08/23/07 by Garvar at 7:53pm EST

Your Music Sucks, Volume 2

I was listening to the radio moments ago while eating dinner, which means it's time for another installment of YMS. Today we have something a little more popular with the teenagers: Billy Talent with Try Honesty.


Now, the opening paragraph is just rich with ingenuity. Seriously, check out this Hemingway-grade writing:

Well I tripped, I fell down naked
Well I scratched my knees, they bled
Sew up my eyes, need no more
In our game there is no score

Who here remembers when they were six years old? I do! I wasn't so often naked, but how I remember tripping, falling down, and scratching my knees. They bled! Ehem, sorry to reminisce like that.

Okay, so apart from reading your grade 2 journal and passing it off as acceptable lyrical content...The author of this diary seems to be quite the masochist...I mean, sewing your eyes shut to punish yourself for tripping? Holy shit, you're fucking hardcore. I would slap my forehead at my clumsiness, but no - this guy doesn't fuck around. All he'll need is a metal helmet and retractable claws.

I tripped, fell down

Oh by the way...we're not keeping score, here! I'll admit, I can't fully grasp and appreciate the deeper, emo-esque meaning behind the author's metaphors for "falling" in love - oops, I found you out! - but let's keep going. There's more ground to cover. I'll try to do so without tripping.

Forgive me father, why should you bother?
Try honesty, Try honesty
Hop in your dumptruck, reverse for good luck
Ride over me, Ride over me
Take on the whole world, fight with the young girls
Die tragedy, Die tragedy
Call me a cheapskate, come on for pete's sake
Cry Agony, Cry agony

This here is the chorus, I presume, as it's repeated often, but this isn't a rap song.

I'm surprised religious zealots haven't gone to town trying to censor this from the media - critisizing your pastor for apathy; lying? He's trying to do his job, man. He's there to forgive you for falling down! Your fussiness is not wanted here, Father is a busy man - after all, he needs to climb into his dumptruck to perform regular sanitation duties, and you're going to make him late for his shift! For a small fee, however, he can put you out of your misery.

Ho, shit, did you see that? I rhymed! If you ever run out of talent, Billy, ring me up - I've got more gold in this ol' mineshaft of mine.

Anyhow, taking on the whole world is a noble aspiration; there's no room for criticism there. However, "fight with the young girls". Fight with as in, against, or fight with as in, alongside? While I find the sexist "you should never hit a girl" moral hypocritical in its own goals, I don't think beating up little girls will help you succeed in the real world. I mean come on, for Pete's sake (I'm talking to you, Pete - more Mario Kart and Starfox on the way!) little girls have little coin purses. Maybe I'm a cheapskate; I have my reasons.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I'm insane, it's your fault, so sly
Your well of lies ran dry
And I cut the cord, free fall
From so high we seem so small

In all honesty (I thought I'd give it a try - just seemed in the mood) if someone was constantly lying to me and I decided for some reason to tolerate it unconditionally, I bet it'd drive me insane too. I couldn't really see that happening though, because one of those situations I'd be bound to be listening to Strapping Young Lad or The Crown and, well...It'd be insane - for a little bit. I might even be crazy enough to go skydiving, deploy my parachute, and then sever the chord with a sharp cutting instrument that I thought would be a good idea to bring with me when I jumped out of a fucking plane.

Now that I think about it, the latter two lines work really well with the former two. How sly.

{Chorus, bitching about insanity, trying and crying.}

{And repeat.}

I think the name "Billy Talent" is one of those oxymoronic sorts of band names like The Who. Everybody knows who The Who are - they're not a question. Kinda like how Billy Talent are not...talented.

Lyrically, at least. Also, the vocals are the pop-punk flavour you are treated to when you buy any Blink-182 or Sum 41 or My Chemical Romance or The Used or Insert-PopPunk-Band-Here group. If you like it, kudos to you, because there's lots more where it came from.

Music? Well, unlike my last song of choice for YMS, yes! There is music. I'm not really a fan of:

Intro riff

chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a
chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b
chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c
chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b

Refrain riff(s)

chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a chord-a
chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b
chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c chord-c
chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b chord-b

Refrain riff(s)
Refrain riff(s)
Refrain riff(s)

but some people are.

