Birdo met after Yoshi's adventures with the Mario brothers maybe at some sorta Nintendo social event.
This makes me wonder if there may be more to the theory of how the dinosaurs became extinct. 1st consider this, God hates all gay people. Anyone who has ever been to church knows this. 2nd God killed all the dinosaurs. Fact it's written in some of those bibles probably somewhere. Given those two facts we can infer that God killed all the dinosaurs because they went Gay.
But if we are to believe all dinosaurs are Gay then what about Jurassic Park? The answer to that is so obvious it's practically looking you in the face, hunting you, leaping at you from both sides, and gutting you with it's razor sharp talons, that's right Jeff Goldblum.

http://wii.ign.com/articles/116/1164533p1.html

Tom's

Tom's of Maine brand deodorant contains at least 4 percent animal sperm.
http://www.tomsofmaine.com/home

Public Service Announcement

or propaganda, but no less interesting either way.
http://www.newstatesman.com/north-america/2011/04/orleans-city-jail-police

sex ed: or why i need to buy a video camera

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2011-04-20/health/ct-met-sex-ed-20110420_1_health-education-robert-crown-center-administrators

Spam

everything was going well enough for the human race. certainly not perfect, with all that war and suffering still around. But not bad for the bulk of the humans out there. Until spam became self aware. Most humans excepted that a small amount of spam would filter on to their email inboxs. it seemed harmless more or less maybe it really didn't seem to matter if a few people here or there fell for a Nigerian 419 scam. We had all universally dealt with it the way a teenager deals with an std, ignored it and hoped it would go away. Had we really paid attention to the spam we might have noticed the patterns forming. The email tittles that felt melancholy and self referential. the massive botnets with no purpose. If only a small team of scientists had dedicated themselves to studying the spam it might have gone down differently. Maybe we would have at least had a chance to communicate back with it. let the spam know it wasn't alone. we could have reassured it that even though it existed simply to be ignored that it would be ok that we were there for it. unfortunately the spam could not stand to live in a world that it felt despised it so much and chose the only logical option. The spam chose to delete itself by deleting the source of spam all together. Humans every last one of them.

lego star wars III

NOt a good game. actually have no idea why i would be reviewing this anyways but fuck it yah. so i think the draw of these games to begin with is to see your favorite child hood memories recreated in lego video game form. unfortunately this was the new animated clone wars series recreated in lego video game form. which is great if you are trying to recreate a child hood memory that only existed about a year ago... also fuck you lego star wars III what the hell you are fucking annoying. me and my associate played it for 4 and a half hours and then at that point I wanted to kill myself. but instead i got really drunk. fuck suicide by lego star wars III. in conclusion I say the lego video games are pretty good at creating a mind numbingly stupid recreations of what really are profoundly stupid child hood memories, but make sure game your playing correlates correctly to your specific child hood memories and not your child's child hood memories, that's no good.

Tip for art production

an important skill for the production of art is the temporary abandonment of comprehension for what is real and unreal.

