Posted on Updated on

The following post is a mash-up of all of my drafts. They are not meant to, nor do they, make a whole lot of sense. Enjoy.

To the people of America, not including those not residents of the United States and the Virgin Isles, I bid you good morning. It is with great pleasure and pride that I stand here to address you this evening.

*kkkrrrrkkkk TV static*

What if?

draftThose words are funny, are they not? They can lead to one or several of a nearly infinite pool of results. They could prompt destruction, or they could forbear the tidings of an unheard-of miracle cure. They could bring about a completely ridiculous idea, or they could hearken the coming of a perfectly marvelous proposition. This is bound to be of the former.

What if blogs were sentient? You know, they could could think thoughts and feel emotions. What would they say? Could they learn from the others in their realm, or would they be limited to the input provided them by their owners? In a way, any writing is alive through its readers, especially when the ideas contained within prompt discussion and debate, but what if the blog itself could observe its readers, form opions on its contents, and think about world events? What would it say?


I was going to write an article on hipsters. In fact, it was even requested of me, but I found the task inconceivably difficult, nigh insurmountable. Being the lazy chap that I am, I decided to write something vaguely close.


Everyone should have some taste of the nerd culture at some point in his or her life. Nerds are everywhere, especially in their natural habitat: the internet. To effectually know what a nerd is talking about, one must first understand several key concepts and phrases. I have compiled a list of said items.

The knowledge and even usage of certain nerd culture terms does not make one a nerd; many people will mix in references to popular nerd culture in their regular conversation. Let’s start off with the most basic of nerd languages, 1337 5p34k (leet speak).

1337 can be fairly inconsistent, as the language is not “officially” regulated. The goal is to substitute as many common roman letters with numbers or symbols. The language can be fairly cryptic; for example, if I wished to write my blog name as ><4n7|-|u5|<1|)|), this could easily confuse someone not familiar with the regular text name.

Moving on, many tv shows and movies contain token lines and items that are commonly referenced by nerds. Doctor Who, Star Wars, and Star Trek are incredibly popular examples.


The time, my friends, has indeed been long since we last discussed the theories and principles that govern the common views of food. The psychological influences and contributors were discussed in the last installment, but this post aims to bring the focus back to the theological. This article will focus on certain doctrines held by the believers in one true Chef.

Unfortunately, much contention has always existed amongst the followers of the Chef. Two chief factions of the Chef-followers have emerged.


Once upon a time, in a little metropolis, there lived a woman and her only daughter. Her daughter was a very kind little girl; everyone in the apartment complex loved her. She was given a red hoodie with little green zipper pulls when she was little, and that shirt and her iPhone were her constant companions throughout life. In fact, she was known throughout the community as Little Red iPhone Hoodie (or simply Red, for short).

252772357_e5e0115d32_o[1]As with all young girls of her age and era, she loved silly bandz, Apple products, and other shiny things. Unlike most of the children her age, she was very nice-tempered and kind towards others. One day, her mother asked her to take a new pair of headphones to Red’s grandmother. The girl obligingly complied, for she knew that there were many silly bandz shops along the streets on the way to her grandmother’s house. So, Red started on her way, looking at silly bands and finding all sorts of pretty things in the shops.

*kkkrrrrkkkk…. moar TV static*

I have a confession to make. I HATE (with capital everythings) the crunching sound of people eating.* This isn’t just a petty annoyance or a minor peeve. This is a major thing. The real deal. An Article of Maximum Disturbance. You know that scene in Return of the King in which Denethor is munching on some snacks whilst Merry sings to him? That is my least favorite movie scene of all time. The foley is disgusting and disgusts me. Needless to say, I was disgusted.

Now, I’m pretty bad at ranting; in fact, I’ve pretty much run out of things to say, but here is a list of unforgivables–things that could get you banned from this blog. FOREVER.

  • The crunching of one’s non-crunchy food is not to be tolerated.
  • The talking of one upon one’s phone should be minimal in volume.
  • When eating, one should take care to keep one’s food within one’s mouth at all times.

And that’s all he wrote.

~ XK


How to Rid Oneself of Writer’s Block

Posted on

I must admit, I’ve come down with a very serious case of writer’s block. I don’t think it’s contagious, but I’ve taken the precaution of wearing a face mask, and you may want to wash your hands after you finish reading this.

