Ma blog

up82 · August 7th, 2007, 12:09 AM

Hey guys,

Just another TG fan....

Thought i'd share ma blog here....

http://loggedinsidemyhead.blogspot.com/

Please visit if you have the time and comments and crticisms on the same are welcome images/smilies/smile.gif

An excerpt....

Rocky Mountains ‘box

The couch potato lost his remote and yelled out to his estranged wife in the kitchen “What is the meaning of Life?”
…
He had had a wonderful life through some torrid times. His life was equivalent of a Shakespearean comic-tragedy – if there was one. He had survived the harsh extremities of the life span of his batteries.

And so it began: an arduous journey through a painstakingly, fingers-to-the-bone work out of the biped’s second digit of his right hand. A click followed a zap, and like a creation conversely and contradictory to his life’s governing principle – say like the laws of physics – his dreams flashed before his eyes. The envisioned dream was at his finger tips, momentarily, like a condemnatory King Nothing, executing orders and like a lawful, civilized and well-governed society, his wishes brought him success and rewards. He was content. But content he was only by the will of God alias the cable guy who could only grant him so-many channels to choose from depending on the prayers, payable in dollars and cents, he offered.

A punch of calories kept him sustained. The resultant body fat was good for the winter and for his health benefits. He had served his biological purpose with two kids lost in the vicinity of his vacant backyard. He could not figure out where he was heading. His subjects, the infrared diodes, exercised sycophancy to monotony. He could pray a bit more but he would lose his fat.
He looked up to the dear devil which had always been there for him. El Diablo, as he playfully preferred, had been in the nook and cranny of all his deepest thoughts. In times of despair he had provided the devil his workshop, and in return increased the productivity levels of adiposity.

The first rays from the magic box beamed tranquility. Our obese, father-of-two, soon-to-be divorced protagonist relaxes on the groove, that he had carefully articulated with the paintbrush that was his behind, on the couch. This is what his kingdom looks like…

Act I – Scene I
A young dashing gun with a pair of aviator sun glasses starts his life as a Park Ranger on the Rocky Mountains keeping out anti-socials and preserving wildlife. Here, he is one with nature, at peace most of the times. His heart beat is at a pleasant 72bpm ensuing a pulse racing dare-devil camaraderie when duty beckoned. He clawed as far as the mountain clawed – from the United States to Canada. Political boundaries made little sense to him unless the border (read: guns) dictated terms.
All was well till a rabid Grizzly Bear was out for Cheerios, deciding it could do without the morning newspaper and milk and decided that breakfast would be adequate with Mr. Ranger’s tenderized yet muscular limb somewhere near Mount Timpanogos.
It was an irony worth a thousand words. A semi-bleeding torso with a missing member flowing blood was reminiscent of a serene stream bringing life to its embankments or in this case some maggots and flies. His pain and cries of help echoed across the tranquil scenic beauty. His voluble and articulate decibels were at times downed by the local fauna. A colorful and vibrant chirping bird was oblivious to his endeavor. The only empathy was the unsuccessful mating calls of the moose which probably was on the next menu for the great Grizzly, maybe for lunch, the main course with a bit of garnish on the inside; Bon Apetit.

Act II - Scene VV
He bled a bit but survived. There was always prosthetics he pondered, as did the fetishist Marilyn Manson. His optimism was that of the people of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945-“さとる、あの雲はシルバー･ライニングがつけてるみたいで� �� …” (Satoru, it seems as though there's a silver lining attached to that mushroom cloud...). They didn’t mind the blinding effects. Being oblivious, lame or blind is not that bad. Look at Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles, they looked - no pun there - like they were rummaging for the dangling mike, but it was their larynx that did the trick. Although at times it did seem like Stevie and his swaying could gift him a bump on the noggin and probably cause brain damage. Now look at TAFKAP, or rather don’t look. Change the channel.
A lot of flashing images and a few bouts of epilepsy later constituted a deeper meaning of his journey. He had to listen to the sounds, he could ignore the visuals. A simple case of elimination and he swayed some more. A trigger of neurons and some chemicals calmed him just as the serene beauty of the tranquil meadow that was near Mount Timpanogos. Of course, the stimulus was different at his dichotomy of his life thus far. These were, however, not two extremes. Well at least not his MTV. They were two different sensations. Music was secondary and taken for granted. Musical chords he may not understand but the beats were embedded in his thoughts like a 1930’s typewriter, stern, rigid and assertive. He could see himself playing his guitar in the air like the swaying hands of the morning raga. Entwined wires on the back stage from heavy duty speakers, like serpentines from the head of Medusa, embodied his devil ridden psychedelic quest. The reflex that was endowed on him to throw the remote on his TV, right when Richard Marx made a tear-jerking romantic proposal, was held back by the fact that the proximity to his remote was his only savior. Music, he liked it or not, had always been his companion. If only he had his iPod so he could lambaste John Denver* to soothe the savage beast.