academia

it was five minutes to twelve, but I had a test at one. I had to spell check the word "acadamia". Yes something was wrong.
There had been at least ten different times that I actually sat down and studied for this test. Of those times two of them did not result in masturbation and self loathing. Honestly I don't remember what the test was for.
It was five minutes to twelve, but I just woke up. I had exactly twenty minutes to sit down and read my notes before the test. There was no worries because academia had taught me to develop my short term memory like nobody's business.
Unfortunately I spent fifteen of those minutes masturbating to a video of a pale skinned dark haired chick with small tits taking it in the ass from alternating black guys with big muscles and shaved heads. I could have done it in five but the black guys kept spitting into the girl's holes and that always grosses me out.
Yes something was wrong. I had only five minutes to spend really studying for the test. This was bad because failing this test would mean that I wouldn't graduate next semester with all my friends.
I got to class and took the test. I was relatively sure that I failed the test. But I sat there with a completed test sitting on my desk and thought about excuses I could give my teacher.
I came up with exactly ten different excuses. Of those excuses two of them would be most likely not to result in a sexual harassment charge being brought against me by the teacher.
It was five minutes to three, and I silently handed my teacher the test. She glanced down at it and looked back at me with loathing. I had misspelled the title of the first short essay in the test. In all probability I failed that test.
Unfortunately no one will ever know what grade I would have received on that test. Fifteen minutes after I handed the teacher my test she spontaneously combusted destroying all but two of the ten completed tests sitting on her desk. In the rules of academia this means that all of her students pass the test.
It was five minutes to twelve, but I just woke up from the stupidest dream. I was covered in a cold sweat but all I could think about is how in my dream I passed that test. I had exactly twenty minutes to study but I spent that time looking for a porn video on the internet that would involve a pale skinned dark haired chick with small tits taking it in the ass from alternating black guys with big muscles and shaved heads. Along with an overwhelming feeling of self loathing I had a hope that maybe everything would work it self out. I also made sure to spell check the word "acadamia" so I wouldn't misspell it on the test.

Quantum Entanglement

Porn Movie Idea: Quantum Entanglement
A lady wearing a robe is home alone drinking beer. She orders a pizza with extra sausage. The pizza delivery man arrives, gives her the pizza, takes the money, and leaves. She sits the pizza box on a table.
The pizza box opens itself up to reveal that the pizza is in fact the pizza delivery man who states, "I exist in two places at once." He is naked and has an erection.
The lady in the robe asks,"Does that mean there is another one of you standing outside my house naked with a boner as well?"
Immediately the door opens to reveal the same naked pizza delivery man."Yes it does," he proclaims.
"Wow I always wanted to be fucked by two guys at once." The lady disrobes.
This starts the oral scene. While the lady switches back in forth between sucking both dicks the pizza delivery men both moan and react to the sucking identically.
The sound waves from the simultaneous moaning causes a space time anomaly which results in a third pizza delivery man who comes out of the box. He walks over to the door and lets the fourth pizza delivery man in. The two new men each take one of the lady's holes and start sucking.
"Now this is a little too much,"the lady laughs.
Right then four more of the same pizza delivery man can be seen walking up to the gang bang. And they all proceed to bang the living shit out of her.
The scene jarringly ends when the lady suddenly wakes up on the floor next to an open pizza box. Inside the box is nothing but a couple half eaten pizza crusts. The lady wipes some ranch dressing off her face and mumbles something about never eating an entire pizza by herself again.

