Johnny Justjohnny

[SIZE=2][COLOR=Gray]1) Tell your parents. It won't be fun, but it will be one hell of a lot more fun then trying to raise a baby at your age without any help... BTW, how old is Mrs. Lonley Fighter? That's kinda important. 2) Pretty straightforward... don't send your trooper into the breach without body armour next time. 3) That I can't help you with - no matter what, it will be pretty damn akward. If you have relogo-nut parents then it might be a little more difficult, but if you're parents care for you they'll be supportive and try and help you anyway they can... putting it off and sloughfooting them will only make things worse. Be upfront about it, that's the only advice I can offer you. 4) Try not to pull your hair out until you're sure she's pregnant, first off. If she is, well, it's going to be pretty stressful no matter what you do - and don't try the drinking yourself away thing, I highly doubt that'll help... 5) In a word? [B]Eeeeeek...[/B][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=2][COLOR=Gray]Are you kidding...? First off, there is nothing wrong with swearing. This cultural taboo on swearing that we have is hilarious - tell me, what's the difference between "Gosh, this darn thing is freaking annoying!" and "God! This damn thing is ****ing driving me crazy!". What's the difference? The words mean the exact same thing. This taboo is laughable. It's not the words, it's how their used - calling someone a ****** in an affectionate, personable way is worse then calling someone African American in a venemous way and then spitting on the ground? Yea, that makes sense... Secondly, shows like Lost and 24 and CSI and the like, as Dagger said, cannot swear. It's some crazy ******** about how parents like to overprotect their kids because, as everyone knows, the only way to save their souls from eternal damnation is to ensure that they never ever hear swear words... Making as much sense as always. Man, you make no sense. Who cares what words they use? They mean the same thing! **** and damn and **** and ************ are no different then frigg and darn and poooooo and Alabaman, man, they mean the same thing. There is nothing wrong with swearing. I leave you with a quote: "Sin lies only in hurting other people unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense." - Robert A. Heinlein[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=2][COLOR=Gray]"Don't bring me down." - The Electric Light Orchestra. Seriously, don't. "Human beings will be happier - not when they cure cancer or get to Mars or eliminate racial prejudice or flush Lake Erie but when they find ways to inhabit primitive communities again. That's my utopia." - Kurt Vonnegut "I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different." - Kurt Vonnegut "Who is more to be pitied, a writer bound and gagged by policemen or one living in perfect freedom who has nothing more to say?" - Kurt Vonnegut "Life's a piece of **** When you look at it Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true. You'll see it's all a show Keep 'em laughing as you go Just remember that the last laugh is on you." - Eric Idle "Most rock journalism is people who can't write, interviewing people who can't talk, for people who can't read." - Frank Zappa "Communism doesn't work because people like to own stuff." - Frank Zappa "A long and wicked life followed by five minutes of perfect grace gets you into Heaven. An equally long life of decent living and good works followed by one outburst of taking the name of the Lord in vain - then have a heart attack at that moment and be damned for eternity. Is that the system?" - Robert A. Heinlein "Don't ever become a pessimist... a pessimist is correct oftener than an optimist, but an optimist has more fun, and neither can stop the march of events." - Robert A. Heinlein "Sin lies only in hurting other people unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense. (Hurting yourself is not sinful - just stupid)." - Robert A. Heinlein "When any government, or any church for that matter, undertakes to say to its subjects, This you may not read, this you must not see, this you are forbidden to know, the end result is tyranny and oppression no matter how holy the motives." - Robert A. Heinlein And finally... "The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive." - Robert A. Heinlein [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Two options: ignorance and confidence. Ignorance is the easiest of the two, and my personal favourite. Essentially, ignore everyone else - put their opinions and their beliefs below yours - they're not important. Because you don't care what they think, you don't care if they think you're an idiot or a loon or whatever, and you're free to be yourself. If you're of the right mindset, this new-found ability to look at yourself without the opinions of other people invading your thought process will do wonders for your self confidence. It also helps not to look at fashion mags and the like as anything other then pathetic - tremendously. Confidence is trickyer. Some people just have it - they're so secure in who they are (in this case, when comparing themselves to the Status Quo) that they're naturally confident and charismatic. If you don't have, then you need ignorance to get it - spend a while not giving a **** what people think and you should manage to convince yourself that [I]you[/I] are an acceptable person, which gives you a lot of self confidence.