Act III – Scene VIII
But nothing can take away the tranquility of his cross border terrorism [screeeeech!!!] or was it Transcendentalism, he forgets. Then there was Ice-Hockey. Yes, who needs the new age Manson when all the action in the world was available within the confines of the rink? Grrrr….Hell, he could use his prosthetic to smash the goaltender’s teeth. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have John Denver by his side. Or he could be in a cocoon of a cockpit driving around in a circle at a quadrillion miles per hour and extract the same joy that a four year old experiences on one of those dizzying merry-go–rounds at the local fair. Or maybe he could try and match the enduring energy, vigor and lively levels of Golf. Or maybe a few more diodes can expand his periphery. This was not Rome and there was no Colosseum, just some big brands speeding and expanding across the screen dreadfully prompt and an enthusiastic yet a low bass voice commands you to “Drink that cola, smoke that cigarette, Mr. Grizzly here’s your Cheerios…” There were hours of legalized lunacy. But that’s OK; his lawyer is in the Caribbean.

Act XXXV – Scene XXII
Since his dissection of the theory of avoiding the newspaper in the morning, he considers an abortion. It’s a new world and men can have babies, stamped and approved by the special seal of the United States of America. He is now with Oprah a.k.a. I-have-a-boring-life-so-I’ll-pick-my-neighbours-nose-and-televise-it (come to think of it, so does the US Government). The daily weather announces and proves that it would be easier to win the million dollar lottery. “Bright and sunny sky with signs of nimbus…” He looked outside the window and wondered whom he should pay to shovel his driveway. George the Second makes another candid appearance and gives hope to millions of his fellow countrymen. You can be President even though you might be a grammatically incomprehensible nincompoop. And there’s a lot more where that came from. He has taken the Freedom of Speech to a new level, a level that should have a bullet torn across the tumor that is his brain.

Ok enough…

The electricity then says “you didn’t pay the bill”, and our man who starts from the Rocky’s to I-have-a-big-nose-Oprah and George-God-Save-Us, concludes that his channel is off air. He yells out to his estranged wife in the kitchen “What is the meaning of Life?” chokes on a potato chip and dies.

Dear Mr. Potato man,
You were born, destined to die. So, it doesn’t make a difference what you did in between or how many channels you surfed on the idiot box. All that matters, or rather should matter, is the Alpha and the Omega.
But the Alpha begins when someone has a dawn, and at sunrise, that someone is his own Omega. So all hope of your existence would be lost, unless you are one Adolf Hitler.

So YOU may have found your remote and switched to a third channel. I think it’s a bit late and you should be off to bed. You may die in a few hours time or maybe in a few decades. You do not exist for me, so turn the page…

[Blank page]

…cut to commercial…

Glossary
*John Denver had a song – Rocky Mountain Highs

BigJ · August 7th, 2007, 12:19 AM

Why in God's name do I care about your blog? images/smilies/think.gif

And isn't a blog supposed to be about random stupid goings on in your life and not some fictional story that is long and uninteresting?

-BigJ

Punisher Bass · August 7th, 2007, 12:24 AM

Get that retarded emo crap out of here.

vRS · August 7th, 2007, 1:41 AM

Hmm lets see-

6/4 - Le_Mans_GTR is back
100/1 - carsightings is back

£100 on it being the first one.....

up82 · August 7th, 2007, 1:46 AM

ok didnt know...could you delete the thread then...sorry!