In summation, I'd never go so far as to say you're a lower-quality human being for liking lower-quality music, hell no. I, myself have cheap taste in food, and would prefer a microwaved hotdog over a dish of lasagna any day. It saves me time, effort and money. I think it's a blessing. And it's a blessing to you if you love bands like Billy Talent, because it takes less time, effort and money out of you to get it. I have cheap taste in food, you have cheap taste in music. And there's a lot more of it, too. The world needs another Green Carnation, but I don't know if that'll ever happen in my time. Waiting for the next Billy Talent? There'll be a new band in a couple years at the most, guaranteed.

For those of you wanting more Wacky Wayne Crookes, I'll be honest with you, (again, I thought I'd give it another try!) I haven't been adamant in my resolve to stay on top of the issue. Lucky for me, there've been no new developments though. Unless Google is holding out on me.


08/16/07 by Garvar at 11:08pm EST

The "Internet Police" now a physical entity !!!

Yup, that's right, the mythical INTERNET POLICE actually exists. This cyberspace vigilate goes by the name of Wayne Crookes, and he stands for the censorship of all evil-doers! Scathing bloggers beware: your time will soon be at hand!

If you live in Canada. You non-Canadians, particularily Americans...you're pretty much in the clear on this. But stay with me.

I was watching CBC after a long shift at work followed by an equally strenuous Guitar Hero set when I decided to grab a bottle of Smirnoff, sit down with the resident family, and lounge in front of the news, when this little tidbit of internet kindling came around.

The Chief of Internet Police himself, laying his eLife on the line day after day without a word of thanks.

Wayne Crookes, allegedly a businessman, has apparently been struck with the same capricious arrow of lunacy that once skewered the infamous Jack Thompson. The march against videogames is at its end, and now the War on Internets is beginning. Companies such as Yahoo, Google and above all else Wiki-fucking-pedia are being sued for "liable content". What's more, if you so much as link to these sites, you can become the target of Jack Thomp-er, rather, Mr. Wayne Crookes' next bout of delerium.

Oh, fuck. Oops.

Anyhow, I never really followed the Jack Thompson parade around until the dust of the aftermath had already settled (for the most part), but seeing as I enjoy both videogames and the INTERNET, I'll put forth my best efforts to bring to light any new developments that readers are too lazy to find themselves, and then make fun of it.

Moreover, I extend to you, Mr. Crookes (that name works so much better than JTs, I must say) an invitation to complain, followed by a dash of legal threatening and a pinch of lawsuit, about this here news post. Or dare I say, "blog", but I should refrain from usage of that term, as it must be synonymous to venom for you at this stage of the game.

Though, if I do have your attention, Mr. Crookes, if you happen to know the url to any blogs about midget porn, I'm all ears! Yours truly,
Read the header.

07/30/07 by Garvar at 12:40pm EST

Well. Given that the BRW website will be "officially" launching in approximately a month (granted, it's been 'leaked' to a number of individuals already) I decided in a spell of boredom to finally upload the damn navbar code. I never got around to learning headers for the navbar, so it's copypasta'd on each page, but thanks to the magic of PHP the entire site has been condensed into six webpage documents, so there's not a whole lot of copypasta to be done, should the need arise in the future.

I just need to figure my way around a news archiving system. I've got something in mind, and it looks like copypasta will get a cameo when I decide to implement it.

There's a really lazy workaround for it, but...nah. It's not that much work.

07/05/07 by Garvar at 10:31pm EST

I have not updated the main page of this site for a while (due in part to the fact that nobody is actually supposed to be reading it for another two months) but oh well I feel like typing, okay?

Today's subject is: "Don't Cha".

If you recognize the name of today's subject, you probably have shitty taste in music and/or are too lazy to seek meaning in media. Whatever course you take, I am going to bitch about mainstream media for a bit by reviewing this song, by The Pussycat Dolls, as an example. According to the history tags at the bottom of this page I google'd, the song has been out for like two years, but it's still new enough to use as an example of how retarded North American culture has gotten.

So I've heard this song a couple times in the last few days (at work, meaning I was unable to avoid it). Anyway, I'm going to break it down to the best of my ability, patience, and conviction.

