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Oh shit. MAH PANTZ!

MOTHERFUCKERLITMYPANTSONFIRE!



Yea, it sucked. I woke up for the 5th day in a row with the worst cough this side of the goddamn planet. It was slow to start up, but when it did, oh boy, you could hear it a few houses away. And it's still going.
So, I lay in bed, chuckling and coughing to myself at the fact that other people would be going to school. Suckers. And since the exams are over, there's nothing usefull to be done. So apart from the coughing, My situation is fine.

Untill the second alarm goes. My alarm goes at 6:35, playing whatever CD happens to be in my clock/radio at the time. This month it's a Jethro Tull CD, Heavy Horses. It's not a bad wakeup, since it takes about 15 minutes to wake me up, and another 10 to get me motivated enough to turn it off and get up. Before, I had a buzzer, but I just turned that off and went back to sleep. But today, so far, so good.

Then my fathers alarm goes. It's a buzzer, and a shrill reminder that other people exist, and that many of them strive to make my life suck. Fortunately, most of them are not in the house, or they would ridicule me for wearing maroon underwear.
Anyways, when that alarm goes, it sets off a minature adrenaline wakeup, which usually wakes me up fully, If i'm not already, or makes me huddle down and shiver at the prospect of another day. That's what happens today, since I don't have to organise my siser, cause I'm ill. So far, so good.

I start to finish one of the many books I am in possesion of. It's called DarkSong, the second in a trilogy called the LedgendSong. It's a drama/slight romance, not usually my type of book, but it's surprisingly original. It gives me plenty of material to pirate into my own books.
Whoo, the morning is good. By now, Dad's in the shower.

Then at 7: 20, when I am usually getting my act and school stuff together, ANOTHER fraking alarm goes off. It's my mother's, and by extension, my sisters. See, my responsibilities usually include getting my sister up, making sure she puts the right uniform on, and nit-comb her hair, to prevent the bastards from taking the house by storm again. But since I;m ill, my mother does it.

Let me tell you about my mother. Just for the record. Just so you understand. In bullet points.

1: She has ATAXIA, which is a loss of fine motor function.
2: She used to be athletic, and cheerfull, and funny, and ride horses, ect.
3: When I was born, she was still mainly like that.
4: Now, she has frequent bursts of pissed offness, and it always totally unreasonable
5: This is partly due to the stress of not having the life she wished, so in consequence, she becomed a bitch. That drags on untill it has, after 6 or 7 years, an intergral but highly unpleasant part of her personality.
6: She must hate me, it's the only explenation for all the crap she puts me through. I'll whine about that in another post.

Oky Doky, now that you've read that, you might understand why it's a little annoying for everyone for her to do an incredibly simple task of getting an 8 year old ready for school in under an hour.
She wakes up, turns the alarm off, sometimes fiddles with the clock and changes it, screwing it up, complaining about it.
There is a door to her room. It bangs against her bedside table everytime she goes past, because she has to lean on it.
She uses my bathroom, (or the kids bathroom, me and my sister) despite having an ensuite, and somehow (not sure how, female urination is still largely a mystery to me, and I'm glad it is) sprays on the seat and refuses to wipe and blames it on me.

She wakes Isis up by cooing at her, and baby-talking to her about her being a 'little frauder' and how she needs to get up. This takes almost 15 minutes. Note: I can get her up by pulling the blankets back or by telling her tu get up in about 10 seconds.

Then she gets pisses off, and starts ordering Isis about. (Yes, my sister is called Isis) She yells at her and directs her to everything, despite the fact that she is 8. Hell, I was dressing myself by 4, and so was Isis when mother was not around, so it's not necesary.

Then she proceeds to yell all the way out the door and to school.

But when she and Dad have left for the office, my life is once again back on track, and i make my way to the kitchen for a sammich. OhmgtehkitchenisBAD!
The stove is caked it food debri, last nights stuff is all out, there's a garbage bin bag on the froor, half full of rubish, while the pedal bin overflows. The fridge is almost empty, the hams is out of date, the only lettuce we have is going brown (WTF?) and the margarine is ALL VIRGIN OIL CRAP!

But I perservere, and make myself a sammich, scraping the tiny bit's of mou;d off the bread that;s been left out for a week to long. Toast is out, since noone ever cleans the old toaster, it's covered in crap too. So is the bench. My Dear Mother has the ability to break everything, so nothing is clean since the dishwasher is fucked and she refuses to let anyone including herself wash up.

I make myself some tea (with sugar, I need it, I'm already feeling the pressure) and my sammich.

Now, tu dissuade you from the notion that we are poor:

I go to the best Non-Private school in the state and since we are not residents, we have to pay shitloads. (more about our 7 year delayed residency in the next chapter of my life)

I sit down with my tea in front of my 27 inch screen, with my wacom tablet and laser mouse (laser mouse sucks). We are not short on technology on my house. 42 inch TV (used for PS3), 2 more screens at 27 inches, 1 state of the art game and work computer, (Dads) and another old computer with a ball mouse anda 10 inch screen. (My sisters and mothers).

