Wednesday, January 20, 2010

homo evoooohhh my god I have a pwner

I try and keep all the content on this blog original (aside from a few photos), but yesterday I was blown away by this video of Juan Enriquez, one of the brightest economic and scientific minds in the world, sharing his ideas on the current economic situation and the next step for the human race: Homo Evolutis...BE WARNED: this will pwn your mind:

Now I hope most of you reacted to this with the appropriate response as demonstrated below:

To those of you who may have certain ideological, moral, or medieval religious apprehensions or concerns about the above video, I just ask you to hear me out...25-50 years from now...when I have infrared, x-ray, sniper rifle laser eyes...can have a conversation with a dog and/or whale...have robotic, rocket-powerd antelope legs...and a magnetic, pulse-emitting, will look something like this:

Don't be caveman Johnny. Embrace Homo Evolutis.

Read more on the lecture HERE.

Sunday, January 17, 2010


Chapter 3: The Lady of the Inn

The screen was dead. The iridescent glow of the monitor was a dead black; the machine next to it sat ticking idly, like a car engine cooling down in the garage; his microphone—mute. He had traversed through the pits of the Undercity, passed the murky waters of Blackfathom Depths, and rid the Black Temple of its demon occupation, but never before had he see a darkness so pure, so absolute, so horrifying as the one he was staring into at that moment.

He blinked. And again. And again and all at once the reality of his bedroom crashed his mind like a brick though a window, knocking him out of his chair and onto a pile half-eaten cheese puff and potato chip bags.

“Ughhhh…what in Bronzebeard’s boots is going on?” Spank looked around his room to find The Lady of the Inn clutching the unplugged surge protector like a mother protecting her infant.

The Lady stood staring at her son—realizing right away that his fantasy-driven delusions had returned—And from the look of his pallid, cheese poof caked and mustard stained body, worse than ever, “Timothy?...It’s—”

“Mah lady, I respect your concern over the welfare of all those who dwell in your abode, but please hand over the surge protector, else you beith pwnd. And how many times must I tell you?—I know not of this sultry ‘Timothy’ character you speak. The name’s SpankadinL33T. Spank for short. It is known across all of Azeroth and you, my lady, have just denied me a great prize. A denial I will not soon forget.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Listen—it’s too late for this crap. I have work in the morning. I’m calling Dr. Erbag to set up and appointment first thing tomorrow. Have your phone on.”

Just lost his WoW account.

“I have no need to see that gnomish donkeyfart. My inventory has a strong supply of health potions, and frostweave bandages. It’s just being excessive.”

The Lady of the Inn shook her head, “Not an option. I have half a mind to take you to the hospital right now.”

Spank eyed her suspiciously. Despite his delusions he knew The Lady had her limits, and in this instance she was not bluffing. Besides, it would be easier to dodge that nitwit Dr. Erbag tomorrow, than to fight with his intrusive keeper tonight. Slowly he spoke, “Very well then, my fair Lady of the Inn, you may head back to your chamber…for I am weary from battle, and long for sleep to wash over me.”

“…So no more elf game for tonight?...and doctor tomorrow?”

His eye twitched at the phrase “elf game” but he agreed, “Yes no more World of Warcraft tonight and I will see this ‘doctor’ of yours on the morrow.”

“Ok. Then go to sleep…we will get this all sorted out tomorrow,” she said, then hesitantly, “love you.”

The Lady dropped the surge protector and Spank rolled out of his trash pile and onto his bed—he could hear the worry in her voice and he felt something tighten inside of him, “I love you too…meh lady.”

She flicked off the light switch, walked out of his room and closed the door behind her He could hear her footsteps down the hall and her bedroom door shut. Silence. He rolled over in bed and shut his eyes, sleep taking him within moments. The night’s episode had ended in darkness, but not all was lost… Spank would live to fight another day.