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Windmills - specifically, being burned inside them. Needles also do a number on me... I can't say I'm very fond of being in the public eye - be it in school or whatever, I don't like popularity. It terrifies me. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray][B]"I'm very well aquainted with the seven deadly sins I keep a busy schedule trying to fit them in I'm proud to be a glutton, and I don't have time for sloth I'm greedy, and I'm angry, and I don't care who I cross."[/B] Excluding the angry part, Warren Zevon pretty well captures me in Mr. Bad Example... I'm a glutton, I'm quite proud of that fact, I'm lazyer then a three-toed sloth, and I don't care what anyone thinks about it. I'm not especially greedy, but I'm like Homer Simpsons - helping people? For free? What's the deal? I'm just generally not very charitable. The song fails to mention lust - well, that takes a back seat to gluttony and sloth, but that's right up there, although that probably has more to do with being a giant nerdlanger with virtually no shot of ever having a girl-friend then anything else. There's no real balance to me. I don't work hard to make up for my sloth, I usually give up as soon as something becomes frustrating, and would much rather sit around doing nothing then doing busywork. I indulge a lot, and I don't control what I indulge in - I can't get enough of deicious food, so I eat a lot of it, it's that simple with me, there is no self restraint. I guess on the virtue side of things, I don't really hold a grudge at all, so I guess that adds points in the forgiveness and kindness columns, and I'm not an angry person at all... so it's not all sin-and-sun with me, but that's certainly the way I like living. Also, I don't think I can ever recall being really enyous - I have dialup amongst a sea of highspeeders, but don't really hate them for it, most of my friends have Wii's or PS3's or whatever, but I don't get on their case about it... I'm just generally happy with my lot in life, I guess. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[quote name='NIKI12345]Here is Hillary without makeup so now we can really see what she looks like when she is not doing a photoshoot [URL=http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.hilarynews.com/wp-content/uploads/2006/06/HilarySansMakeup.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.hilarynews.com/category/gossip/&h=440&w=396&sz=28&hl=en&start=2&tbnid=UtuxkSqmmupQBM:&tbnh=127&tbnw=114&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dhillary%2Bduff%2Bwithout%2Bmakeup%26gbv%3D2%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Dstrict%26client%3Ddell-usuk%26channel%3Dus%26sa%3DG%26ad%3Dw5']http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.hilarynews.com/wp-content/uploads/2006/06/HilarySansMakeup.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.hilarynews.com/category/gossip/&h=440&w=396&sz=28&hl=en&start=2&tbnid=UtuxkSqmmupQBM:&tbnh=127&tbnw=114&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dhillary%2Bduff%2Bwithout%2Bmakeup%26gbv%3D2%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Dstrict%26client%3Ddell-usuk%26channel%3Dus%26sa%3DG%26ad%3Dw5[/URL][/quote] [SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray] Thank you. She really isn't that hot - even by today's standards of beauty she's nothing special.[/COLOR][/SIZE] [QUOTE]What now? o_o[/QUOTE][SIZE=1] [COLOR=Gray] Yea... that kinda made me double-take aswell... it's either a grave grammatical error or a hilarious example of unintentional comedy... both are pretty funny. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[QUOTE]Definetly Hilary Duff. I don't like Michael Jackson that much and he's kinda creepy. Hilary Duff is a good singer and actress and Michael Jackson was black, so I still think that if I think of all the good and bad for each of them then I would still stay Hilary Duff.[/QUOTE][SIZE=1] [COLOR=Gray] ... ... ... Er?[/COLOR][/SIZE] [QUOTE]Big Sky, read the thread title, it says "hang out" not "Who would you pay a million dollars to go out with ?" as if that were the case she wouldn't even factor into the equation. Jesus where did the sugar-mama come out of ? A day with a rich, hot chick does not instantly turn into sugar-mama territory.[/QUOTE] [SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray] Er, sorry Gavin, I kinda slurred yours and Veritas' posts together in my ranting... moving along.[/COLOR][/SIZE] [QUOTE]Dude what high school do you go to where there are twenty year old hookers who look like her ? Seriously her acting and musical "talents" are not on discussion here, it's simply a case of whether or not you'd prefer to hang out with Duff or Jackson.[/QUOTE][SIZE=1] [COLOR=Gray] You ever see Duff outside a photoshoot? Without lighting to bring out her highlights, she's nothing special... and even then...[/COLOR][/SIZE] [QUOTE] OK, I may have been slightly biased in favour of Duff, but both are the first images that came up under a Google search.[/QUOTE][SIZE=1] [COLOR=Gray] Hey, hey, you didn't get the good picture of MJ... the one with his scraggly little beard thing definatly captures his good side.