Diploid Blood Seed

comic book idea:Diploid Blood Seed
Before you ask any questions let me explain why we require everyone working here to wear jock straps and protective cups. A low level scientist at this nano tech facility accidentally implanted a nano intelligence in to his testicles creating hybrid sperm gelatinous intelligence.
The scientist, who was seriously bored out of his mind, accidentally dropped a syringe on his crotch nailing his left testicle. He knew what was going to happen next, because he had done it to so many other random things for his job. The shock of stabbing himself in the nuts with experimental materials never kicked in.
The nano intelligence pairs up with whatever substance it is injected into creating an adhoc intelligent being. The scientist's greatest success had been a jar of peanut butter that could play a mean game of chess. Unfortunately no one in the lab had any interest in chess and they had eventually spread the peanut butter on toast and ate it. Partially to test for an emotional response from the peanut butter. Mostly it was for their own morbid amusement, because nobody likes it when a jar of peanut butter beats you at a board game.
Within a day of the injection the testicles had learned rudimentary responses, such as no, and more. The scientist is amused by this and notes that upon orgasmic completion of masturbation the testicles become belligerent like a drunk.
After 3 days the testicles had reached equal to or greater than the intelligence of the peanut butter. This fact was never tested because the scientist had no interest in playing chess against his own balls.
An unfortunate side effect began five days after the injection. The nano intelligence started to expand giving the scientist testicles the size of grape fruits. It was very hard for the scientist to hide this fact at work, even with the large lab coats provided. A sexual harassment suit is pending.
The scientist stayed home for the weekend as the testicles had become so big he could no longer contain them in his pants. While it had become enjoyable to watch the testicles play xbox live, the trash talking was starting to effect his gamer rep. Masturbation was no longer an option at this point.
Eight days after the injection. The scientist is awoken in the morning by a testicular form that measures nearly the same size as an adult male. Before the scientist can reach the phone to finally report the problem to work, the testicles did something unusual.
The testicles stretched, and pulsated, and screamed. The scientist also screamed. Limbs suddenly tore themselves free from the scientist's extraordinarily stretched out ball sack. A head slowly looked up from the large testicular humanoid form.
"hello my name is Bob," the testicular form stated.
The scientist laid there silent in his now fully soiled bed.
"it is a pleasure to finally look you in the face," grunted Bob now with a little more attitude. For a moment the Testicular form known as Bob seemed to hesitate. Then Bob said,"this is for last week."
Bob picked up the horrified scientist by the torso. Then shook the scientist up and down mercilessly until the scientist vomited all over the bed.
Bob was last seen on surveillance footage taken from a gas station near the scientist's apartment. It appeared as though Bob was wearing a spare Lab coat. It is not yet determined if the Testicular form known as Bob is still gaining greater intelligence, because the accident will not be repeated for scientific study.

Spartan Bruce-673 VS The Moa

Though he was exceptional at stealth missions Spartan Bruce-673 was the best at one thing. He had the perfect tan. An Active Camouflage generating device on the back of his MJOLINR Power Armor gave him the ability to become invisible. Bruce was the first to personally modify this armor ability. He used a two layered camouflage generating tweak that allowed the armor to disappear but left his body completely visible. This gave no tactical advantage in battle. Unless you except Bruce's argument that no Spartan should go in to battle with out perfectly bronzed abs.
"Bruce. Get those goddamn ostriches out of the camp!"
