When my consciousness was severed from the vessel that was my body, I must admit that I felt a bit surprised. This was not quite what I was expecting. 

The stories in my life suggested some kind of place we go.... a destination, if you will. I suppose the thought would have helped allay any fears of nonexistence, as it seems fitting that we would hope to retain the only senses we knew in the form of reward or punishment for our past deeds. 

Instead, everything has been replaced only with a sense of awareness. I have been floating for some time now. Although "time" is better observed by those bound to a corporeal form, I still find it useful every now and again in keeping my surroundings in perspective. As I float through the cosmos, I have simultaneously witnessed the birth, life, and death of innumerable stars, planets, and universes. Many would be envious of this, but the visual representation of these events is far less interesting to me than the awareness of its occurrence. 

The order from the chaos can invoke only that much more emotion, the energy of my consciousness a part of a greater whole, pulsing in tune with the collective. I move through this place at the speed of thought, cradled within each breath that is the expansion and subsequent collapse of our universe. 

The theological implications of all that I have witnessed creates an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, as I want to take a breath of my own and laugh. We sought answers only because the limitations of the flesh fooled us into thinking there are questions. I continue to float, content not with knowledge..... but existence. 

I am at peace. 

Dear Samuel Adams Brewing Co.,

I am something of a beer hobbyist. Ever since a friend of mine took me to a little beer emporium in Pittsburgh, I immediately fell in love with the complexities of beer. The taste, aroma, and feeling of a good beer are so delightfully varied that trying a new beer - be it good or bad - is always a unique adventure that must be experienced at least once, even by those who don't particularly enjoy beer. Sadly, mass-produced American beer does not exactly "measure up" to much of the Belgian, German, or English beers I've sampled in my lifetime. This is a completely subjective statement, of course, but I do feel that there is some truth in my claims as America is not exactly known across the globe for beer exports.

It is clear, however, that you are seeking to change that. Your Hefeweizen recipe is reminiscent of an authentic German Weissbier. Your Witbier recipe is also as close to a Belgian import as I've ever tasted. I feel that your brewing company is a truly fine example of American beer companies taking their beer seriously.

The purpose of this letter is not simply to praise your work in the beer industry.

Two of my childhood friends will fly from Connecticut to come visit me and my wife every year. During this time, we always make it a point to visit the beer emporium I mentioned earlier and order a bottle of the Samuel Adams Triple Bock.

Never in my life have I ever tasted something so foul. The liquid contained within that bottle is an affront to humanity itself. Kudos to the design team, though. The shape and label are pretty sweet. 

I can only wonder how you decided on producing this beer in the first place. I mean, someone somewhere in the deepest bowels of your brewery MUST have somehow come to the conclusion that either: 

a) This would be an absolutely HILARIOUS prank to play on an unsuspecting public that couldn't tell the difference between a good beer and a bag full of smashed buttholes 

b) This beer was delicious 

God knows, the general consensus would be leaning towards option A, but that's neither here nor there. The fact is, we have made this a yearly tradition for going on 4 years. So why do this? Why on EARTH could we despise this particular beer so much, yet subject ourselves to actually DRINKING this?

Before we drink, we toast to the following: 

"Here's to life, and taking the good with the bad. It's the bad times that allow us to grow stronger. Here's to taking all of it like a man, and swallowing it. For in the end, we always come out better men."

That's right. This beer is so revolting, it represents all of our lives' injustices.

This is not necessarily a bad thing, though. As mentioned before, a beer doesn't necessarily have to taste GOOD in order to be considered a positive experience. Your brewery has exceeded all expectations, and helped to create, in my opinion, another experience that I wouldn't want anybody to miss. I know for me and my friends, it has led to a wonderful tradition that will be enacted for years to come.

Hey, it was either we cleanse our souls with this, or degrease an engine. Seemed like a simple enough choice.

Thanks for all of the experiences, and I'm looking forward to many more. 

Yours, 

Matt Maiorano 

I do a lot of writing for a lot of different websites. Some of the users who've been here since the first days of the Blogging Section will probably remember how much I've written for just this website alone.

If this doesn't come across as epicly geeky, then this will:

Last year, I had written a guide on Gamefaqs on Save State Hexadecimal Cracking. Basically, I mapped out what you needed to do in order to make the game do a whole bunch of shit that wasn't otherwise available on a Cheat Device.

The guide is found here: http://www.gamefaqs.com/console/ps2/file/459841/56340

Even though this probably wouldn't interest those of you who have SOME semblance of sanity, if you look through the guide, you could probably get a fairly basic understanding on how everything involving save state hacking works. I thought I did a pretty good job, to be perfectly frank.

In fact, I'll go so far to say that I did a HELL of a job on this monster of a guide.