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]As much as I'd like to say [b]Bat Out Of Hell[/b], I won't. Gonna have to go with... [CENTER][B]Ordinary Day[/B] by [B]Great Big Sea[/B][/CENTER] [B] I've got a smile on my face, I've got four walls around me The sun in the sky, the water surrounds me I'll win now but sometimes I'll lose I've been battered, but I'll never bruise, it's not so bad And I say way-hey-hey, it's just an ordinary day and it's all your state of mind At the end of the day, you've still got to say, it's all right. See that girl on the street, what keeps her from dying Let them say what they want, she won't stop trying She might stumble, if they push her 'round She might fall, but she'll never lie down And I say way-hey-hey, it's just an ordinary day and it's all your state of mind At the end of the day, you've still got to say, it's all right. It's a beautiful day, but there's always some sorrow It's a double edged knife, but there's always tomorrow It's up to you now if you sink or swim, Keep the faith and your ship will come in.[/B] This song just reflects my general optimistic attitude towards life in general, aswell as my "enjoy every sandwhich" mentallity. Plus it's just a generally great tune. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[QUOTE=Gavin][SIZE=1]That's the truth man, I mean seriously she's young, hot and likes to party, and really do any of us want to "party" with Michael Jackson ? I thought not, watching him do Thriller would probably be cool, but watching Hillary shake her thing would be a lot better. To qualify that particularly objectifying statement, I am also sure spending a day with her would be fun from an intellectual and personal perspective as well... I am genuinely sincere... really...[/SIZE][/QUOTE][COLOR=Gray] [SIZE=1] Hillary Duff isn't even sexy, man... she's just makeup and lighting, and even then she still looks like a 16 year old street-corner prostitute. Spending a day with her would be like spending a day with any high-school hussy, except she has money and groopies. Besides, if you spent a day with her wouldn't mean that she would become your sugermama, she'd probably just dump your *** on the curb as soon as the contract expired and she had her cool million (which is what I assume it would take to get her to go out with any of us). I mean, with MJ, it's different. The guy made [I]Thriller[/I], god-dammit, what else could you want? Sure he's kinda creepy, but the guy is basically a little kid - he's not a molestor (BS), he just never had a childhood so he's trying to recreate it... and I love being a kid, so why the hell wouldn't I get along with him? Come on, you know MJ has some cool **** in Neverland - he's got to have some miniature dancing elephants or fire-breathing dolphins or something crazy in there, it'd be great![/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Micheal Jackson. MJ did Thriller, name one thing Duff has done her entire life that's been anywhere near as good. Thrillerrrrr... keeps the boys in... linnneeeee... [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]OOC: Cool idea, looks interesting, and I do so like comedy... [B]Name[/B]: Marty Legwand [B]Age[/B]: 27 [B]Profession[/B]: Student Teacher [B]Introduction[/B]: Waking up is not something Marty Legwand ? Legs, as his oh-so-original friends like to call him, much to is annoyance ? is overly fond of. When he?s asleep, he?s a knight-in-shining-armour, saving dreamland from any number of vicious demons and villains, a true hero, with an electronic eye and a laser katana ? the kind of guy anyone would like to be. When he?s awake, he?s just a teacher-in-training, caught somewhere between the ?Wanting to make a Difference? and the ?Wanting to Kill the Kids? phase of becoming a teacher, living in a three-room apartment and struggling to pay the bills. But he still finds a way to drag himself out of bed every morning ? on a morning such as this, for example, he awoke to the radio blaring ?Don?t Stop Me Now?, a song that Marty felt was rather inappropriate. He mused about this for a while, then pondered scatter-brainsedly about what the weather would be like that afternoon, and then, curiously, wandered into a rather heated self-debate over the importance of Smurfs in society. Eventually he realized he was simply being juvenile, decided this wasn?t such a bad thing, and reached up to silence his alarm. In doing this, Marty managed to roll himself over and off the edge of the bed, dragging the covers along with him, and causing his head to rather violently collide with the hardwood flooring. Grumbling something about Mondays, Marty managed to lift himself off the ground and make the long journey to his feet, standing a few seconds before collapsing on the side of the bed again. He sat there for a few seconds, feeling generally sorry for himself and wishing he were back under the comforting covers of his bed, but quickly resigned himself to the waking world and trudged off to his apartment?s small bathroom. He splashed some water in his face and looked at himself in the mirror, groaning. [B]?Hey, handsome,?