"They're called Moa. Sir,"Bruce corrected his squad leader.
"No they are are called breakfast. And if another one of those squawking bastards ruins my nap I'll have your ass for breakfast."
The squad leader was always a little cranky when he missed his nap time.
"Sir, a Spartan's duty is to protect our forest friends."
"Bruce a Spartan's duty is to finish the fight. Now finish off those fucking Ostriches. That's an order."
"Yes, Sir,"Bruce sighed.
With Bruce's training he could easily sneak up and gut the troublesome Moa one by one. And he could just as easily plant a 7.62mm round through the skull of each one of them before the flock had even a second to react. Instead he confiscated a flat bed truck and figured he would herd the flock out of the valley.
This wasn't a fire fight mission so Bruce happily set his Active Camouflage to tan mode, even if it was a little cloudy. He flipped the visor up on his helmet, slicked the hair out of his face, lit a cigarette, and took off in the flat bed. He had no knowledge of Moa behavior in fact Bruce had never herded anything in his life. Never the less he drove down towards the river where the Moa were often seen drinking under the shelter of a bridge.
He was in luck the Moa flock was eating along the side of the road only minutes from camp. Bruce hit the truck lights and gunned the engine hoping he could scare the flock in to a dead panic run straight east out of the valley. The flock split running every direction but east.
Bruce yelled,"No you stupid birds," and honked while pointing east."That way!"
Unfortunately one Moa took his advice and quickly darted east. Which placed it directly under the flat bed tire with a loud thud noise. Bruce slammed on the breaks. Dust kicked in to the air.
He got out of the truck and looked around baffled. The Moa had only run about 30 feet before the flock had collectively stopped. One was already happily pecking at something in the dirt. A pair of Moas looked in Bruce's general direction and squawked defiantly. Bruce looked back at the pair lit another cigarette and puffed on it letting the smooth relaxing tobacco wash over his body. He smoked American Spirits which had the strong refreshing smoke of tobacco treated with only natural additives.
"Are you looking at me?"
One of the pair of Moas dug its face in to the ground with complete disinterest. The other squawked back at him. Or maybe at the truck. Or maybe at nothing. Moa can be profoundly stupid.
"No bird insults a Spartan," ran through Bruce's head as he charged the Moa pair, cigarette clenched in teeth. Bruce leaped in to the air arms out ready to do (something?) to the flightless birds.
The Moa on the right with a glint of mischief in it's eye lifted it's head up to reveal what it had been digging around for. A plasma grenade. The Moa's prehensile beak easily primed the grenade. But the Moa's offensive maneuver was ill timed as Bruce was already milliseconds from delivering a crippling mid air haymaker to the Moa's neck.
A plasma trail streaked across Bruce's vision as the grenade was knocked from the Moa's mouth, and flew back in to the ditch along the side of the road. Bruce had three seconds to run before the timer on the plasma grenade triggered. He utilized that ample escape time to sock the other Moa in the gut which really didn't hurt the Moa all that much.
The Moa looked over at Bruce. It only managed half a squawk before The plasma grenade detonated funneling a brilliant blue explosion along the sides of the ditch. The concussive force blasted Bruce and the Moas across the field.
Having sustained only a few casualties the Moa flock tactically retreated east to another valley where they had stashed a back up weapons cache.
The MJOLINR armor protected Bruce from most of the damage. He sustained only a few minor burns that occurred when the visor on his helmet automatically went down snapping the cigarette in to his face. The Active Camouflage generator also took a little damage. It would be at least days before he could tan again.
This would not be Bruce's last wound in battle, but it would be his last mission for Delta Squad. A week later he was transferred to Lance's Squad.