I decided that the best way to rid myself of this plague is to force myself to write something. Writing something is usually not a difficult task, though it seems that lately I’m all ideas. I come up with a great idea, I gradually forget it, then I record pieces and fragments. I currently have about 15 unfinished drafts in my “new posts” folder. I just can’t seem to get past the first paragraph in any of them. I’ve tried caffeine, loud music, cats, and spinning in my chair, but none of it seems to be working.

I went back and read some of my old posts. All I accomplished with that was the discouragement of myself and the editing of some of the less-well-written posts.

I tried blogging in a college setting, but I got distracted by my surroundings and instead wrote a rather depressing note.

I tried to do a photo blog, but my camera doesn’t seem to work on its “take all the pictures on its own” mode.

I’ve been working on a special blog post, but it needs to be perfect, and perfection is proving very difficult to obtain.

I thought about writing some fiction, but I discovered that my idea’s already been taken and run with for quite a distance. I do hate beating dead horses; they’re so stinky.

So, in the end, I decided to scribble a bit about my lack of motivation to write. My lack of motivation stirred an even stronger motivation to shed my lackadaisical spirit and move on to a greater state of non-writing-impairedness. (I’m having fun making up words.)

So, I’m not sure if I’ve cured the block or merely dissuaded it from affect for a while. This seems to have worked  well, as this post was written fairly quickly and with relative ease. Perhaps the writer’s block is gone. Perhaps I can once again use my keyboard for more than just logging in. Perhaps my sandwich is ready, but that doesn’t have much to do with this post… 

Good Day!


An Aimless Obsession

Posted on Updated on

I wrote this quite a while back and had it published on Since I’ve been rather busy lately, this will be some stand-in content until I find the time to write something special for all my lovely readers. 😉 

There once was a sculptor who loved to create beautiful images. He studied all sorts of subjects, ideas, and wonderful theories. He loved sport and lived for the game. His game, however, was played with people. He poked their minds to examine the results. He prodded their emotions with verbal sticks and noted the reactions. He did not allow for personal attractions or petty feelings. He concentrated on his work and did little else. His grandest accomplishments were but experiments to him once they were finished. In his mind, he never failed or made a mistake; if there was an error, he would fix it. One day, he came across a wonderful subject. A beautiful specimen that was fraught with countless extraordinary ideas. The more he talked to her, the more he knew that this sculpture would be special.

He thought of her night after night and formulated plans and ideas. He worked on the piece day in and day out. Almost without paying attention, he had made a wonderful image. So real and lifelike, his masterpiece was his finest work by far. All of the other creations stood by and gathered dust. He neglected his regular interactions and studies of other examples. No other object in his gallery was even close to the level of detail and mastery that was displayed in his rendering of this subject. He talked with his subject, he got to know her, learned about her background, studied her interactions with others. His former lack of personal investment in his life was, in this case, ignored. He began to gauge everything else by one scale, and it all fell short. The obsession which had seized him was one that was neither healthy nor safe, yet he pressed on with his reckless passion.

The sculpture was almost complete; it was nearing perfection, at least, in the eyes of the sculptor. He concentrated even more heavily on it, he worked until he had imparted all of his knowledge of the subject upon the image he had created. A strange thing here began to happen. The subject began to fade in importance and the image began to rise in his mind. The image was now as complete as it could be, given the artist’s knowledge of the subject. The time came when the subject had to leave. The artist no longer had her to study and learn from. He was left with an aimless obsession. The inevitable happened; the image replaced the subject in the mind of the artist.

His obsession once again had a topic, but it was not nearly as fascinating as the original. It did not answer him in the same, unpredictable ways. He could examine it, but all new data formed was done so by extrapolation. He turned over conversations and information in his head, like a tape replaying the same song. It drove him to the brink of despair. He no longer knew what was real and what was fabricated in his own mind.  The answers did not come as he expected, and often his own suppositions were not what he wanted to hear. Like a flame his anger would explode, until he realized the source of his anger and at whom it was directed. As soon as the blaze would flare, a rushing wave of guilt would come crashing over his head and douse the fire.

Self deception had led him down a path to place that he created, yet with which he was not at all familiar. Everything was of his own doing, yet nothing made sense. The statue stood in the middle of his room and haunted him. It brought back memories of reality and his old perceptions. He would study it for hours on end to try and interpret what he was missing. He had created a trap for everything that he loved, and in the process, he had snared himself.