Did you know that my hometown is Canton which is named after Ghuangzhou in China?
That's pretty fucking awesome.
So in a few weeks I have to give a presentation on something Chinese. Any recommendations? It can be anything. Some places culture, tea, the Olympics, anything.
Food man. Everyone loves food. Everyone loves Chinese food. You really can't go wrong on this one.
Even stranger note. I went to a Perry High School which was named after Commodore Perry one of the assholes who invaded Japan. My city is full of asian heritage yet our population is like .008 percent asian. It's hilarious.
My school was named after William Jennings Bryan
But food's a good idea. It was something I was thinking about, I'm just wondering if I can pull off something creative in class with it.
Did you know that my hometown is Canton which is named after Ghuangzhou in China?
That's pretty fucking awesome.
So in a few weeks I have to give a presentation on something Chinese. Any recommendations? It can be anything. Some places culture, tea, the Olympics, anything.
Probably too obvious, but one of the four great novels would do the trick.
Did you know that my hometown is Canton which is named after Ghuangzhou in China?
That's pretty fucking awesome.
So in a few weeks I have to give a presentation on something Chinese. Any recommendations? It can be anything. Some places culture, tea, the Olympics, anything.
Portrayal of the role of China in science fiction.
Did you know that my hometown is Canton which is named after Ghuangzhou in China?
That's pretty fucking awesome.
So in a few weeks I have to give a presentation on something Chinese. Any recommendations? It can be anything. Some places culture, tea, the Olympics, anything.
Food man. Everyone loves food. Everyone loves Chinese food. You really can't go wrong on this one.
Even stranger note. I went to a Perry High School which was named after Commodore Perry one of the assholes who invaded Japan. My city is full of asian heritage yet our population is like .008 percent asian. It's hilarious.
My school was named after William Jennings Bryan
But food's a good idea. It was something I was thinking about, I'm just wondering if I can pull off something creative in class with it.
Quid man, if you attempt to make a historic or cultural food and bring it into your class no one will reject you. Even if you botch the recipe. People will appreciate the gesture or at the very most just think that they are unsophisticated and can't enjoy foreign cuisine.
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MorninglordI'm tired of being Batman,so today I'll be Owl.Registered Userregular
I want to continue the scientific observation of what ethical beliefs people have without saying which one is right or wrong.
The traits thing is just the current most popular theory used to figure out a persons personality makeup.
So.
I'm interested if there is any personality makeup that determines any particular style of moral belief or if there are any other possible relationships.
I understood it but my brain responded with "Quesadillas!" which is not the form of response it really deserves.
Ethics on the other hand confuse me. It is not illegal, but your not supposed to do it. That to me is just stupid.
Either something is illegal, or legal. Why the hell do with have this category called ethics where it is not illegal, but your not supposed to do it. Fuck that.
I mean no offense here.
The only reason you are confused is your definition of ethics is too simple, as is your understanding of why Laws exist.
Morninglord on
(PSN: Morninglord) (Steam: Morninglord) (WiiU: Morninglord22) I like to record and toss up a lot of random gaming videos here.
But this is just Drugged Oboro prose! Maybe you will prefer sober Oboro prose better?
(first 1000 words or so of my NaNoWriMo, mostly nonsense, has been posted once before so don't subject yourself to it twice if you already have seen it)
Someone else's day starts with an alarm.
Matt's head is suddenly resting on a pillow and Matt is suddenly freezing-cold because Matt's sweater is suddenly inadequate. The basement is dark and unimportant. There is relevancy upstairs: someone slams the clock, someone clambers out of bed (Matt imagines that Amanda will get out of bed first, and that she is almost-naked), and someone else with different gonads rolls around on it. The floor creaks, the bed groans, the people chatter, the basement is dark and unimportant.
Matt does not move. The footsteps patter from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen to bedroom to hallway to somewhere to who cares? to leaving. The house is empty. The basement is dark and unimportant. Matt is alone, and Matt lazily sits up, on the couch, in the basement, and considers what he will do today, though the consideration is unimportant and the motions are autonomous. Matt ties back his hair, grabs his backpack and wallet, and finds his car keys.
Matt is at Starbuck's. Tomorrow, someone else's day starts with an alarm, and the dim cognizance that someone crashing in their basement has overstayed their welcome.