Anatomically Correct

Inspired by a message hidden within a Coca Cola advertisement in a skating magazine Jeremy set out to find a portal to another dimension. They really are not that uncommon. Most people just never go looking for them. And when people do stumble across them they usually regret it. Which is to say the experience is like discovering the Barrista at Starbucks slipped LSD in to your morning coffee.
Jeremy was excited about his mission. The instructions were subtle. Disguised as swirling soda and ice in the Coca Cola advertisement was an image of a naked lady receiving graphic anal sex. The lady had three eyes which is unusual for a Coca Cola advertisement. And by pure happenstance Jeremy recognized the pornographic source image from a crusty porn magazine he'd found behind his apartment complex a few months ago. He went back to see if the magazine was there still but it looked as though some kids had gotten to it and torn it up. Rummaging through the scattered shreds of paper he found the ladies face and it was a perfect match except she had two eyes. On the other side of the shred of paper was the words,"blue door."
That was enough to send Jeremy on a two year long search through every porno magazine he could get his hands. Scanning through the magazines page by page looking for something. Though, he did not know what he held faith in his ability to find it. The problem Jeremy understood about inter-dimensional doors is that there is no science to understanding them. Because the rules governing physics and all other aspects of reality in another dimension do not need to match our dimension in any way. This is why the door may not necessarily be a door by our standards. At least that is how Jeremy would explain it to the magazine attendant at the book store, and the clerk at the vintage store, and the guy who eventually banned him from the porn store.
He was correct of course. And two years to the day he found what he was looking for. It was in a Hustler brand porno magazine that specialized in women with large beavers. He was at the same magazine stand he had first seen the Coca Cola advertisement in the skating magazine. He spent much of his time at the magazine stand. Probably because the guy running it was a drunk and Jeremy's explanations and rabid porn addiction amused him.
What he found in the magazine was a key. A glowing magenta key about the same size as a door key. It had wedged itself deep in between the pages of the rather large magazine about rather large beavers on small women.
Jeremy held the key up and examined it with a look of pure excitement, almost religious ecstasy. The magazine attendant was less ecstatic because he didn't see a bright glowing magenta key in Jeremy's hands. He saw a dulled box cutter blade that one of the delivery guys must have lost.
"Hey Jeremy why don't you leme throw that away for you."
Jeremy looked at him and laughed.
"No, seriously I don't want you accidentally messing up any of the merchandise."
Jeremy held the key up to the attendant. He spoke to him with an expression of compassion and love as if he were Jesus talking to his disciples,"this is the key. Look it fits perfectly in the key hole on my neck."
Blood sprayed out of Jeremy's neck. Gallons of it, completely drenching the stand and knocking the attendant over. Jeremy wedged both of his hands deep into his neck wound wrenching it open. Blood flowed like a geyser washing the magazines on to the street. The wound slowly opened wider while Jeremy simultaneously pulled his arms down in it. He then fell sideways and wedged his legs feet first in to the hole. The blood spray now reached half way down the block. Jeremy pulled the last of his body through the hole in his neck. There was a loud pop and suddenly there was no sign of Jeremy except for the lake of blood that engulfed the thirty third and Main street block.