Andrew Mausert-Mooney; circa 1987

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


Chapter 2: Light and Dark

SpankadinL33t led the charge, his guild, IhasApwner, followed suit. Kel-Thuzad hovered just yards away. Almost in range…Seconds from judgment…time to send this foul beast back to the shadow…if my epic helm drops off this n00bus I’m gonna shit myself, thought Spank. He attacked. No effect. He primed his Judgement of Light and released it with all the holy power he could muster. Nothing. What is this new devilry?


“Fall back to the center! Back to back! He’s summoning his minions!” Spank cried to his guild. From the Darkness a myriad of Abominations and Banshees appeared, their evil stink filling the great hall of death.

“Melee DPS, on the Abominations! Ranged, take out those goddamn Banshees!” ordered Spank.

Wave after wave of undead met IhasApwner, only to fall at their feet. Fireballs, curses, and shadowbolts flew through the air. MooovinHealz sent a lighting strike of healing light through the guild. Spank let loose a medley of judgment, exorcism, holy wrath, and consecration attacks. His DPS was pushing 3k. L33t. Soon enough, the waves became less and less, till only a few scattered undead remained.  Is this it? Is this all you can muster, foul necromancer of the Lich? It was then, that Kel-Thuzad struck.


KT fired a frost bolt. An orc fury warrior froze in his steps, his swinging battle axes and bloodlust scarred face sat absurdly still behind a foot of Lich ice. His health drained too fast to heal. He was dead.

“DPS down! DPS down! Healers, focus heals on the ice-blocked target! Come on boys, take him down!” commanded Spank. The battle raged on. Shadow fissures scarred the floor beneath them. Frost bolts screamed through the air, hitting raid member after raid member. But the lines held. IhasApwner was on the path to victory.


“Pwnm...Is pwninm hmmmmmmmmm, leet gearrrr. Needs itrrrrrrmmmmyyeeaesss,” Timothy gurgled through his half-open mouth. Drool tracks and potato chip crumbs were caked to his chin. His bloodshot eyes sat lifeless behind his greasy face. In all of his glory he was wearing just briefs and one sock. He may have soiled himself.

“Oh my god. This needs to stop. Timothy?! Tim?! Hello?!”…..

“25% health left boys! Keep up the DPS! Nice heals!” cheered Spank. He could feel the cold retreating from Naxxramus and the warmth of Light returning. Nothing could stop them. The Lich necromancer had seen his last day—Kel-Thuzad was simply outmatched.  SpankadinL33t, guild master of IhasApwner, champion of the Horde, blood knight of the Sin’Dorei, was one step away from victory when all of a sudden…darkness.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009


The following is the first chapter of a fiction novella I am working on about a World of Warcraft addict named SpankadinL33T. My friend Nate commissioned me to write it for 10 if anyone else wants to pay me to write...

Chapter 1: Kel-Thuzad and the Raid of Naxxramas

After four hours of hardcore raiding the decay of the floating Nerubian Ziggurat Naxxramas had pushed his mind to the brink. He could feel the sour stench of the undead sinking into his pores, and hear the wicked scuttle of the giant arachnids echo off the vaulted archways of bone and ectoplasm. Death lurked in every corner and the cold was unrelenting—supernatural even—dimming The Light within till it felt as though his very heart was incased in a demonic frost.

He looked into the eyes of his guild, iHasApwner…the eyes of mages, and rogues, and warriors, and shamans…the eyes of blood elves, and orcs, and trolls, and tauren…the eyes of different races and classes brought to this floating fortress of evil for two things: to pwn the plague of undeath, and l33t gear. The hour of reckoning was at hand. He, SpankadinL33t, Blood Knight of the Sin’ Dorei, retribution paladin of The Horde, would rid the halls of Naxxramas of one last boss—Kel-Thuzad.

The Archmage turned Lich Necromancer floated in mid air on the opposite side of the royal chamber. He had no reason to run. Arthas, the Lich King himself, had slain him in The Third War and placed his remains in The Sunwell of the Sin’ Dorei. He was reborn as an immortal Lich, a general of the Lich King, a Commander of the Scourge, the Leader of The Plaguelands, and the Lord of Naxxramus. Even though this petulant group of intruders stood in front of him with the ruins of his prized ziggurat smoldering in their wake, he felt no fear, only cold, inhuman, rage.