But then, I get an email like this:

"how do u get the file from the ps2 and on to the flash drive and vise versa"

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

Let that sink in for a little bit.

Basically, this little turd decided that since I generously decided to provide my email address, he could just skip the entire fucking guide and I would just answer his stupid questions that I had already covered in MIND-NUMBING detail (MULTIPLE TIMES, mind you) throughout my guide.

I decided to have some fun with the poor bastard. Here's my email in response:

-------------------------------------------

It's a very long and delicate process involving 3 waffle irons, a bowling ball, and the rare Caribbean Spotted Octopus. You might want to get a good pair of work gloves for this. The thicker, the better. The Caribbean Spotted Octopus is highly poisonous and its barbs can pierce through sheet metal. If it gives you any major trouble though, you could always tie several long pieces of half-cooked spaghetti to a pencil and beat it mercilessly with your makeshift flail by rubbing your hands back and forth against the pencil until it shrieks in complete unadulterated terror because seriously.... how many guys out there could come up with the idea of slapping an octopus with spaghetti? The very idea of this is abhorrent to all of nature's creatures, so you know you have the advantage.

But I digress. Keep your pencil-spaghetti-whackymajigger at arm's length AT ALL TIMES. I can't stress this enough. You need to set the Caribbean Spotted Octopus in the center of a large room. Remove all of the furniture from said room, and while doing so, glare haughtily at the rare Caribbean Spotted Octopus (whom we will now refer to as "Carl" for referencing purposes). Carl will try to establish mental dominance throughout this process, so you need to work on your war face. You might want to send a video of your war face to any military recruiter for some pointers, in case Carl seems to be unfazed. Practice in the mirror if you have to.

It also helps to catch people off guard by showing them your war face at unpredictable times throughout the day, like during lunch, or while they're sleeping. You can further compound the effects of your war face by bellowing like a Spartan.

So anyways, after emptying the room completely of all of its furniture, putting on your padded work gloves, and psychologically damaging your Caribbean Spotted Octopus named "Carl", you will have to create an exact Fibonacci spiral out of Kosher Salt and shredded beef. Lay a delicious paiella into the corner of the room at least 47.32 meters away from Carl. Carl will then, compelled by the strong scents of a fantastically prepared paiella by a culinary mastermind like yourself, amble his way around the Fibonacci Salt-N-Beef Spiral (I totally made that name up on the spot) and begin to devour his delicious meal, as he must have been starving due to the psychological torment he had been put through.This could take up to 7 1/2 hours, as the Caribbean Spotted Octopus is not very adept at moving around on land. You may want to spend the extra time by tossing your bowling ball into the air and smashing them in Carl's general direction with the waffle iron (a sport otherwise known as "Squibbling"). This is also why you will more than likely need several waffle iron's as you'll probably be breaking a number of them.

I do recommend George Foreman waffle irons for this particular sport.

After you're done Squibbling, you could then spend your extra time by running out and finding a retailer that sells an Action Replay Max, or some other cheat device that contains a media manager.

Or, if you would rather get a serious answer, you could actually read the fucking guide instead of pretending like I didn't answer your question about thirty times over within the very first section of my guide aptly titled: "READ THIS FIRST".

Your choice.

~ Matt

--------------------

I have yet to get a response. Maybe he's busy finding Carl........

a = 1

b = 1

a = b

a^2 = ab

a^2 - b^2 = ab - b^2

(a + b)(a - b) = b(a - b)

(a + b)(a - b) = b(a - b)

      (a - b)         (a - b)

(a + b) = b

(1 + 1) = 1

2 = 1

Explain.

After writing for 6 years or so online, I've come across many profound and colorful words to describe just about anything you can come across.

Of course, I've always been partial to insults. Just about anything with the word "fuck" in it could be used in a particularly scathing manner.

"Fuckface", "Fucktard", "Fuckhole", and "Fuckstain" are just a few. "Shitfuck" is also funny in a relatively uninspired way, but I think it only works best when uttered while drinking heavily. Sometimes, even an appropriately placed "Fuck yourself" or "Get fucked" can be ten times more effective than a string of cleverly worded expletives. It all depends on the context.

"Douchebag" never really did it for me for some reason. I always found calling somebody an "inconsiderate douche", or even just a simple "used douche" was somehow more effective than the standard that "Douchebag" became. Attaching the "bag" at the end was always a little too cumbersome for my tastes..... like there really was an actual bag of shit just hanging off my lips.

I think there is a certain glee that everybody can take when they're cussing another user out online. Sure, it's always satisfying to know that nobody can feasibly track you down and punch you in the taint over a few insults (unless you're stupid enough to post your information around for everybody to see) but I think it goes beyond anonymity.