So, I take a bite of my sammich, and it is by the holy mother of god the morst sammich I HAVE EVER TASTED, and I've had some pretty crap stuff, and been to Vietnams, where NOTHING goes in a sandwich, and this is the worst.

My tea is fine though.

Then mother gets back and my life goes downhill as she blames me for everything, tries to sew and has me help her every fucking step of the way, and bitch at me some more, like it's my fault she has all the hand controll of a retarded crab on crack.

So then I go back and lie on by bed, (Queen size, takes up 1/2 of my room, it's awesome) and then realise I have to do my washing and ironing. Aww, fuck. And Being ill is supposed to be a skive, like compensation for having a fucked stomach or some shit like that.

But on the plus side, I only have to endure this for another.... 3 and 1/2 hours, then my mother leaves to collect my sister from school.

thanks for listening/reading/tolerating me for this long.



Only double sexings, no triple hump today, fine folks.

Yet more animal humpings, it seems to be a trend.



Yay for the deer humpingz!

Yea, all 3 of them. I'm starting an animal hump commection for shits and giggles.

Damn, what a cool hexpression. SHITS AND GIGGLES!!!

So fucking long without making a post. Probably a good thing.


Happy Pandas

2008-07-22 03:17:00 by TheRealGreenEagle
Updated

Indeed.

Happy Pandas



Quite frankly, NG is a host to some unrelenting asswipes, me occasionaly being one of them.
But I still have some crap coming up, and its all really hazy. I have about 10 different active projects, 20 ideas, 7 stories, and on top of that, Home Freaking Work. So, nothing soon, nothing far. And I'm still clinically insane, and I still hate most of the people I see.

Bugger Off.

I'm still hanging around, after all this time,


Updating Again

2008-02-14 04:47:20 by TheRealGreenEagle
Updated

Good news, the Paranormal characters are finished. I am getting to work on the animation and the Konusites. And finding the script. Again. I keep losing it.

It's going to take a while, and I'm going to be pretty incomunicando for the next few days due to H/W. But hey, this school years good so far, and I've got a good Math teacher, so I'm not complaining.

Valentines was really normal. No valentines. At all. And as usual, I don't give donkey balls. It's novel to sit around watching people spend money and mope around while I sit there, living my life away. Heh heh, suckers.

YAY!

<Insert Signature Here> (Yea, I have a signature).

Updating Again


Inverse Reality

2007-09-07 00:07:20 by TheRealGreenEagle
Updated

Yo all. I've got a new comic upcoming: Inverse Reality. Its really random. Here, read this:

In a world of crazy, in a world of inversity, in a world of oddities, we live. But no-one ever seems to realize that pigs do fly, and also walk on ceilings. No-one realizes that the odd little things we see are actually the product of larger oddities, which in turn are also products of larger oddities, and so forth. And It's a good thing too. But one man stumbles across the truth, in the most bizarre way.
(Really, this is all a pile of garbage. Go read the freakin' comic!)

Images will be uploaded onto Imageshack.

UPDATE
Hey. I've got two character profiles for the characters that are in the first few strips. [Note: This comic has a fixation on pigs, dont know why.]

Jay
Jay is a freewheeling sorta' guy with a lot of guts and slightly less brain than your average hobo. He has a tendency to ignore the obvious. He has a fetish for dark khaki and his lucky numbers are 13 and 31. He has few friends, and is mostly a loner, and dislikes his apartment being invaded by anti-matter beings who turn his favorite cat into a ceiling-walking pig, and so forth.

Oo-Ahr
Oo-Ahr is a mysterious salesman that appears whenever there is an item to be flogged at rock bottom price. (The money goes to his piggy!) Only ever saying one word (or two, whichever way you look at compound words), he makes his way into Jays life and screws it up totally. Has a 'magnetic' attraction to hats that bend the laws of physics. His current one looks the same from every angle, no matter how tilted it is.

Okay... Comic Incoming in 4... 3... 2.... 1.... HERE it is !
Aw, FUCK! Gimmie a minute!
Ah, Here we go!

Strip One: Lack of Communication
Commentary: Although this one is a blatant copy-paste, the following ones will be less so. Hope u like!

NEWS! Comic development in halt due to computer problems!
NEWS! Comic development in halt due to a cunty computer!
NEWS! Comic development in halt due to a lazy arse!

Inverse Reality


Assasins Truth (A story)

2007-08-30 02:11:25 by TheRealGreenEagle
Updated

Hi. Apparently I cant post this on the BBS, so im gonna post it here. (each time i post an addition to a chapter, it will be noted in bold until the next update. K?

Chapter One: Black Moon

As the moon rises over the town of Sha-Blaman, the curfew guards emerge to patrol the winding streets, with orders to kill. But no sentry has ever caught me, and none ever will. I crouch on the corner of the roof of an old, hopefully abandoned house, silent. Then I leap into action, darting over an old washing line. I leap over the gab between two houses, five stories up. I am heading in one direction; toward the Palace of Hope, where the new-fangled mages work to outwork their older cousins, the wizards.