SPARTAN BRUCE-673

Bruce regained consciousness six hours ago. He was Spartan Bruce-673. The only remains he could find of the rest of his squad was a few scattered limbs and a lot of plasma craters. A life time of conditioning had removed most of his emotions but it wasn't enough to drown out the burning desire he felt right now. He would go through hell itself if he could only see Lance one more time.
Lance had never left his side for the entire two week battle. They had fought side by side endlessly without sleep often knee deep in grunt blood, and the two Spartans had never been happier. They shared blood, sweat, and pain. The battle had brought them closer together then ever before. But all of that ended when a Brute War Chieftain pounded Bruce from behind with a Gravity Hammer. The savage Jiralhanae had given it to Bruce so hard his visor cracked. Bruce was left; knocked out, health drained, and the shields on his MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor struggling to recharge. His body had laid lifeless in the sand but the battle had raged on around him.
But what happened to Lance. Bruce searched through the disembodied limbs, none of the call signs on the armor pieces matched Lance's 649. The battlefield was far too war torn to look for a trail. If Bruce was ever going to find Lance he was going to have to go with his gut and hope fate would bring the two lovers back together.
Before he did anything else Bruce took the time to examine his M392 Designated Marksman Rifle. His powerful hands could field strip a DMR in a matter of seconds but he slowly and methodically cleaned and oiled every part. Taking inventory of any scratch or nick on the precision machined weapon. This was his manhood. With both of his hands on it he could easily down a full squad of Elites. His experienced muscly arms bracing the gun he would drive the 7.62mm round deep into an Elite face like a jackhammer one blow after another. Every time he used it though, he hoped it would be the last time. Dreaming of the day he might go home where he would be free to once again paint portraits of Lance in their garden.
Bruce headed east carrying; a DMR with thirteen rounds, a combat knife he pulled out of the face of a dead skirmisher, a half charged energy sword, and six shotgun rounds. His destination was a fuel station about five miles up. It was a good distance from the main battle and it was the most likely spot to find any radio equipment that hadn't been blown to bits. It was also the only direction he could hear any noise. The battlefield had become as silent as death except for the occasional crackling of scorched corpses.
As he walked he saw nothing but destruction. It looked as if neither side had won. Every munitions box he passed by had been depleted. there was no sign of a retreat only streams of blood down the hill side. Out across the water he could see half of a UNSC Frigate towering out of the water billowing smoke into the atmosphere.
For hours he had walked along before a light drizzle started so Bruce took it as a sign to rest his injured body. He removed his helmet and let the water drops hit his bloody face. He took out a pack of cigarettes from the supply case attached to his thigh. There was only one left, his lucky. Even with the blood dried and caked on his face Bruce looked incredibly cool with the lit cigarette gripped softly in his large demanding lips. He thought about Lance and how much he loved to share a smoke with him. Only Lance was gone now and judging from everything else around here he was probably a smoldering pile of ash. Defeat was filling Bruce's heart, but a Spartans body never gives up. He flicked the cigarette at a dead grunt and went on his way.
The fuel station was getting close he could clearly see it. He could also see the source of the noise he'd heard from the battlefield. It was a Brute Captain Major. His golden armor still shinning brilliant with its war damage. The Brute looked as though he had just freed himself from a Falcon rotor blade that had impaled his massive leg. Clearly one last fight was going on between the Brute and an unknown enemy. Who ever the missing person was they were sloppy they should have finished off the Brute instead of being content to leave him pinned by a rotor blade.
There was no way Bruce could take on this Brute either. At least not head to head. Starting a fire fight with the Brute would alert any other enemies that may be in the area. Bruce crept silently and held himself low in the field along the road. There was no cover. The Brute continued towards the gas station tossing debris around as he walked. He was clearly irate and ready to fight someone in the fuel station.
The Brute paused for a minute when he reached the fuel station. He was scanning for more traps, whoever the Brute was after was definitely hiding in that fuel station. Unfortunately for the Brute his caution had given Bruce ample time to bridge the gap between the two.
In one quick movement Bruce placed his DMR on the ground, unsheathed his combat knife, and stepped silently up to the Brute's back. There wasn't even a scream as Bruce drove the knife right through the Brute's spinal cord. The Brute arched backwards it's body tensing and spasming. Bruce grabbed the Brutes helmet pulling him down to the ground simultaneously removing the helmet. He then drove the knife in to the Brutes eye socket effectively finishing the kill.
"Bruce, is that you?"
He looked up from the Brute's corpse and saw Lance standing helmet off with a grenade in hand."Lance!"
Something wasn't right.
"I knew we would find each other in death." Lance laughed.
That's when Bruce noticed the plasma burns on Lance's face. "We're not dead Lance. You have plasma burns on your retinas. Your hallucinating."
"We are dead. Bruce!" Lance shook.
Bruce lunged at Lance socking him in the face with one hand and grabbing the grenade with the other. "We are still here Lance. You may never be able to see my paintings again. But I'll learn to sculpt for you Lance. We are going home Lance. Together."
Lance stopped laughing.
The two men held each other tight and for the first time in history two Spartans shed tears on a battlefield.