Kel-Thuzad let loose a chilly rattle which swiftly twisted into words, “PRAY FOR MERCY. SCREAM YOUR DYING BREATH. THE END IS UPON YOU.”

“BUFF UP YOU SORRY SACKS OF NOOB!” shouted MooovinHealz a tauren Resto Shaman, and Spank’s first lieutenant. The two had spent years leveling, raiding, and PvPing together. Moo was not just his second in command, but his best friend, and more importantly the best healer in the guild. Without Moo, Spank and the rest of iHasApwner would be lost.  

Spank let the buffs wash over him. He could feel his stamina, haste, attack power, critical strike rating, spell power, mana regeneration, and armor increase with each spell. His iron-clad grip tightened around his epic mace, a vicious weapon of destruction known to Azeroth as The Jawbone. Nearly four hours ago he had ripped it from the mouth of a four story arachnid—the vile Maexxna. The teeth of the mace now glowed red with a Greater Savagery enchant that one of the guild priests had bestowed upon him. He could feel it yearning for blood and bone—the last fiendish remnant of Maexxna now under his power. Soon, its thirst would be quenched.

Moo moved beside him, “Spank, buffs are out. Ready check confirmed. We are good to go.”

Spank stood facing the Lich creature and whispered to Moo in private chat, “Have I been a good guild master? Are we not on a path of self-destruction? Am I not Ahab? And is that shrieking, traitorous, Scourge not my white whale?”

“You have trained us well. The guild is ready.”

“And if we should wipe?”

“Then it will be a glorious wipe. And the lamentations will ring throughout Dalaran for ages to come.”

“And what of you, my friend? Are you ready to follow me on this blind quest for glory and l33t gear?”

“My captain…I will follow you till death washes over me.”

“Then be not afraid my dear Moo. For on this night, Arthas will be the one lamenting the defeat of his priced general.”

SpankadinL33t turned to his guildies and began, “Brothers and sisters of iHasApwner, right now I look into your hardened faces with pride, and realize how far we have come. I remember when we were but little n00bs struggling to kill level 6 pigs in Durotar.” He felt The Light burning in his chest, “HA. LET THOSE PIGGIES BESTOW THEIR GAZE UPON US NOW! THE EARTH QUAKES WHEN RIDE OUT AND MEET THOSE WHO CHALLENGE OUR MIGHT! THE HEAVENS THUNDER WHEN WE DON OUR ARMOR AND RULE THE FIELD OF BATTLE WITH BLADE AND AXE! THE WIND WAILS AS OUR SPELLS AND ARROWS SHATTER THE ENEMY’S WILL INTO CORPSEDUST! LET THE KODO MARCH! LET THE WOLVES HOWL! LET THE RAPTORS SCREAM! LET THE WAR DRUMS SOUND! FOR THRALL! FOR GLORY! FOR THE HORDE!!!!!”

“FOR THE HORDE!” cried iHasApwner in a regimented chant. The moment had come. The time for battle was at hand.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009



Friday, October 30, 2009

Excerpt From "Colors of the City"


There are unseen things in this universe. Unseen forces at work…unseen beings at play. Unseen watchers, whose very fabric is woven in with our existence. We do not see them…but they are there. Not pushing or pulling, wanting or needing…They are not entities of force or influence. They do not take our hands and lead us forward. But follow in our wake, live in our actions, lurk in our shadows. We do not see them, but they are there.

The sun rises and The Colors stand together but alone atop The Empire State Building and they look out onto the city of lights and colors and passion and death the bright and the dark. The heat of humanity rises from the streets and the gutters and the stink fills them like a river of molten steel swallowing up their being in a flashing wave of degradation and doom.