The song starts out with Busta Rhymes (a rap artist I'm pretty sure) mumbling unintelligeably and grunting various affirmations, and shortly after declares that he is going to illustrate for us, the audience, a scenario for whatever reason binds his motives. Here is the scenario he honours us with:

Ya see this get hot
Everytime I come through when I step up in the spot (are you ready)
Make the place sizzle like a summertime cookout
Prowl for the best chick
Yes I'm on the lookout (let's dance)

I'll interject at this point, simply because I want to summarize it before I become confused by Busta Rhyme's percieved ignorance toward the english language:

-Busta Rhymes has gone to some sort of gathering, allegedly a neighbourhood barbecue or perhaps something synonymous to it.
-Busta Rhymes is looking for attractive women to dance with.

That's simple enough. However, let's venture a little further into this little gathering:

Slow bangin shorty like a belly dancer with it
Smell good, pretty skin, so gangsta with it (ooh, baby)
No tricks only diamonds under my sleeve
Gimme tha number
But make sure you call before you leave

With respect to the first line...I'm not entirely sure what message he wants to convey. I think it has to do with midget hookers, but for my mind's sake I'm going to pretend it isn't even there. The following continues to be incoherent, but at least can be deciphered on a per-line basis. Busta Rhymes seems to have found his mark (an attractive woman) and grabs her attention by his illustrating to her that he is wealthy. From there, he requests this woman's phone number, but wishes for her to phone him instead, despite actually hinting that she indeed knows his phone number.

This is when the story behind the song changes perspectives to the woman Busta Rhymes has exchanged phone numbers with. This also introduces a new element to the story that begs a question about Busta Rhymes' marital status:

I know you like me (I know you like me)
I know you do (I know you do)
That's why whenever I come around
She's all over you
And I know you want it (I know you want it)
It's easy to see (it's easy to see)
And in the back of your mind
I know you should be on with me

It would appear, from this excerpt, that Busta Rhymes is already involved in a romantic relationship with another woman. The female protagonist here suggests that she is able to understand Busta Rhymes' feelings and knows he desires a relationship with her.

This is the scenario we have been given. On to the chorus:

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me
Don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me
Don't cha
Don't cha
Don't you wish your girlfriend was raw like me
Don't you wish your girlfriend was fun like me
Don't cha (haah aah)
Don't cha

This is really the only portion of the song that any pedestrian listener (myself included) will remember. However, I have to argue, it is shallow and inane. The chorus to this song clearly makes the allegation that the individual in question is only looking for lust in a relationship, seeks multiple partners despite marital status, and has already sought a relationship with someone he is clearly incompatible with, just to meet some sort of status quo.

The next verse of lyrics attempts to alleviate the shallowness of the chorus' allegations by giving us a light at the end of the tunnel that Busta Rhymes may be having second thoughts about seeking other partners despite being in a binding relationship. However, it still leaves the impression that he considers this new girl as a casual fuck-buddy. Well played, sir. Cue the garbage-minded chorus again and we'll move to the next verse. It's a doozy.

I've decided to spare the lyrics for this next segment, as it's fairly repulsive, egotistical, and even more stupid than the song has been thus far. However, it leads us to a risque scene in which Busta Rhymes and this female protagonist are spending some quality time together. And I do mean together. Ironically, at the end of the verse, it leaves Busta Rhymes stating that he wished this girl, as well has his current girlfriend, would both consent to having a threesome with him. Okay, you're rich, you're a player, you're horny, whatever. That's fine. However, the song takes a completely counter-intuitive U-turn into the next verse:

See, I know she loves you (I know she loves you)
I understand (I understand)
I'd probably be just as crazy about you
If you were my own man
Maybe next lifetime (maybe next lifetime)
Possibly (possibly)
Until then, oh friend your secret is
Safe with me

While it seems to be the climax (not a pun) of the story by reaching the resolution to this scenario's problem, it's completely anti-climactic in that the story's plot was heading in the completely opposite direction and came to this ending without even attempting any bridge of explanation whatsoever.

At any rate, this story, amassing four minutes and forty seconds of your life, has come to an end. After allegations that you are unfaithful, are unable to find a compatible partner, and seek only physical/sexual attractions in life, you are finally given reprieve when the song fades into peace.