[/B] Marty said to the face staring back at him, a face that was fronted an equally-attractive head, the composite of which was rather crudely grafted onto a similarly-dispositioned body via a scraggly neck, the whole mess of which was exactly that ?a mess. Marty groaned again, and reached for an idling comb to try and tame the mop atop his head that passed for his hair, a task that he failed at quite spectacularly. Abandoning this, he let the comb go back to idling and splashed some more water onto his face, and tried to wash the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. More successful in this endeavour, Marty used this new-found confidence to attempt to take a shower, something he achieved with moderate difficulty, only slipping once and managing to keep the water from jumping hot-to-cold-to-hot. He exited the shower feeling refreshed and more excited about the day in general ? even if he did have to drag himself into school with the hangover he had earned at his favourite watering hole last night ? or had it been Saturday night? Marty wasn?t quite sure he wanted that question answered. Marty navigated his way back into his bedroom and threw open his sparsely-populated dresser, picking a few pieces of clothing with little consideration to style or thereabouts, throwing them on and giving himself a parting-glance in the mirror, winking sarcastically and laughing weakly at his own lame attempt to be humorous. He picked a few things that he needed for work off his the small round table in his ?living room? (basically a closet with a TV and some potted plants) and rounding the corner to the door with an unusual bounce in his step ? he wasn?t usually this happy, especially considering the headache he had and the general dissatisfaction with life thing going on. But it didn?t take long for this bounce to evaporate completely. For, you see, slid under the apartment?s door lay a collection of envelopes and letters. Marty had paid extra for the luxury of having his mail delivered to his door, but he had wondered why ever since ? it seemed that all he ever got were bills and tips on how to get a bigger penis, interspersed with the occasional letter from a distant relative or something of that ilk. So Marty wasn?t expecting very much as he picked the pile off the ground and sorted it slowly ? as he expected, bills, bills, and bills. He decided that he would just throw the pile aside, but then he came to a strange bill at the bottom of the pile ? no, it wasn?t a bill, it was bigger, thicker then that, with a strange envelope. Cocking his eyebrow, Marty threw aside the rest of the pile and focused on the strange piece of postage. It had his name written on it neatly in an ink pen, with an assortment of strange stamps stuck to it helter-skelter ? it looked like the kind of thing you?d see on a terrorist-alert page. Throwing caution to the wind, Marty pealed back the envelope and removed the folded sheet of paper therein ? which was, like the envelope, old-timey feeling and looking, written on in neat ink ? and read it quietly to himself. Two days later, Marty was on a plane to who-knows-where, questioning his sanity, and wondering if he?d left the stove on ? he then remembered that he didn?t, in fact, have a stove, thus making it a nonissue, and then ceased to remember anything as his sleeping pills kicked in. Little did he know that his life was about to get a lot less generally-disappointing. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Self-image problems? No way, not me. I is who I is, and I'm happy with that. Yea, I'm fat - quite obese, really. But, for whatever reason, this never really effected my self-esteem - if anything, it made me feel better about myself, strange as it may sound. Kind of unique, you know what I mean? Like I was different then them, and that was cool, you see what I'm saying? Now, you're not fat. I know that - no matter how you slice it, 140 pounds is not fat. But you probably already know that, so I can't help you there. You have to ask yourself, though, [I]is that such a bad thing?[/I] Is it really the end of the world to be fat or ugly or different or anything of that nature? The answer is, of course, [I]no[/I]. Once you come to terms with that, you'll stop seeing yourself as being fat, because you'll stop comparing yourself to Twigy and going "Why can't [I]I[/I] be that skinny? Look, compared to her, I'm a whale!", you'll just think "Jeez, that lady needs some protein in her diet!" or something thereabouts. But hey, what do I know - like I said, I never had these problems. I was, of course, rediculed at times - but they really never got to me. What's insulting about "fatass" when one's *** is, in fact, quite fat? I guess that's why I never really had self-esteem issues, because I always had a way of looking at myself and going "No, I'm not George Clooney, but I'd be really sexy in Africa I bet!", a way of kind of looking past what our society consider's faults and knowing that there really is nothing wrong with being different. On that note, there's nothin' hot about Twigy... can't wait until this rib-cage-showing-through fad is over-and-done-with so we can get back to admiring real women for looking like real women, rather then stick-figures. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]My supergroup? Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, George Harrison, Tom Petty, and Jack Lynne. I'd call em' the Tremblin' Walmpurys. *waits for no one to get it* Moving on... [b]Lead Vocals[/b] and [b]Flute Player[/b] - Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull) [b]Lead Guitarist[/b], [b]Backup Vocals[/b], and [b]Head Musical Engineer[/b] - Tom Scholz (Boston) [b]Backup Vocals[/b], [b]Keyboardist[/b], [b]Primary Songwriter[/b], and [b]World's Smallest Violin Player[/b] - Warren Zevon (Solo) [b]Bassist[/b] - Larry Graham (Sly & The Family Stone, Graham Central Station, session man) [b]Guitar Solo Expert[/b] and [b]Frontman[/b] - Frank Zappa (Solo, Mother's of Invention) [b]Drummer[/b] - Vinnie Colaiuta (The Mother's of Invention, session man) [b]Sound[/b]: The Peaches en Regalia (as they would be named) would have a pretty sick sound. With guys like Anderson, Zappa, and Zevon, it's going to have a very quirky, sarcastic edge to it, but it will also be very crisp thanks to the genius that is Scholz. The flute will play a key role in many of their songs, but they will also have a quite a few guitar solos thanks to Zappa. Graham provides his earthy, funky bass lines to keep everything in line. Colaiuta is there for two reasons - Neil Peart was otherwise engaged, and he is mentioned in that song Catholic Girls... and that song rules![/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=gray]The mansion was, Ry felt, one of the more unique things that any architect had ever produced. A seemingly-random mish-mash of distinctly different styles and time periods ? ranging from the Classical era, to Baroque and Victorian - with the occasional gargoyle or statue added here-or-there for flavour, it was all quite luxurious. But something about it didn?t seem right. The iron-barb-topped stone wall that surrounded the whole expanse certainly didn?t do anything to quell this feeling, nor did the sinister-looking black-iron-bar gate that lead into the grounds. Still, Ry couldn?t help but respect the beauty of the complex?s centerpiece ? the fountain. It was like a multi-layered cake with statues and gargoyles stuck in wherever they could be stuck in, each spouting water from their various orifices; it was wonderful. Ry thought it would be a great place to play the flute. Maybe Ry was just going crazy ? he hadn?t taken his pills in a while, so maybe it was just the darkness creeping back into him. Afterall, he figured, a man on the internet, named Dante, and plugging himself as the Master of Games was sure to be trustworthy, right? Ry smiled at that and brought his flute up to his puckered lips. He paused for a second, thinking about what to play, and eventually settled on a soft melody he had heard once, a long time ago, something his old mentor had taught him. At first, no one seemed to notice the song he played, as they were all caught up in their own conversations ? such things as people talk about in these situations, mostly concerning their own pasts and the weather and suchlike ? and therefore didn?t notice the older man propped up against the flat stone. But Ry didn?t really care, he just wanted to feel the music around him, it was one of the few times that he actually felt sane. [B]?Hey old man, where you pick up that tune? You?re pretty good.?[/B] It seemed that Ry had attracted an audience afterall ? a slight Latino kid, maybe in his late teens at the oldest. Ry stopped playing and smiled at the kid. [B]?I ain?t that old, kid. Is 33 old nowadays??[/B] He laughed and held out his free hand, which the kid shook after a second or two of consideration. [B]?Name?s Ry, and you?ll do well to call me it. You are? Sorry for prying, kiddo, but I always like to get to know my audience.?[/B] [B]?Kuro.? [/B]He spoke in an accented English that Ry couldn?t quite place ? it was distinctly South American, but Ry couldn?t quite pin it down.[B] ?So, as I was saying, where you pick that song up? It?s? nice.?[/B] [B] ?This little thing? Something I picked up busking, an old friend of mine taught it to me ? it?s not really important. Say, you play an instrument, kid??[/B] Ry had a habit of that, calling younger people ?kid? or ?kiddo? or some other outdated colloquialism, but it was part of the crazy-old-man mystique he had take on. [B] ?No? I never really had the chance to learn, really.?[/B] Kuro sat down on another of the strange flat-surfaced rocks that seemed to dot the islands? surface, and stretched his cramped legs as he looked for a comfortable position. [B] ?Ah, it?s not that hard, kid ? just purse your lips and blow, see??[/B] Ry laughed a bit at this, and proceeded to demonstrate, playing a simple tune, and being deliberately slow so Kuro could see exactly what he was doing. Ry felt he was really going to like the kid. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Right now "Rock and Roll Duty" by [b]Kim Mitchell[/b] has got to be my favourite song... great chorus that just seems to work, with the occasional guitar solo from the ever-underrated Mitchell, it's a solid piece of music. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[QUOTE=ForgotteÑ-HerÖ][COLOR=DimGray]Ahh, a look into the heart, soul, and past of Tekkaman. Wonder how this story will erupt. Either sadness or happiness. Questions will be answered. But first I'll have to think of a question after I read the first post. But the anticipation is causing my legs to chafe uncontrolably. I'm sorry I'm nervous.[/COLOR] [COLOR=Blue]Oohh I found a question. How do you pronounce Blaque?[/COLOR][/QUOTE] [SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]If I know my French names, it's pronounced Black, basically. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[QUOTE=Jeremiah] [B]I'm challenging these views because they're unfactual[/B]. You have [B]no proof[/B] he uses people for gain and makes millions doing what he does yet yu splash these things around like they're facts. Furthermore you're despising of him seems to stem from these accusations so I'm letting you know that this actually may not be the case. [/QUOTE] [SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Oh, the irony... Anyway, this guy seems like a real crazy. I've read up on him since I last posted, and, wow, what an idiot. Some of the things he says are hilarious, though. Rock music is all satanic, fairy-cake is the food of the devil, etc etc. Anyone who is not 100% xitian is automatically a baby-sacrificing, blood-drinking satanist. Great stuff, really - shame there are people who actually buy that trash. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Extremists are, by design, nutters. Wether they're religious extremists or the opposite, anyone who believes so strongly in something that absolutely nothing - not even concrete, absolutely irrefutable proof - could change their mind is an absolute fool. That's just the way it is. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Ry had never been to Australia before. He had never been somewhere that was consistently sunny, even ? never saw the point of it, really, said that he preferred the cold anyway. But now that he was actually here, he felt that maybe it wasn?t so bad afterall ? once he put sunglasses on to block the intense sunlight, that is. He hadn?t actually set foot on Australian soil, though ? he was still standing on the concrete loading-unloading zone of the airport, but, he figured, it was close enough. In one hand Ry held everything he had brought with him, all stored inside a relatively-small travel bag. His flute, a series of books, and, of course, all his medicines and tonics. He had a bit of trouble getting through customs because of these, but luckily they didn?t notice the false bottom that concealed his more illicit treatments, and his papers were sufficient to get them into the country. ?Mr. Peters.? It was a statement, not a question, and it had come from directly behind Ry, the way only black-suited tough-looking men could. It startled Ry quite a bit, but he realized quickly enough who the man was, and regained his composure. ?My ride!? Again, more a statement then a question. The man ? huge, dark-skinned and dressed in a formal suit that, Ry mused, must have been insufferably hot ? just nodded wordlessly behind his pair of dark sunglasses. The man jerked his thumb through the throng of people to a glossy black stretch-limo, still running, in one of the loading zones. ?Extravagant.? Ry remarked, whistling reverently at the beautiful luxury-car. The man turned on his heel and marched through the crowd, which seemed to open for him like the Red Sea, Ry trailing in his wake. The reached the car and the man opened the back door and stepped back, allowing Ry to climb in and toss his bag onto the empty seat besides him. The man closed the door and left Ry to inspect the beautiful interior. Ry had never been accustomed to luxury ? it made him kind of uncomfortable to be so far out of his element, but he figured this was as good a time as any to adapt. The car was beautiful ? ridiculously roomy, with leather seats on both sides and a beautiful carpet floor. Ry whistled again. The man climbed into the car, but only his head was visible over the embankment of chairs and pillows at the other end, so Ry couldn?t quite tell what he was doing. He seemed to be fiddling with something, and then the car smoothly pulled out of the loading zone and down the ramp, fighting through a pile of traffic and onto the surprisingly-unclogged road. ?Hey, big guy, how long you expect it?ll be until we get to the mansion?? Ry asked as he settled into his chair more. ?Three hours to the ferry.? Ry sat upright, gulping, ?And then another hour to the Island.? ?Ah? I don?t supposed you have any water on you?? Ry asked as he reached for his bag, unzipping it and taking out the bag-within-a-bag that held his meds. The dose he took in the bathroom mid-flight would never last him that long, so he decided to keep his meds handy if he felt the crazy creeping back into him. The man didn?t say anything, but he must have pressed a button, for the center of the seat across from Ry lifted up and unfolded to reveal a well-stocked mini-bar. Ry ignored the booze for now ? he?d seen what happens when he mixed his meds with alcohol, and it wasn?t pretty ? and went for a small hose the dispensed water, drawing himself a glass. He stuffed a few unspecified pills into his mouth, mumbled something along the lines of ?hope you don?t mind,? and downed them all with one gulp of water. Keeps him balanced, keeps him level, keeps him Ry. The ride seemed longer then three hours. The radio was broken, or so the man said, so Ry had to busy himself reading, something that became somewhat less enjoyable when in a car. But, eventually, after mile-after-mile of outback, they finally arrived at the coast. There was a large metal dock there with a well-maintained, if small, building set up there. From the looks of it, no one else was here yet. The man got out and came around, opening Ry?s door for him. Ry grabbed his bag, stuffed his meds in, zipped it back up, and crawled out of the car, stretching out the kinks and knots in his cramped muscles. There was no ferry ? large or small ? docked at the port, so Ry just looked at the man quizzically. ?Wait inside. Others are coming, and then the ferry will be here to bring you all to the Island. It won?t be long.? Ry, feeling assured, thanked the man for driving him, and walked towards the small building. The man got back in his car and drove off, leaving Ry feeling a bit abandoned. But the building, he found, contained a few far-more-friendly denizens who welcomed him and told him to sit and wait and that it would only be a little while until the ferry got here. Ry felt oddly disconcerted. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]Reading will help you tremendously. A lot more then sitting in a classroom and having rules forced at you all day, that's for sure. I'm a terrible in-theory writer - on grammar tests, I never do exceptionally well and I still have trouble telling my verbs from my nouns, but I can still spin a fine yarn because I read so compulsivly. Read a lot, from different artists and different genres. When you're reading, look at what the artist does that you especially like, something that sticks out at you as interesting, and try and incorperate it into your writing. Not word-for-word (bcuz dat wuld b plagerasmi!1oneshift) but try and caputure their style. Then read other books by different artists and do the same thing. Eventually you will build a unique writing style of your own - something that a classroom can never teach you. Suggestions? I can't tell what you like, so what can I suggest? You have to build a writing style that is tailored to fit you - and you have to be constantly reading so you can keep your writing style fresh, so that you and your readers don't grow tired of it. The worst thing for an aspiring writer is to grow tired of writing. Good luck! BTW, proofreading really does help. In your example of bad writing, most of it was just very poor proofreading... and don't pretend to be above spellcheck! [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]I live in Montreal, and not to long ago, September of last year, there was a major school shooting in Dawson College. Kimveer Gill (who was not a student at Dawson, and, so far as we can tell, had no connection to it) marched in, wearing a trenchcoat and toating a pair of low-power rifles and converted-to-full-auto guns, and opened fire. Astonishingly, there was only one death - thanks to the much-maligned Canadian gun laws, Kimveer couldn't aquire heavy-duty weapons and all the 19 other students injured recovered fully (including a girl who was shot twice in the head - she was in a coma for about a month and recovered completely). Anastia de Susa was the girl who died, and Kimveer killed himself after he had been shot in the arm and leg by the police. It was an absolutely senseless act of violence. Kimveer had been posting about it for weeks on his blog (hosted at vampirefreaks.com... shockingly) and he never mentioned any motive. He was just a sick, twisted, misguided nutter who shot up a school one day. Unfortunate as it is, there really is nothing that can be done about it - there will always be crazy people, and they will always get their hands on guns. Such a sad reality... I feel really bad for people who are victimized by these sick looners, especially the ones who deliberatly target places full of young people, like malls or schools. Bastards.[/COLOR][SIZE=1][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=gray][B]Name[/B]: Roland "Ry" Peters [B]Age[/B]: 33 [B]Sex[/B]: Male [B]Location[/B]: Toronto, Ontario [B]Appearance[/B]: [URL=http://www.musiczone.cz/data/imgs_images/2321.jpg]Ry[/URL] [B]Personality[/B]: Anyone who knows him well knows that there are two Roland "Ry" Peters. One is the sluggish, genial, enjoyable old man, who tells stories and plays the flute and who is a generally mild-mannered person. This is mostly because of the massive amount of drugs ? prescribed or illicit ? that Ry has circulating through his system at all times. Keeps him balanced, keeps him on track, supposedly. Off his meds, though, Ry is a very different person. He?s neurotic, paranoid, quick to anger, and goes through lengthy battles with the ?shakes. When he goes through these bouts, he becomes anti-social and reclusive. When he does speak, it?s a stuttery, babbley mess, usually angry in nature, and always indecipherable. Ry does his best to keep his darker side a secret. He has a lot of acquaintances and is a well-known social figure, but he doesn?t keep a lot of close company, and hides most of his personal details ? he?s become quite good at changing the subject whenever his past comes up. He still tries to maintain a general aura of friendliness whenever he can, despite this secretive nature. [B]Bio[/B]: It was apparent very early that Ry was not a mentally stable individual. He was born under normal-enough circumstances ? a few weeks late, but a healthy weight and with no major physical ailments. However, he was a very slow baby, and had trouble learning simple things ? talking, crawling, eating, all things that came very slowly too him. His parents were caring and patient with him, so he got the help he needed, and he managed to progress normally enough. As a child he was quiet, reserved, but still stable enough to go to school normally. He didn?t have a lot of friends because of his nature and was picked on relentlessly. His lack of social-skills meant he had no real vent, so he took up an instrument. His parents were very supportive of him, because they felt it would help him become less of a hermit, and got him a flute for his 10th birthday. He spent hours learning how to play and become quite good ? something of an idiot-savant, you could say. However, as he was forced to interact socially more and more, rather then get better, his condition deteriorated. He became paranoid and neurotic, and became unable to sleep ? eventually, his parents had no choice but to pull him out of school. The doctors gave him drugs to help control his situation ? but, as one problem was eliminated, another