A single tear stains the fair cheek of White, the child of innocence and purity, and saying nothing she gazes up at the other watchers before leaving as the sun rises over the water. Yellow departs shortly after White, her golden hair dead in the morning breeze. Her eyes, no longer bright with knowledge and joy, sit a decayed yellow in her skull and she opens her mouth to say something, but her words are lost in the whisper and the wind.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Some early stuff


He feels her shake in his arms—just a light twitch, and again and after a few minutes hears the muffled thunder of her snore and he holds her naked body to his and he sighs with the white light of the moon bleeding through the blinds. The room is filled with ease and a silent sense of content. His eyes close, and then open again and then close again but he sits up and rubs a hand over his stomach not wanting to go to sleep. Her dark, well kempt hair has slid across her face and stripes of her soft skin shine through like the moon through the blinds. With a careful hand he tucks the stray strands behind her ear and stifles a laugh. The dark stain of drool on the pillow case, pooling at the corner of her gaping mouth, is visible even in the dim light, and he can even make out her yellow mustache—a byproduct of her momentous experiment with a facial tanning solution. He kisses her right under her earlobe and whispers, “I love you” and her warmth touches his lips and hears her snoring pause for a moment then continue. He pulls his arm out from under her and feels the blood rushing back to his hands and with it the tingling numbness subsides. He rests his hands behind his head as the roar of the heat comes on and he listens as her snores disappear within the deeper rumble and he remembers.

He remembers the first time they met. He remembers going into his first day of work at a summer camp and sitting in a room with bare walls and a T.V. He remembers looking over to his right to try and find the source of an intolerable squawking dominating the room and realizing that it was not Benito Mussolini with a loudspeaker, but, in fact, the small brunette in grey sweatpants and a red sweatshirt sitting next to him. He remembers scooting his chair over a few inches as to not go deaf. On she went, ranting and raving about the injustices of the camp bureaucracy for she was supposed to be a soccer camp counselor, but now she was a nature camp counselor, but she was a collegiate soccer player and an athlete and, a captain and all-state, and therefore she was supposed to be a soccer camp counselor and no one is more qualified than her, and nature camp is for losers. She went on some more and he smiled to himself. He was the soccer camp counselor. Then silence all of a sudden. He redirected his glance to see her scribbling her name in big bold letters and her head was cocked at an angle and her tongue crept out the side of her mouth in concentration and a strand of hair fell across her face and he realized how beautiful she was. Yet this radical change of temperament reminded him of a Chihuahua, or a Jack Russell Terrier—some frenzied little animal whose hyperactivity is sedated only by a chew toy, or in this case, the maniacal scribbling of brightly colored lines.

He remembers how abruptly she turned around and shot him a question and how he was forced to admit that he was the soccer camp counselor who took her job. And he remembers the moment of intensity as she eyed him down but then laughing together for the first time. He remembers her letting her guard down but the ease coming to an end with her bright smile—so unassuming, yet temporary—as he saw before his own eyes the competitive spirit ignite within her like a burning flame, as she drilled him with questions concerning his qualifications for the esteemed soccer camp counselor position. He remembers their conversation coming to an end, but wishing it hadn’t and he remembers watching her walk out early and thinking I wish I was a nature camp counselor. He remembers how fiery and passionate she is, and he remembers why he fell in love with her.

She grunts and rolls over resting her head on his chest. She is awake but her eyes stay closed.

“Are you awake?” He could feel her lips moving over his heart.


“You want me to move to the floor?”

“No. Just lie next to me.”



“Kay.” She gives him a kiss and falls back to sleep.

One day they went canoeing. She helped him drag the canoe down to the river and he jumped in first and held it steady while she eased herself onto a seat. They picked up the paddles and sunk them into the cold water, pushing off with the current behind them. The sun was setting and they caught the penetrating eye of an osprey perched on a jetty and they stared back. In a swirl of black and white feathers it took off and left them to the sound of the water lapping against the side of the canoe. He pointed to a sandy point coming up in the distance.