The car is better than what most people in Matt's position would have, Matt rationalizes to himself, musing aloud, because the radio plays commercials. Most people in Matt's position would have nowhere to go when
Amanda told them that they couldn't stay here any longer, this much was for sure, and that they'd have to pack out and head out. Matt had somewhere to go -- a white Camry parked under a dogwood near the corner and ticketed, because you need a permit, because Matt did not move it before 7AM -- and Matt went there. Matt went to his car, and sat there, and then
Matt was at Starbuck's. Tonight, someone else's day starts when they meet a stranger off Craigslist for a night of what Matt has termed 'obligation sex' that inevitably leaves the prostitute in an empty room while the buyer -- the buyer, who had money, who paid for a hotel room, who has relevance -- leaves. Matt's head is suddenly resting on a pillow and
Matt is suddenly freezing-cold because Matt forgot to turn off the air conditioner after they finished, before he rolled over and gave up and fell asleep.
Matt turns it off. Someone else's day starts with an alarm, through a thin plaster wall. Matt smells like sex, but he has bought the luxury of a shower, today. Matt is sick of routine. He stops caring, until his phone rings;
it is December, and Amanda is calling. “Sure, I'd love to catch up,†he gleefully offers, and then offers to buy lunch. Amanda agrees. They meet at a Chili's, and Matt spears a french fry (with ketchup, and the oil burnt on, the mottled brown scab,) and then offers it to Amanda, who awkwardly takes it off his fork. They eat in silence after that. Matt turns off his cell phone after she leaves, and doesn't feel like turning it on again.
It is December. Eliza vomits into the tub, instead of the toilet, as the steaming water needles her arched back and the too-tight straps of her heels leave red and glaring indentations like loops like nooses around her ankles. She hangs by her feet. She hangs by her head. She could not get the shoes off amply, and thought she would shower with them, with the tears and nausea. Eliza watches the human curd froth around the grated drain, and reminisces about the routine of being Matt in an interminably distant December. She feels an
unhinging, and the sudden simple comfort of a pillow underneath her chin.
Quid man, if you attempt to make a historic or cultural food and bring it into your class no one will reject you. Even if you botch the recipe. People will appreciate the gesture or at the very most just think that they are unsophisticated and can't enjoy foreign cuisine.
This would be true if we hadn't already cooked Chinese food for our teachers and most of us hadn't eaten at the authentic Chinese restaurant they recommended us. They know we know.
The fuckers expect more from us. And I want to win.
But this is just Drugged Oboro prose! Maybe you will prefer sober Oboro prose better?
(first 1000 words or so of my NaNoWriMo, mostly nonsense, has been posted once before so don't subject yourself to it twice if you already have seen it)
It was a dark and stormy night.
Matt's head is suddenly resting on a pillow and Matt is suddenly freezing-cold because Matt's sweater is suddenly inadequate. The basement is dark and unimportant. There is relevancy upstairs: someone slams the clock, someone clambers out of bed (Matt imagines that Amanda will get out of bed first, and that she is almost-naked), and someone else with different gonads rolls around on it. The floor creaks, the bed groans, the people chatter, the basement is dark and unimportant.
Matt does not move. The footsteps patter from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen to bedroom to hallway to somewhere to who cares? to leaving. The house is empty. The basement is dark and unimportant. Matt is alone, and Matt lazily sits up, on the couch, in the basement, and considers what he will do today, though the consideration is unimportant and the motions are autonomous. Matt ties back his hair, grabs his backpack and wallet, and finds his car keys.
Matt is at Starbuck's. Tomorrow, someone else's day starts with an alarm, and the dim cognizance that someone crashing in their basement has overstayed their welcome.
The car is better than what most people in Matt's position would have, Matt rationalizes to himself, musing aloud, because the radio plays commercials. Most people in Matt's position would have nowhere to go when
Amanda told them that they couldn't stay here any longer, this much was for sure, and that they'd have to pack out and head out. Matt had somewhere to go -- a white Camry parked under a dogwood near the corner and ticketed, because you need a permit, because Matt did not move it before 7AM -- and Matt went there. Matt went to his car, and sat there, and then
Matt was at Starbuck's. Tonight, someone else's day starts when they meet a stranger off Craigslist for a night of what Matt has termed 'obligation sex' that inevitably leaves the prostitute in an empty room while the buyer -- the buyer, who had money, who paid for a hotel room, who has relevance -- leaves. Matt's head is suddenly resting on a pillow and
Matt is suddenly freezing-cold because Matt forgot to turn off the air conditioner after they finished, before he rolled over and gave up and fell asleep.