Well, there you have it, my interperetation of the lyrics. Personally, I find them to be really fucking stupid. Not the most mentally stimulating of lyrics. But that's okay! I've heard songs that have dumb lyrics but are still, audibly, very pleasing (I'm looking at you, Mr. Townsend). So how about the joy of the music in this song? Well, I'll summarize:

It's approximately 6 seconds long. That's right, you have six seconds in which you hear a few drum beats, followed by a clap, then a couple more drum beats, then a much louder clap. This is repeated literally for the entirety of the song. You get the occasional hanging ambience note, and there are a few segments where a saxophone will play a few notes, but unlike the disappointment in this song, the saxophone does not hang around long enough to offer anything substantial (or even minute).

So, what about the video? Who gives a shit about the video, it's a fucking song. In case the world can't figure it out: "Music video" is an oxymoron. Music is about what you hear, not what you see - and I certainly don't give a flying fuck about music videos, even if they're for good music.

From what I can tell, the album this song was featured on has sold copies. In fact, many copies. In fact, far too many copies for the assumption that "the only people buying this album are those who have lost bets" to hold true. Meaning people have willingly, intentionally, purchased this drivel.

I understand that music is subjective, and all about your tastes. But

I feel some sort of latent desire to start a coalition against shitty music awakening within me when I have to hear this stuff. The fact that it exists isn't really what bothers me. The fact that people will willingly part with hard-earned money to listen to factory-ground thumping and bumping appalls me to some extent. But the fact that it has become famous, widespread, and played around the nation in droves so massive that you don't actually hear music any more (unless, of course, you keep actual music on your person at all times) is frustrating to say the least.

Mainstream media culture: a sure sign that we, as a species, are rotting into oblivion.

Don'tcha wish your girlfriend wasn't smart like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a tart like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha
Don'tcha wish your girlfriend had no taste like me?
Don'tcha wish your girlfriend was a waste like me?
Don't cha
Don't cha


06/14/07 by Garvar at 9:24pm EST


With the assistance of a php-horny efriend the comics pages have become completely boner-inspiring.


MikeL says (9:26 PM):
php is

06/14/07 by Garvar at 7:02pm EST

Lord Garvar *naf says (6:53 PM):
StarFox shoulda been super Wii compatible
and the ship flies in the direction of your cursor
And tilts as your remote does
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:53 PM):
that'd be neat
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:53 PM):
You could do a flip by flicking the remote up, then down
and a u turn by flicking it up twice
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:54 PM):
and rotate 360 degrees to....
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:54 PM):
every button could be barrel roll
forget shooting
it is useless
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:54 PM):
"Do a barrel roll {any button}!!"
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:55 PM):
"Do a barrel Roll!
(Press A or B or 1 or 2 or + or - or flick the Wii Remote or blink your eyes or breathe)."
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:56 PM):
the Home Button could barrel roll too
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:56 PM):
or power
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:57 PM):
or power
I was aboot to say that
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:57 PM):
Press power to barrel roll
you are my puppet
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:57 PM):
you can't shut off the game
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:57 PM):
you may never stop playing
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:57 PM):
you must barrel roll
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:57 PM):
you must barrel roll
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:57 PM):
holy shit
same wavelength
Lord Garvar *naf says (6:57 PM):
ESP could barrel roll too
Pete - Life begins at perception says (6:57 PM):
"Do a barrel roll!!! (Think about barrel rolls)"

06/11/07 by Garvar at 12:01pm EST

My word, somebody has already found us.

And unless Pete gets his Internet service from an ISP in Toronto, I'm rather baffled.

Also hungry!

06/10/07 by Garvar at 11:14pm EST

Okay, so it's time to actually give this a full, legitimate post to see how well the revamped Crazy Style Shit stuff works when it's hacked together by a novice seeking a DOC's help via MSN.

To say the least, though...I'm optimistic. And it looks pretty, to boot.

I mean, I've still got a bit of tinkering to do with it...not to mention making the navbar actually work (a cinch of a task) and creating the actual comic pages and the like...but something tells me the tutorial stage is going to be the toughest part of the game.

Well, time to bust and then re-fix this.

Damn it...I don't like these "br /" tags, Doc. They take some getting used to.

When did I post this???

here goes a post !!!

I'm going to make this one a little longer though just to see how it works.



Author's note: If you are seeing this post from viewpost.php unexpectedly, it means that you decided to mess with the input parameters manually. Don't ask me why it's this post; you shouldn't have been messing around in the first place.

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