“That’s where we are going. We can sit on the shore.”

“Kay. Am I doing ok?” She looked back and smiled. She was having fun.

“Yeah. Just keep the tip pointed towards that beach.”

She nodded and her tongue crept out of the side of her mouth resolutely and
she concentrated on each stroke—dipping the paddle in and pulling gradually but firmly through the water and easing it out…Dip, pull, ease…
On the shore, pine trees arched their backs in the Chesapeake breeze and needles and leaves flew through the air to finally rest on the surface of the water. The canoe cut through the river without effort and finally came to a groaning rest on the beach. He pulled the canoe up as to not be swept away and led her to a seat under a pine tree and the two sat close and looked out onto the river together.

She asked him a question, “In another life, would you be a bird or a tree?”

“Bird. Fly. See the world. Go anywhere.”

“I would be a tree.”

“Oh? But then you’re stuck.”

“Yeah. But you could watch everyone grow up around you and have a family and you would never be lonely.”

“Trees get lonely.”

“No they don’t. Did you ever read The Giving Tree?”


“I love that book.”

“It’s a good book.”

She thought for a moment. “If you could choose one object to define life what would it be?”

“Water. I guess.”

“Mine would be a tree.”

“That was your last answer.”

“Yeah but it’s a good one.”

He reached over and pulled her closer to him and they sat together till it was dark and they had to leave.

They held hands as they walked back along the beach. The sun had set already and a looming chill had swept over them. They reached the boat and, wanting to help, she refused to sit in the canoe while he they embarked. He got his shoes wet holding it while she got in but she was happy that she got to do something and he shrugged it off.

The current had gotten stronger and they had to paddle upstream to get back home and from the second the paddles hit the water the canoe just couldn’t keep straight. She didn’t notice him struggling in the back trying to keep the canoe from turning around. Her tongue crept out the side of her mouth—dip, pull ease…dip, pull, ease…
The canoe turned around and he piped up.

“Hey I need you to paddle a little harder now, ok?”


Before he could even begin to turn the canoe around she slapped the water with her paddle, and he felt the stinging cold of the water on his face. She laughed.

“Hey actually why don’t you just stop paddling now, ok?”


He turned the canoe around and heaved them towards home. Each stroke burned his arms and he could feel the sweat condensing on his forehead. They crept closer but after five minutes he was completely exhausted. The paddle slipped in his sweaty hands. She watched him and laughed.

“Hey I could help you now if you wanted.”

“Ok go left.”

She started paddling right.


SLAP. A half gallon of freezing cold river water hit him in the face. She laughed.
She was having fun.

He wiped away the water from his eyes and opened them to see the beach in front of them and a shiver ran down his spine from the cold and she was still paddling on the right. Her determination was venerable but the truth was she was paddling them in the wrong direction and he was wet and freezing and close to catching hypothermia but she laughed some more.

“Ok stop. Stop paddling!”

“Am I doing ok? What do I do?”

“Just. Stop.”


His arms were on fire but he turned the canoe around again and paddled till he couldn’t breath and she sat and watched him.

“I’m getting coooold.”

“Oh my god. Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.”

She laughed.

“You need my help?”

“Yeah go right.”

She went left.


SLAP. He was cold and wet again.

She laughed some more.

He has to keep himself from throwing her overboard and paddling himself back alone.
Eventually he paddled her back home and collapsed on the lawn. The dry grass poked through his shirt and scratched his back but he closed his eyes and listened to the soft silence of the breeze and thought of a roaring fire in the fireplace, a leather couch, football on TV, a down comforter, and a glass of wine, among other things. He smiled till he opened his eyes to see her standing over him.

“Don’t we have to pull the canoe out of the water?”

“I hate you.”

She helps him up and together, they lift the canoe out of the water and when everything is squared away they lay in the hammock together wrapped in blankets and pillows to keep warm in the fall night. And together they recount their little adventure and vent and laugh and sigh and smile and remember.

He falls asleep.