Matt turns it off. Someone else's day starts with an alarm, through a thin plaster wall. Matt smells like sex, but he has bought the luxury of a shower, today. Matt is sick of routine. He stops caring, until his phone rings;
it is December, and Amanda is calling. “Sure, I'd love to catch up,†he gleefully offers, and then offers to buy lunch. Amanda agrees. They meet at a Chili's, and Matt spears a french fry (with ketchup, and the oil burnt on, the mottled brown scab,) and then offers it to Amanda, who awkwardly takes it off his fork. They eat in silence after that. Matt turns off his cell phone after she leaves, and doesn't feel like turning it on again.
It is December. Eliza vomits into the tub, instead of the toilet, as the steaming water needles her arched back and the too-tight straps of her heels leave red and glaring indentations like loops like nooses around her ankles. She hangs by her feet. She hangs by her head. She could not get the shoes off amply, and thought she would shower with them, with the tears and nausea. Eliza watches the human curd froth around the grated drain, and reminisces about the routine of being Matt in an interminably distant December. She feels an
unhinging, and the sudden simple comfort of a pillow underneath her chin.
The shower is a luxury.
It is December.
I made a slight change to make your prose more compelling.
I don't like communists. They're bad people and they're at least 91% of the reason this country's gone down the shitter.
CHANGE
My police officer buddy tells me about how all of the um. . .black. . .people he arrest rant and rave about how things will be different when obama is president and they'll be able to get away with being criminals. it makes me and
my prose is fantastically enlightening as a window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder
Quid man, if you attempt to make a historic or cultural food and bring it into your class no one will reject you. Even if you botch the recipe. People will appreciate the gesture or at the very most just think that they are unsophisticated and can't enjoy foreign cuisine.
This would be true if we hadn't already cooked Chinese food for our teachers and most of us hadn't eaten at the authentic Chinese restaurant they recommended us. They know we know.
The fuckers expect more from us. And I want to win.
Call of Duty: World at War is incredibly fun when I'm not sucking it up. Even when I'm not having a 'great' round, at anything like... above a .75 KD ratio I'm enjoying myself. Lower than that and I'm getting so frustrated I want to rip out my heart.
Quid man, if you attempt to make a historic or cultural food and bring it into your class no one will reject you. Even if you botch the recipe. People will appreciate the gesture or at the very most just think that they are unsophisticated and can't enjoy foreign cuisine.
This would be true if we hadn't already cooked Chinese food for our teachers and most of us hadn't eaten at the authentic Chinese restaurant they recommended us. They know we know.
The fuckers expect more from us. And I want to win.
I wish I could write poetry like my friend Gahl. She says the most beautiful things in the most beautiful ways. She vacations to the Middle East frequently (she is born Isreali, with a looming military service that she has yet to fulfill and that they badger her on the subject of), and it just does the most amazing things to her writing.
my prose is fantastically enlightening as a window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder
A window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder is like having a window looking on to a re-enactment of goatse by the hundred fattest men in the world. And, by the way, goatse is a void truly worthy of Nietzsche.
PS: I keed, Obs. I just feel like... being mean tonight. Not sure why.
The only reason you are confused is your definition of ethics is too simple, as is your understanding of why Laws exist.
Probably, but no one has yet given me a decent definition of ethics. Usually it boils down to "You should act like other people." Oddly I tend to behave more "ethically" than most people purely because I have worked out what i consider right and wrong and live by it.
my prose is fantastically enlightening as a window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder
A window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder is like having a window looking on to a re-enactment of goatse by the hundred fattest men in the world. And, by the way, goatse is a void truly worthy of Nietzsche.
PS: I keed, Obs. I just feel like... being mean tonight. Not sure why.
Are they reenacting goatse as a single unit, or is this hellscape more of a sweepstakes?
my prose is fantastically enlightening as a window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder
A window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder is like having a window looking on to a re-enactment of goatse by the hundred fattest men in the world. And, by the way, goatse is a void truly worthy of Nietzsche.
