Afishionados,

Whilst in search of bamboo for a 3D project, I happened upon this at a floral outlet store:

Confused? Click here.

Afishionados,

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve no doubt heard that Rockstar Games has, at long last, released Grand Theft Auto IV to the masses. The past iterations within the GTA franchise have all been excellent games and early reviews of GTA claim that IV is the best yet. Plus, any game that has the ability to offend as many people as GTA has is worth playing. Be aware that the game is rated M for Mature for a reason. So if you are an overly diehard Christian, ignorant parent, easily offended, or cry yourself to sleep every night, then GTA IV probably isn’t the game for you.

So, for the next few weeks I’ll be stealing cars, shooting people, hooking up with hookers, causing mayhem and destruction, and no doubt a fair bit of vandalizing. Yep, just a regular ol’ week for me. Oh, and I’ll also be playing GTA IV.

Afishionados,

Christmas is closing in fast and so I bring you part two of O.F.A.L.’s ongoing series: Christmas Gifts You Shouldn’t Buy.

Chia Pets have always been stupid. Cuddly Chia Pets take stupidity to an all new level. Please, please, please don’t buy this stupid shit. Ever.

Afishionados,

I prefer to leave posting about SPAM e-mail up to better, more qualified bloggers but this one was just too weird to pass up.

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Everybody got that? Cuz there’s gonna be a test real soon on all this over at the local university.

Afishionados,

I was going to write something for you guys to read but I changed my mind. Five hours on a bus will do that to you.

So the past couple of days, I find myself taking it out more often than I used to and playing with it. Since I feel as though I am still learning how to properly handle and use it, I don’t like to mess around with it unless I am alone. I’d just get too embarassed if someone walked in on me while I was fooling around with it for no good reason.

It’s bigger than most people’s, that’s for sure. I’ve seen some of my friends’ and mine is a lot larger than theirs. Sometimes it protrudes so far out there that it’s very difficult to hold it steady and get it to do what I want. Things end up really messy and I find it’s often just plain hard to focus when I twist it out as far as it will go.

I’ve felt that the hardest part of it all is getting it to do it’s thing when I’m in a dark room. It sounds odd, I know, but it’s so much easier to control and manipulate when there’s plenty of light. Things just go a lot more smoothly this way.

I love holding it in my hands, though. Boy, does that feel good! It’s so hard, yet pleasantly round and agile. It’s a real beauty and, when it works, it works great. I could wrap my fingers around it all day. It’s a shame I can’t do this to it whenever I want. Heck, even the ladies thinks it’s sexy looking. (Sometimes, if she’s really good, I’ll let her hold it, stroke it, and occasionally use it.)

But, still, I’ve got a big problem with 300mm shots. I can’t seem to get one in focus, so I think I’ll end up buying a tripod. That’s what the guy at the camera shop recommended, anyway. What, did you think I was talking about something else?

The official web site of 2008 Presidential hopeful Joey Polanski caught fire and burned down to the server last evening around 9:12 P.M. PST. Investigators on the scene linked the fire directly to Mr. Polanski, crockpot, and a very large fart. One eyewitness reported that, “the stench could be smelled through many linked blogs. It was terrible. it smelled like stew meat, broccoli, water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, onions, mushrooms, corn, soy sauce, various peppers, and salt.”

Mr. Polanski, pictured above smiling after releaving himself, could not be reached for immediate comment.

I’ve been using public transportation here in San Diego because gas is $3.50/gallon. Fuck that. I got a two week transportation pass that gives me unlimited rides on the trolley and buses. The trolley goes just about everywhere I’ve wanted to, so it’s been a worthwhile investment.

Unfortunately, with public transportation comes the public. The trolley is almost always crowded and seats are limited. Whenever I get a seat all to myself, some freak inevitably sits next to me and starts to tell me their life’s story, their latest problem, or how the voices in their head are telling them to do things they’d wish they wouldn’t have to.

I don’t know what it is, but apparently I give off this vibe that I care about people when, in reality, I don’t give a damn. At least not while I’m riding the trolley to the Apple Store or the movie theater. That doesn’t stop the finest that San Diego has to offer from sitting next to me, though.

Yesterday, a rather large Puerto Rican man sat next to me. He wore a wife beater shirt, shorts, and smelled strongly of alcohol. I wasn’t able to get my noise-canceling headphones out of my backpack quick enough, so he started chatting with me. First, Rico started with the US relations with Iran and from there he made the leap to solar power. I don’t even remember how he made the transition. At one point he asked me what I did for a living and so I told him.

“I operate nuclear reactors for the Navy. I’m around them all the time and they leak radiation into my skin and now I glow in the dark. I should probably warn you that you’re getting radiation from me just by sitting so close and you’ll probably get cancer and die soon.”

He got off at the very next stop with a moritified and crazy look in his eyes.

Today was more reminiscent of South Carolina. A crazy woman who appeared to be in her early to mid thirties was riding the trolley with an older man. The woman had on a very stained shirt, filthy jeans, and no shoes whatsoever. Her skin was covered in oil and dirt.

The man she rode with looked to be in his sixties. He wore a white shirt that was stained with the same enigmatic mysteries as his snot-colored beard. A brand new starter for the woman’s car lay next to his feet.

“That’s the las’ tahm I let a ma’an drahv muh car, I suh-wear ta gawd!” the woman exclaimed. The man chuckled loudly, spoke some mysterious language that I could not decipher, and nodded. He quickly scooped up the starter and the two set out to fix their car.

I can’t wait to see what comes along next.

Well the “big mystery” as to why the Navy sent me to San Diego is over.  Apparently, I’ve been chosen to learn about wireless walkie-talkie radio doohickies.  And here I thought it would be something technical.

According to my instructor, 90% of your job will be checking out these radios to people and keeping track of their location.  The other 10% will be troubleshooting and repair of the radios.  (For those of you in the back of the room with the retarded look on your faces, that’s 100% radios.  Hey, mechanics, I’m talking to you.)

This is interesting news since the government has spent thousands of dollars and the past year-and-a-half teaching me nuclear power.  Eh, who needs a reactor when you can have radios?  Unless these radios are nuclear powered or something?  Or, maybe this nuclear power thing is a big conspiracy and the ships are really radio controlled!  I think I’ve stumbled onto to something big here…

And speaking of military intelligence…  I was assigned to a room that has two beds in it.  I discovered that I had two roommates.  One of my room mates was an E-1, some Airman Electrician Recruit.  I was tired and it was 11 o’clock at night, so I decided to put off changing rooms until the morning.  Before I went to bed, I informed my roommate that, in the event of roomy #3 returning, he wasn’t about to get my bed.  If #3 woke me up, I would only send him over to cuddle with the recruit.

It took three hours of paperwork, military stupidity, and civilian laziness before my room move was complete.  I’ve moved out of the shitty basement apartment-like room into a hotel-type of room with a maid service and cable television.  I get a nicer barracks because I’m only here temporarily.  My friend, who is stationed here in San Diego, has to stay in the shitty room.  Ha!

It only gets better, too.  My work schedule is nowhere near as drastic as nuke school.  A lot shorter hours, no duty, and no watchstanding.  If I could get the Navy to throw in a naked Keira Knightley to serve me alcoholic beverages, I think I’d spend the rest of my time in the Navy here.

Cliff Pickover has a FARK-wannabe site called the Reality Carnival.  He linked to my site, but he abbreviated the title of my site to “Fish Lemonade”.  So, in return for this kind favor, I’ve decided to abbreviate my link to his site as well.  Click here to visit Eat Anal.