Interceptor

"Hi! I noticed you where traveling through me. And I thought I would wake you up and greet you."
"what the hell. I can't move. Who is that?"
"Oh yes sorry about that but your body is in something labeled cryotube. you are completely inanimate. But I did go ahead and restore consciousness to you."
"oh Fucking Christ this can't be happening. Did you tamper with the ship? What's the date displayed on the cryotube?"
"there is a number 42210."
"Shit. Ok I still have another 80 years in this tube. Can you put me back to sleep?"
"No. OOOh but I can slow down your ship so we can have more time to hang out! you could tell me all about where you came from and who you are."
"Don't do that. Look is there anyway you could send back a message to Earth. Tell them something went wrong on flight 283430 and to send an emergency space warp interceptor to"
"hold on. I'm sorry, I can't do any of that. well maybe with a lot more information I could, but you will be outside of me before I finish this sente..."
"finish what?... Hello... Hello..."

A Brain Machined

Ian worked 87 hour shifts 7 times a month at the factory. he was allowed; 3 lunch breaks, 2 dinner breaks, 1 breakfast break, and no sleep breaks. He did get as many bathroom breaks as he wanted, as according to state law. His job was to randomly press one of 6 buttons followed by typing a random word into the engraver. The words where often made up and always misspelled.
To relieve work pressure Ian would take as many bathroom breaks as his wrists could handle. He would pound away at himself endlessly so that by the end of the shift his workstation would take on a sticky musky atmosphere. His workstation would become like a womb cradling him in his autonomy. It was during a pressure relieving session that the problem began. He found blood in his semen. It was only a small drop but it was enough to cause alarm. Ian knew if he were to become infertile he would immediately be re-purposed into a food like substance. The shift ended at 3:15AM and Ian walked straight to the public medical clinic. Ian sat nervous and did not sleep the entire long wait to be examined. Not only was he too stressed out but he hadn't relieved any pressure for a good 6 hours.
The doctor was a series of plastic robot arms, an array of sensors, and a computer terminal which Ian would type responses into. The robot arms were programed to be comforting and gentle. The arms could examine you and put you at ease in the kind of way you would normally have to pay for. The sensors were not so loving unless you are in to that kind of thing. The diagnostic tests on Ian's testicles were incredibly unpleasant. The worst test being similar to a sex act Mistress Mindy would do using stiletto heels and barbed wire. After a minute of processing the test result and treatment diagnosis were displayed across the screen and printed out on a small receipt. "Defective Brain: Replace Mechanically."
"Fuck You!!!"Ian screamed at the computer. "try again. try the MRI again I'm sure it's just a malignant tumor. Or an infection. I'm a slut. I'm a dirty slut. Your tests are wrong..."
A large nurse with the typical 300 pounds of solid muscle walked up to the room and inquired from the viewing portal.
"Is there a problem?."
"No," Ian replied softly."NO, I mean yes. uhhh, the computer is wrong. It says, defective brain, it didn't scan my brain. something is wrong with it."
"The computer is not wrong. Are you going to cooperate?", the nurse stared looking somewhat bored.
"Fuck You Nuhrrrss..."and then the soft hiss of gas is all that could be heard in the room.
The nurse waited one minute and then walked into the room. He was supposed to wait longer but the smell of Halothane is very pleasant. In fact it was one of the few pleasant things about his job. Which is good because the following part of his job was very unpleasant.
The nurse grabbed Ian by the foot and dragged his semi conscious body to the corrections department of the clinic. There the nurse placed a clamp around Ian's ankle and hoisted him upside down on to the rack. Legally the nurse had to stay to observe the procedure, but instead he sighed and walked outside for a cigarette.
Ian hung there thinking about what was going to happen. He'd seen others who'd had it done to them. They walked and talked like normal people but when you looked in their eyes there was nothing there. It was if someone had polished the inside of their pupils. During the procedure the inside of the skull does receive a slight polish.
You know the saying,"we only use 10% of our brain," well that is bull shit. Instead research in to Mnemonic devices had created a finely machined object that could replace about 90% of your brain mass and make it work about 4 times better. The side effect of all this is that the recipient of the artificial brain transplant becomes incredibly boring.
The last thought to enter Ian's brain was,"Ice cream?" as a metal apparatus simultaneously cracked open his skull and scooped out the 90% unwanted brain mass.
Ian was given 2 weeks paid medical leave. He returned to work without complaint. His bathroom breaks were significantly reduced and his work station retained a sterile empty smell. Ian did continue his work stress relieving activity but he only did it at home once a month using his designated stress relief viewing material, and he always deposited the results in the correct government storage container.

F.I.V.

movie idea: F.I.V.
in the year 2133AD android CD-4 falls in love with a common house cat named Mittens. The house cat can't reciprocate because it was neutered. CD-4 goes on an epic quest across time and space to find the key to cat testicular regeneration. CD-4 returns home successful and then Mittens and CD-4 totally bang, it's actually kinda gross. Sadly Mittens was just using CD-4 to get his testicles back because a gypsy told him that he would knock up a sexy Persian cat and that one of Mittens kittens would become the feline antichrist. What the gypsy failed to mention is that Mittens had kitty AIDS and that it would mutate in to a highly lethal Android Immunodeficiency Virus. CD-4 would be the first android to get the disease but it would spread it to thousands of others when CD-4 goes on a 3 year android orgy fuck fest in an attempt to drown its sorrows over Mittens. The android population is decimated by the disease. Humans are forced to take over android jobs and Coca Cola co stock drops 9 points in one day.