PS: I keed, Obs. I just feel like... being mean tonight. Not sure why.
It's cool, cocaine makes me impervious to criticism and cruelty! :flexing the muscles:
Visiting Israel doesn't make me a better writer (in English). It just gets me laid and gets me delicious foodses.
She wrote a poem about children building castles in the dirt along the Gaza fence, from experience. All she had to do was describe what she saw and she's got both critics and the populace fawning over the written work.
Also, she structures and writes her poetry and prose with a shitload of Hebraic references, but I guess you don't have to actually visit to do that. Maybe it's only so romantic to me because it's such a strange world compared to what I know?
my prose is fantastically enlightening as a window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder
A window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder is like having a window looking on to a re-enactment of goatse by the hundred fattest men in the world. And, by the way, goatse is a void truly worthy of Nietzsche.
PS: I keed, Obs. I just feel like... being mean tonight. Not sure why.
Are they reenacting goatse as a single unit, or is this hellscape more of a sweepstakes?
Definitely as a single unit. And I also imagine there are some twisted details which make this scene even more distasteful. Perhaps they are engaging in some sort of phallanx-like formation, where each man is not holding his own gaping anus open, but rather is holding the gaping anus open of the man to his right?
Visiting Israel doesn't make me a better writer (in English). It just gets me laid and gets me delicious foodses.
I wouldn't want to visit Israel even if I'd be promised 40 virgins.
It's probably the civilized nation I most want to visit. Beyond that would be the other drastically-different nations -- somewhere in the far east, a harbor on the Mediterranean in a Mediterranean nation, a island very much an island, ... maybe somewhere incredibly cold, somewhere incredibly hot, too? A Moscow and a Madrid?
Posts
Maybe more will come. Send me an invitation in the event-of-that, and I sure as heck will find a way.
But food's a good idea. It was something I was thinking about, I'm just wondering if I can pull off something creative in class with it.
A broken clock is right twice a day too.
Truly a clever retort from a master of prose.
It's in 2 weeks in ohio. I have admiration of your abilitites but I don't think you're that good
I've got 17 Yes
and 17 maybe.
and 2 no's
That's no fucking good.
Portrayal of the role of China in science fiction.
Quid man, if you attempt to make a historic or cultural food and bring it into your class no one will reject you. Even if you botch the recipe. People will appreciate the gesture or at the very most just think that they are unsophisticated and can't enjoy foreign cuisine.
I mean no offense here.
The only reason you are confused is your definition of ethics is too simple, as is your understanding of why Laws exist.
(first 1000 words or so of my NaNoWriMo, mostly nonsense, has been posted once before so don't subject yourself to it twice if you already have seen it)
The fuckers expect more from us. And I want to win.
I made a slight change to make your prose more compelling.
CHANGE
My police officer buddy tells me about how all of the um. . .black. . .people he arrest rant and rave about how things will be different when obama is president and they'll be able to get away with being criminals. it makes me
I'll assume by your title that you are a fan of Ayn Rand?
Woah, hold your horses, Comedian.
I mean, hold the people's horses that have been alloted to you according to your need.
my prose is fantastically enlightening as a window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder
Poetry and art.
THE SYSTEM WORKS.
I will make poetry and art from fan and mian.
No worries here. No siree.
Not anymore, really. I just like the word.
A window into the thought process of a delusional sufferer of both bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder is like having a window looking on to a re-enactment of goatse by the hundred fattest men in the world. And, by the way, goatse is a void truly worthy of Nietzsche.
Probably, but no one has yet given me a decent definition of ethics. Usually it boils down to "You should act like other people." Oddly I tend to behave more "ethically" than most people purely because I have worked out what i consider right and wrong and live by it.
In other news got my avatar back. Woohoo.
Are they reenacting goatse as a single unit, or is this hellscape more of a sweepstakes?
Oh, well, you're still stupid.
Also, she structures and writes her poetry and prose with a shitload of Hebraic references, but I guess you don't have to actually visit to do that. Maybe it's only so romantic to me because it's such a strange world compared to what I know?
Definitely as a single unit. And I also imagine there are some twisted details which make this scene even more distasteful. Perhaps they are engaging in some sort of phallanx-like formation, where each man is not holding his own gaping anus open, but rather is holding the gaping anus open of the man to his right?