It's being able to piss on somebody's leg and laughing about it, knowing full well you're going to wake up the next day and finding that somebody decided to drop a two-flush corn-log in your new sneakers.

That's another one I like. All the little euphemisms for dicks, vaginas, shit, and fucking can lead to a happier existence.

Don't call it a "cock", "wang", or even a "prick". "Pecker" is ok, because it's largely unused by everybody who knows what it's like NOT fucking their sisters.

Call it an "Ankle spanker", "Lunchmeat truncheon" or even "Winky the milk-spitting tunnel ferret".

"Cunt" can be a hit-or-miss. I would rather tell you that I will "punch you in the cunt" than call you a straight-out "cunt". "Cunt" is a little like "fuck" in that it's pretty tame by itself. Calling a woman a "Cuntcake" or even just describing her as "Cunty" seems to be MUCH more effective in getting under the collective skins of femme-nazis everywhere who want to ABOLISH the word.

By the way, if you say "The C-Word", "The N-Word", or "The Anything-Word", then you need to have your scrotum crazy-glued to your floor and your house burned down around you with a dull steak-knife JUST at your fingertips. It's a cop-out, and you're a limp-wristed faggot if you can't handle it.

Yes, "Faggot" is another perfectly acceptable insult when preceded with something to magnify the term.

"You couldn't punch your way out of a faggot's tea party" is another of my favorites.

Overall, there's really an infinite supply of insults and cursewords to work with. Hopefully we'll be able to work together to see who can come up with the most insulting, scathing, and soul-crushing string of expletives. But if I were to pick a single one.....

..... just ONE swearword as my favorite......

Horsepussy.

You assholes clearly have no idea what you're talking about when you're jumping on the "It's cool to hate on Obama" Bandwagon. All of you naysayers were slobbering all over Obama's nuts when he was in the primaries, and now that people have taken off their rose-colored glasses, you decide to fall in line and pretend like you knew that he was going to bring this country to hell in a handbasket.

WELL FUCK YOU

Obama is the bestest president there ever was.

One time, Obama climbed up to the top of a Redwood to save my Aunt Flo's cat named Mitsy. Not only did he save Mitsy, his very presence in the Redwood forest turned the entire area into a national preserve. My Aunt Flo was so happy that Mitsy had been saved that she decided to allow Obama to assist her with her suicide. What we didn't know, however, was that Obama also single-handedly figured out how to reuse her body as a clean, efficient, and renewable energy source to power Mitsy's litterbox and the surrounding neighborhood for 17 years.

Christ, she loved that fucking cat.

One time I was at an Ozzy Osbourne concert where Ozzy bit the head off a bat. Not to be outdone, Obama bit the head off a Siberian tiger. To Obama's defense, he DID say that the tiger was "getting all up in his grill". Not sure what that means since I don't listen to Hip-Hop, but I'm fairly certain he was telling me that if I didn't stop staring that he would break me in half with little more than a hard stare.

Granted, I think Obama's stance on abortion is completely misguided. Don't get me wrong, I really do enjoy the idea of killing unwanted babies, it's just the thought of letting women make a decision doesn't sit well with me.

As a side note, how cool is it that we have a president who can blow bubbles with a porterhouse steak?

In any case, I really can't sit idly by anymore while you people are calling for Obama to be impeached. He makes colors brighter and our food tastier. He is solely responsible for building Michael Phelps out of a handful of paper clips and a balloon animal. I'm sure that any man who can moisturize his skin with a belt sander is capable of successfully reforming our health care infrastructure.

He's only been in office for less than a year and people are already calling for his head. It's a shame, too, because with all of these distractions that Obama has from his poor ratings and Fox News, he hasn't been able to find the time to chew his way through the Earth's core and into Bin Laden's hideout in the mountains of Afghanistan.

Fuck you guys. You're all just jealous because Obama gets all the bitches.

Weed should be legally illegal, man. I know it's the opposite of what my title says but.......

Wait..............

What?

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

Mmmmmm pretzels. The only thing that sounds better than pretzels right now are more pretzels.

Sometimes bedroom antics can get a little crazy between married couples.

I had been dating my wife for 5 years before I popped the question. I knew that she was the one for me, because even by that point sex with her never got old. Granted, a blowjob from her is like a blood diamond..... you find only a scant few in a lifetime, but you treasure each moment when such a rarity actually occurs.

So you can imagine my surprise when, coming back from a wedding while COMPLETELY bombed out of our skulls, she had the bright idea to do a little role-playing.

The theme being exotic animals.

I was feeling a little under the weather by that point since I was still drunk and it was 2:30 in the morning. But who was I to turn down such a rare and wonderful request from the woman I've known and loved for nearly 6 years?