took its place, and he was eventually taking an array of different pills and injections just to keep him stable. He became desperately depressed by the whole situation, which meant the he taking ? and becoming addicted too ? anti-depressants on top of all his other medication. This addiction would eventually lead him to more illicit drugs ? cocaine, heroin, meth, marijuana, anything to keep him pacified. This went on until he was 18, when there was a disaster. Both his parents died in a car accident. Ry was ruled too unstable to be left on his own, so, before his parents were even in the ground, he was shipped off to a foster home, where he didn?t get anywhere close to the care he needed. His foster parent was abusive, neglectful, and was herself an addict, so Ry didn?t stay there long before running away and becoming a street kid. Without his medication, he became a complete loon, forced to use a remarkable amount of cocaine to keep stable. This went on for about two years before he finally got help, from a man not unlike the one he would become. A social worker at one of the many shelters Ry stayed at finally convinced him to change his ways ? Ry explained his mental problems to the man, and he found himself a new home. The man and Ry became good friends living together ? they got help for Ry, new medications that kept him balanced, and Ry got himself a job working at a shelter. The man was a musician himself, and got Ry a flute, and together they would play in shelters. Ry remembers it as the happiest time in his life. He had so much respect for the man that, after he died ? he was shot by one of the kids he was trying to help ? Ry took after him. Some might call Ry somewhat of a hypocrite. He?s a drug counsellor and works with street kids in his spare time, preaching the dangers of drug addiction and helping people get back on their feet, all while being a serious dependant himself. This is why he is so serious about keeping it a secret, because he feels it would jeopardize his work and the good things he does for the street kids. Ry considers his job as a drug counsellor much more then a profession ? he really is passionate about helping people turn their lives around before it becomes to late. Even off-duty, you can usually find him working at one of the various shelters in and around Toronto, playing the father-figure in the lives of many of the street kids who live there. In any time he has left over, he can be heard busking on the streets near these shelters with a few of his closer musical friends, donating most of the money to charities ? anything left over usually goes to fuelling his habits. [B]Greatest Desire[/B]: To be mentally healthy and free of addictions, and to be a famous musician. [B] Greatest Fear[/B]: Losing his flute, having his past exposed, bees. [/COLOR][/SIZE]

[quote name='Retribution][size=1']Be careful there, Gavin. Interracial marriage was a crime for quite a long time in the United States.[/size][/quote][SIZE=1] [COLOR=Gray] Civil and Criminal law are two different thing. The latter is far less concrete then the former.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Gray]I play a lot of Lacrosse. That should be 'nuff said,' but I'll continue anyway. Lacrosse is a tough sport. Officially, it is played with a birdcage on so you don't bang up you're pretty little face, so fighting isn't that common (plus it carries an instant suspension...). But when we're just screwing around in gym or whatever, things can get pretty entertaining. I've been in one or two, participated in a few others, and watched some great ones. Probably the favourite I was when I was in front of the net with another guy and the ball was shot at the net. I was defending, so when the goalie saved it I dug my elbow into the guys neck and drove him headfirst onto my goalie, which got him a goalie interferance... so he got pissed and cross checked me in the chest, so I slashed him on the ankle, then he popped me in the jaw, and I grabbed him by the collar and kinda pinned his head between mine and my left arm, using my right to drive a few haymakers into the back of his skull... then someone else came flying off the bench and dropkicked me, which caused the teacher to blow the whistle and tell us to settle down. Great game, Lacrosse. Another good one was between a goalie and another kid... the guy was hanging around in front of the net away from the play and slashing the goalie, so the goalie grabbed him by the throat, and the the other guy ripped off his mask and grabbed HIM by the throat, and they started throwing punches, and both benches ran over to try and pull the two guys apart. I ran in and grabbed the guy punching my goalie and lifted him (he was a little 95 pound guy, tough as nails but a lightweight) and pulled him away from the fight so we could get back to the game... he was suspended 12 days for that one. Hilarious stuff. Couple other gems... a friend of mine baseball-slashed a guy across the back a few times, and then the crazy ************ (the guy was a fargin' cokehead for sure) playing goal for the other team runs out of his net all the way across the arena, but is intercepted by another guy on our team, who rips off his mask and tears his shirt while lifting him off the ground, which causes more fighting and cursing and swearing... very good stuff. I didn't get involved in this one because the teacher had told us to stop or we'd get suspended, but it was fun while it lasted.[/COLOR][/SIZE]