No Boss · August 7th, 2007, 2:59 AM

My how nice we are to the new guys.

YF19pilot · August 7th, 2007, 3:09 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by vRS

Hmm lets see-

6/4 - Le_Mans_GTR is back
100/1 - carsightings is back

£100 on it being the first one.....

Le Mans GTR never left and still posts here (albeit rarely out of fear of Hidden Hunter).

And up82, I shall part words of wisdom upon you: "Become an hero."

up82 · August 7th, 2007, 8:14 PM

m genuinely apologetic...its inappropriate to to blow a trumpet in a place where one does not have the feel of a forum...should have probably done when i could atleast evaluate what the basic norms of any forum are..as i said criticims are welcome... images/smilies/smile.gif

so no offence taken. will be watchful in da future

Vette Boss · August 7th, 2007, 9:29 PM

Lots of interest generated here.. images/smilies/tumbleweed.gif

Seriously, if your blog were that good, people would find it without you needing to plug it. Go and find something interesting to write about.

jakifirbec · August 8th, 2007, 7:42 AM

Meh leave him be guys. He might be the new hemingway and he just gave us a chance to know about it first.
Welcome BTW, and don't get scared away, people here are not that mean as they appear at first.
I must say though i do not understand the point of blogs. Not enough funny.

August 7th, 2007, 12:09 AM	#1
up82 Joined: Jul 3rd, 2007 Last Online: November 20th, 2009 Posts: 23 Rep Power: 0	Ma blog Hey guys, Just another TG fan.... Thought i'd share ma blog here.... http://loggedinsidemyhead.blogspot.com/ Please visit if you have the time and comments and crticisms on the same are welcome An excerpt.... Rocky Mountains ‘box The couch potato lost his remote and yelled out to his estranged wife in the kitchen “What is the meaning of Life?” … He had had a wonderful life through some torrid times. His life was equivalent of a Shakespearean comic-tragedy – if there was one. He had survived the harsh extremities of the life span of his batteries. And so it began: an arduous journey through a painstakingly, fingers-to-the-bone work out of the biped’s second digit of his right hand. A click followed a zap, and like a creation conversely and contradictory to his life’s governing principle – say like the laws of physics – his dreams flashed before his eyes. The envisioned dream was at his finger tips, momentarily, like a condemnatory King Nothing, executing orders and like a lawful, civilized and well-governed society, his wishes brought him success and rewards. He was content. But content he was only by the will of God alias the cable guy who could only grant him so-many channels to choose from depending on the prayers, payable in dollars and cents, he offered. A punch of calories kept him sustained. The resultant body fat was good for the winter and for his health benefits. He had served his biological purpose with two kids lost in the vicinity of his vacant backyard. He could not figure out where he was heading. His subjects, the infrared diodes, exercised sycophancy to monotony. He could pray a bit more but he would lose his fat. He looked up to the dear devil which had always been there for him. El Diablo, as he playfully preferred, had been in the nook and cranny of all his deepest thoughts. In times of despair he had provided the devil his workshop, and in return increased the productivity levels of adiposity. The first rays from the magic box beamed tranquility. Our obese, father-of-two, soon-to-be divorced protagonist relaxes on the groove, that he had carefully articulated with the paintbrush that was his behind, on the couch. This is what his kingdom looks like… Act I – Scene I A young dashing gun with a pair of aviator sun glasses starts his life as a Park Ranger on the Rocky Mountains keeping out anti-socials and preserving wildlife. Here, he is one with nature, at peace most of the times. His heart beat is at a pleasant 72bpm ensuing a pulse racing dare-devil camaraderie when duty beckoned. He clawed as far as the mountain clawed – from the United States to Canada. Political boundaries made little sense to him unless the border (read: guns) dictated terms. All was well till a rabid Grizzly Bear was out for Cheerios, deciding it could do without the morning newspaper and milk and decided that breakfast would be adequate with Mr. Ranger’s tenderized yet muscular limb somewhere near Mount Timpanogos. It was an irony worth a thousand words. A semi-bleeding torso with a missing member flowing blood was reminiscent of a serene stream bringing life to its embankments or in this case some maggots and flies. His pain and cries of help echoed across the tranquil scenic beauty. His voluble and articulate decibels were at times downed by the local fauna. A colorful and vibrant chirping bird was oblivious to his endeavor. The only empathy was the unsuccessful mating calls of the moose which probably was on the next menu for the great Grizzly, maybe for lunch, the main course with a bit of garnish on the inside; Bon Apetit. Act II - Scene VV He bled a bit but survived. There was always prosthetics he pondered, as