I laid down in our bed as I waited for her to put whatever skimpy outfit she decided to wear. Of course, when my head hit the mattress the Earth slid completely off its axis and I had to steady myself. My eyes focused long enough to find my wife crawling slowly towards me in a thin nightgown, her nipples peeking out at me from the thin material.

Her body moved with only one purpose.... her shoulder blades and hips' exaggerated movements had my complete and undivided attention.

"Can you guess what I am?" She purred in my ear.

My back arched as my tigress slid her body down mine, her nails lightly scratching my chest along the way. I quickly ignored the rumbling in my stomach and focused only on the sexual euphoria my body so desperately needed telling myself that I would NOT ruin this moment by getting up for a break.

"How about me?" She groaned as she began to play with herself as I lightly flicked the end of her clit with my tongue making small hissing noises against her inner thighs.

I couldn't contain myself any longer. I flipped her over and brought her into me doggystyle. Christ, she was really into this. Her ass was moving in and out in time with every thrust. I could feel myself begin to lose control as she made small yelps to stay in character.

Suddenly, at our greatest climax, God decided that he no longer ever wanted me to have good sex ever again. As if by some horrible divine intervention, my body lost control and my hands flew back to catch everything as I began to shit all over myself.

It was horrible. The stench of half-digested pork and beer farts pervaded every fiber of my being. It wasn't even the good kind of shit that could be the slightest bit satisfying to release from your body..... no, it was a burning half-solid two-flush corn-log that emptied all at once into my hands.

I pinched off this horrible loaf once my body was able to recover enough to stop what was happening.

"Baby, what- WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?" She began to scream.

"I..... I-I'm not....." I stammered.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE WITH THAT!! Clean yourself up and sleep on the couch. Christ, I can't even LOOK at you! Who the fuck do you think you are!?"

She was kicking me out? What the fuck? I should be getting an olympic fucking medal for that catch. Who the fuck do I think I am!?

I let my hands drop everything all over her pillow, and I flicked the rest all over her back. After throwing feces at your wife, there's only one appropriate magical thing to say:

"Couldn't you guess? I'm a fucking monkey, bitch."

Has Obama been exposed to the SWINE FLU!?

Was Jay Leno hospitalized because of the SWINE FLU!?

Did Chris Benoit kill his family with the SWINE FLU!?

Did the pilots of 9/11 die from the SWINE FLU!?!?

It's not as if more Americans die from Influenza each year than AIDS. Know what kills Americans MORE each year than the flu? Being a fucking idiot. The total combined number of accidental deaths, be it from motor vehicles, firearms, and/or alcohol, kills more people each year. But what do you think the media would rather alert the average American about right now?

Shooting yourself in the face is not an acceptable cure for Heart Disease? Or that the flu is CONTAGIOUS?

BOOGITY BOOGITY

Ok, media. You win. I'm terrified now. Lock your doors and hide your chilluns. The flu has turned into a plague, the likes of which this world has NO comprehension.

Oh wait......

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/04/28/swine.flu.mexico/index.html

Fuck yourselves, Fox News.

While at first this trick might seem fairly impressive, it can actually be broken down to a very simple numbers game in which you are made to feel as if you are in control of the situation, but in reality the possibilities for you are narrowed to only one result.

When he has you move four spaces, and then an additional three, the only two possibilities as far as where you will land are the numbers 2 and 4. The reason for this is because you have started on an odd numbered space, and he is making you move an odd number of times. The result will always be an even number.

When you choose a number, you will land on 1,3, or 5 if it's odd, and 2 or 4 again if it's even. This move is to make the user feel as if he or she is in control of the situation. By this point, the "mind reader" will have no idea which space you've landed on. Even if you choose to move 0 spaces, the trick will still work as you are still on an even-numbered space.

Moving another two times isn't necessary for the trick to work. In fact, every even-numbered move you find throughout this trick (except for the user-choice move and the final move) is completely superfluous, and contributes nothing to the result of the trick itself.

When he tells you to move that number that you chose before, this is going to put you back on 2 or 4 no matter what number you chose. If you chose an odd number, and you have to move an odd number of spaces, the result will be even. If you're on an even space, and you choose an even number, you will still land on 2 or 4.

The boy/girl thing is a gimmick. Another unnecessary move making the user once again feel as if there might be a different result if they were a member of the opposite sex. Trust me, I went through all the necessary operations, and the results of the trick didn't change.

By this point, you will still be on 2 or 4. When he tells you to move two spaces to the right, you are being forced to the number 4 spot.

What's interesting is that there are a lot of moves that the user will make that will not affect the result in the end. If we completely break down the trick, you will still get the number 4 space by doing the following:

Start from 1

Move 3 (or any other odd number) times

Pick a number, and move that many times

Do it again

Move 2 spaces to the right. If you're on 4 already, this will only put you back on the number 4 spot.

TA DAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!