The man I am after is the head, a good man. But that is of no concern to me. One face is as like as another, peasant and prince, hobo or governor. I do what needs doing. No, i do what people want done.

As I near the Palace walls, I see the sentries posted on nearby roofs, prepared for this exact type of intrusion. But I too, am prepared. I drop down into a window, and slip inside. I cross the apartment, and go out the other side. I repeat this with no contacts, and find myself not two meters away from the plain, smooth walls. I quickly check to see if there is a sentry above. Nope. Then i steel myself, and drop away from the window.

As I Plummet towards the ground, my wrist snaps outwards, triggering the propelled grapple in my sleeve. It unfolds, and embeds itself in the stone wall, noisily. Luckily, the sentries are used to noises. As i swoop in an arc, i see, for the briefest of seconds, a glittering wall of pure magic below, charged to kill, and my reason for entering from above. Smart the mages may be, but they are not clever.

I drop the coiled steel wire rope, and land softly and precisely in front of the wall. I am safe here, since the outer guard look outwards, and the sentries on the wall do not look straight down the wall while they patrol, for obvious reasons. But there is no time to rest. The moonlight shines almost teasingly on the gate, the only way in. But once again, I am prepared. I sidle along the wall, and stop, almost a meter from the gate. I pull out an ornamental amulet, stolen from a mage, and slide my other hand down the wall until i find it. A smooth, slightly dented patch of stone, which on close observation was a slightly lighter shade of beige than the rest of the wall. Only pausing to shudder at the mages plain colour tastes, I slide the amulet into the patch.

The gate rumbles, and slides open. Two guards, dressed in blue and silver march out and glare into the darkness. Seeing no-one, they look to the side. But up I go, jumping off the wall. I land on the first guards neck, snapping it, and before he hits the ground, my sword whispers out of its sheath and slices the other guards throat, then returns. I catch him, and drag him and his companion into the shadows beside the gate. Before going, I cut a hand from one of the guards, and wrap the wrist in bandage to stem the bleeding. A blood trail leading from the gate to my position would give the game away.

Then I head down the path towards the main gate, the only way into the Palace. There are no patrols in the grounds, for mages often bring their more 'experimental' concoctions and spells down here, as so not to damage their rooms. That is the mages one main flaw: They are too image-centered. They would rather buy a new Glakinan Plush Rug than invent a new spell. It's a pity that the world of magic has come to this.

As I reach the gate, the two guards lower their spears threateningly.
"Halt! Who be you?"
Only hesitating to mentally sigh at the old fashioned regulations (made to look good) I reply:
"Who are you to question me? Let me pass this instant!"
As I say this, I flash my amulet at them. They look uncertain. I am relying on my authority and amulet to get me through this, but if it fails, many more people are going to have to die. And unnecessary deaths lowers the pay rate, unless it was a well done death.
"You're not going anywhere."
I sigh, and I stow the amulet and let my hand drop to my knives, hidden in my stomach pouch.
"Actually, you'd be surprised where I'm going..."

In a flash, I launch myself forward, and my knives flash once, twice, thrice, and two guards fall to the bloodstained paving, dead before they hit the ground. But there was no time to relish in victory, for two strong reasons.
One, the job has to be done. And
two: A figure is dropping straight down towards me.
I have no time to react. It's all over in a second.

My sword does what my knives cannot. It swings out of its scabbard, and twists. Unburdened by hands, it both knocks the would-be killer aside and slices them in half in the space of a second. It then returns, managing to give of a faint air of smugness. I murmur thanks to my sword, and step forward, towards the gate. It swings open easily and noiselessly. I pass through, thanking the gods that I had stumbled upon this sword years earlier.

I enter a gleaming hall of blue Azarite, decorated with an abundance of shimmery blue and green hangings, each depicting a different sect of magic. The floor is carpeted in silky white plush, and smells faintly of smugness.
At the far end of the hall is a huge podium, crafted out of wood, varnished and polished so much that it shines, even with the dim light of the few candles that remain lit. I stroll up to the podium and place the severed guards hand on the wall directly behind it. A section of the wall about a foot away slides open. And my target steps out.

A tall man, with an imposing form and neatly pressed purple robes. Bald, like most mages, and haughty. Thinking fast, I leap up, and land behind him, silently. The door hisses shut, and almost traps my foot. Mentaly cursing my clumsiness, I expect my sword to draw and kill, but it does not.

I curse again, in my head. As the mage walks steadily towards the door at the other side of the hall, my sword unsheathes itself and hurls itself at the mages head. But as soon as it gets within a metre of him, it stops dead in its flight and falls to the carpet, making a muffled 'thwump' echo round the cavernous hall.

The mage chuckles, and says
"Well well well. a clever little assassin with his clever little magical sword. How.. cute."
And with that, he pivoted and even from the considerable distance he was at, crashed a fist into my stomach, and reeled back, clutching his fist.

It's a little known fact that assassins feed on special nutrient pellets that seep directly into our systems, negating the need for most of the lower internal organs, which are removed and replaced with a metal covered 'stomach pouch', ridding the need for unwieldy backpacks. And when they are enlarged internally with magic, they are an invaluable aid.