did the fetishist Marilyn Manson. His optimism was that of the people of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945-“さとる、あの雲はシルバー･ライニングがつけてるみたいで� �� …” (Satoru, it seems as though there's a silver lining attached to that mushroom cloud...). They didn’t mind the blinding effects. Being oblivious, lame or blind is not that bad. Look at Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles, they looked - no pun there - like they were rummaging for the dangling mike, but it was their larynx that did the trick. Although at times it did seem like Stevie and his swaying could gift him a bump on the noggin and probably cause brain damage. Now look at TAFKAP, or rather don’t look. Change the channel. A lot of flashing images and a few bouts of epilepsy later constituted a deeper meaning of his journey. He had to listen to the sounds, he could ignore the visuals. A simple case of elimination and he swayed some more. A trigger of neurons and some chemicals calmed him just as the serene beauty of the tranquil meadow that was near Mount Timpanogos. Of course, the stimulus was different at his dichotomy of his life thus far. These were, however, not two extremes. Well at least not his MTV. They were two different sensations. Music was secondary and taken for granted. Musical chords he may not understand but the beats were embedded in his thoughts like a 1930’s typewriter, stern, rigid and assertive. He could see himself playing his guitar in the air like the swaying hands of the morning raga. Entwined wires on the back stage from heavy duty speakers, like serpentines from the head of Medusa, embodied his devil ridden psychedelic quest. The reflex that was endowed on him to throw the remote on his TV, right when Richard Marx made a tear-jerking romantic proposal, was held back by the fact that the proximity to his remote was his only savior. Music, he liked it or not, had always been his companion. If only he had his iPod so he could lambaste John Denver* to soothe the savage beast. Act III – Scene VIII But nothing can take away the tranquility of his cross border terrorism [screeeeech!!!] or was it Transcendentalism, he forgets. Then there was Ice-Hockey. Yes, who needs the new age Manson when all the action in the world was available within the confines of the rink? Grrrr….Hell, he could use his prosthetic to smash the goaltender’s teeth. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have John Denver by his side. Or he could be in a cocoon of a cockpit driving around in a circle at a quadrillion miles per hour and extract the same joy that a four year old experiences on one of those dizzying merry-go–rounds at the local fair. Or maybe he could try and match the enduring energy, vigor and lively levels of Golf. Or maybe a few more diodes can expand his periphery. This was not Rome and there was no Colosseum, just some big brands speeding and expanding across the screen dreadfully prompt and an enthusiastic yet a low bass voice commands you to “Drink that cola, smoke that cigarette, Mr. Grizzly here’s your Cheerios…” There were hours of legalized lunacy. But that’s OK; his lawyer is in the Caribbean. Act XXXV – Scene XXII Since his dissection of the theory of avoiding the newspaper in the morning, he considers an abortion. It’s a new world and men can have babies, stamped and approved by the special seal of the United States of America. He is now with Oprah a.k.a. I-have-a-boring-life-so-I’ll-pick-my-neighbours-nose-and-televise-it (come to think of it, so does the US Government). The daily weather announces and proves that it would be easier to win the million dollar lottery. “Bright and sunny sky with signs of nimbus…” He looked outside the window and wondered whom he should pay to shovel his driveway. George the Second makes another candid appearance and gives hope to millions of his fellow countrymen. You can be President even though you might be a grammatically incomprehensible nincompoop. And there’s a lot more where that came from. He has taken the Freedom of Speech to a new level, a level that should have a bullet torn across the tumor that is his brain. Ok enough… The electricity then says “you didn’t pay the bill”, and our man who starts from the Rocky’s to I-have-a-big-nose-Oprah and George-God-Save-Us, concludes that his channel is off air. He yells out to his estranged wife in the kitchen “What is the meaning of Life?” chokes on a potato chip and dies. Dear Mr. Potato man, You were born, destined to die. So, it doesn’t make a difference what you did in between or how many channels you surfed on the idiot box. All that matters, or rather should matter, is the Alpha and the Omega. But the Alpha begins when someone has a dawn, and at sunrise, that someone is his own Omega. So all hope of your existence would be lost, unless you are one Adolf Hitler. So YOU may have found your remote and switched to a third channel. I think it’s a bit late and you should be off to bed. You may die in a few hours time or maybe in a few decades. You do not exist for me, so turn the page… [Blank page] …cut to commercial… Glossary *John Denver had a song – Rocky Mountain Highs

August 7th, 2007, 12:19 AM	#2
BigJ Joined: Dec 20th, 2004 Last Online: November 18th, 2009 Location: Portland, Oregon Posts: 288 Rep Power: 22	Why in God's name do I care about your blog? And isn't a blog supposed to be about random stupid goings on in your life and not some fictional story that is long and uninteresting? -BigJ __________________

August 7th, 2007, 12:24 AM	#3
Punisher Bass He who drives a Buick Joined: Feb 25th, 2007 Last Online: 1:41 AM Location: St Louis, MO Age: 25 Posts: 1,677 Car: 98 Buick Park Avenue Ultra Rep Power: 64	Get that retarded emo crap out of here. __________________ The Mighty Buick Of Destruction Last edited by Punisher Bass; August 7th, 2007 at 12:28 AM.

August 7th, 2007, 2:59 AM	#6
No Boss Neener, neener, I banned your title! Joined: Oct 8th, 2005 Last Online: November 8th, 2009 Location: 'mericuh, someday the UK. Age: 24 Posts: 6,859 Car: 2005 Volvo S60 R Rep Power: 86	My how nice we are to the new guys. __________________

August 7th, 2007, 8:14 PM	#8
up82 Joined: Jul 3rd, 2007 Last Online: November 20th, 2009 Posts: 23 Rep Power: 0	m genuinely apologetic...its inappropriate to to blow a trumpet in a place where one does not have the feel of a forum...should have probably done when i could atleast evaluate what the basic norms of any forum are..as i said criticims are welcome... so no offence taken. will be watchful in da future

August 7th, 2007, 1:41 AM	#4
vRS Joined: Nov 22nd, 2004 Last Online: November 11th, 2009 Location: Stirling, Scotland Age: 18 Posts: 1,832 Car: '02 Vauxhall Corsa SXi Rep Power: 35	Hmm lets see- 6/4 - Le_Mans_GTR is back 100/1 - carsightings is back £100 on it being the first one.....

August 7th, 2007, 1:46 AM	#5
up82 Joined: Jul 3rd, 2007 Last Online: November 20th, 2009 Posts: 23 Rep Power: 0	ok didnt know...could you delete the thread then...sorry!

August 7th, 2007, 9:29 PM	#9
Vette Boss Joined: Nov 14th, 2004 Last Online: 2:58 AM Location: United States, Britain, in time Age: 23 Posts: 3,639 Car: 2006 Volkswagen Passat 2.0T Rep Power: 66	Lots of interest generated here.. Seriously, if your blog were that good, people would find it without you needing to plug it. Go and find something interesting to write about. __________________ 2006 Volkswagen Passat 2.0T. Das Auto

August 8th, 2007, 7:42 AM	#10
jakifirbec Joined: Feb 10th, 2006 Last Online: November 20th, 2009 Location: Slovenija Age: 31 Posts: 713 Car: Mazda 6 Rep Power: 18	Meh leave him be guys. He might be the new hemingway and he just gave us a chance to know about it first. Welcome BTW, and don't get scared away, people here are not that mean as they appear at first. I must say though i do not understand the point of blogs. Not enough funny.

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