Episode 107: Funeral For A Friend

This was the scene this morning. All eight of the remaining with whatever parts that could be salvaged were standing around the site where Hahli was to be laid to rest.

Hahli gave his life in the line of duty. Hahli's last mission was a self-imposed one as he took on that rotten drunk that was living in my home. According to scans of his once-active matrix recording, Hahli saw that Richie was becoming increasingly irate and then decided to remove him from the premesis. When Richie had his attention grabbed by one of the incendiary missiles fired from Hahli's multi-cannon, Richie reached for him and Hahli jumped, activating his wings and taking flight. The flight/dive-assault was short lived and Richie's final, infuriated swing connected with Hahli, sending him crashing into the wall at blinding speed. That is where the recording ended. According to other accounts, Richie attempted to follow up with a stomp until a roaring and enraged Kongu, viciously assaulted his ankle, sending Richie packing ass elsewhere. Hahli's dying wish to Kongu was to have parts salvaged and melded with the rest of the team. Hahli's arm and two legs were irreparably damaged in the assault. As Hahli was salvaged, the honor of Hahli's wings was bestowed upon Kongu for his self-sacrifice and courage in his attempt to save his friend. The other seven contributed to further keeping Richie retreating as Kongu brought the remains of his friend to safety. Hahli, then unable to retain his energy, passed on.

We are all saddened this day to lose such a noble and valiant warrior. May his wings carry us, his targeting system fire true, his blades cut still without mercy, his armor protect us and his legs continue to retain their power. Hahli is one comrade that will be sorely missed amongst this group.

No guns or blades were raised in victory today.

Fly on into the Datastream, Hahli and may flights of electrons wing this weary assassin to his final destination.

Episode 106: The Rise of Deadpool

I've been joining other community forums and such undercover for awhile. It helps to "don a ninja suit" on occasion and just go away from it all. Posting under another name with another group of people for some other purpose kinda takes the pain away of being Lord Genocyde.

Being Lord Genocyde is more painful than you might imagine. For starters, Lord Genocyde was created as a means of amplifying all that is going wrong with the world. If you've checked out the latest Batman movies, you know that Batman was working toward a world that didn't need him. That's been the goal here. You'd think that my own detractors would get that but sadly, most of them wouldn't get a pre-school-level joke if it were explained to them in painstaking detail.

Most people seem to think that, if it weren't for all the things that I'd been talking about on the show prior to our departure from Darkside Radio, I would simply be destroyed from having nothing to do. Actually, that's not true and I've already proven it.

First thing I did when we quit was take some time off. I didn't listen to anything having to deal with our normal show material. I didn't look at anything relating to 9/11, the economy, the joke that is Election '08...none of it. I didn't even look at NIST's report regarding Building 7. Not because it was my time off...but because I think even a fourth-grader could have predicted the outcome of that one (and I think it would have been better if a fourth-grader had written it with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny as having been the cause of the collapse)...and it was my time off. I stayed away from it all. I wanted to see just how well I'd do without having to be Lord Genocyde for about a month.

Know how it felt? Some will speculate that I went nuts. Others will say that I ended up bored. Still more will shout that I had nearly died from some supposed self-infliction.

Nope, it felt pretty damned awesome. No responsibilities, no bullshit, no constantly hearing some maladjusted dickhead screaming shit at me over IMs or MySpace about how I deserve to be locked in some prison Amnesty International doesn't know about because I'm such a "conspiracy theorist." Those people have a lot to fear when they're calling for measures like that, don't they? I wonder what they're so afraid of if I'm so damn wrong?

Digression aside...it felt great. I sat around watching movies from time to time. I surfed the net for porn, went to work out, went to the movies a couple of times, had chinese food one night, drove around listening to Professor Ronald Mallett talk about time travel, reviewed more close combat training material, shouldered a troublesome roomie out of the picture...the works. I had a great time not having to do shit on MY time off.

A world without Lord Genocyde felt awesome to me. Damien just kicked around doing his thing...living about the closest thing to a "normal" life that he had ever hoped to live.

Still, I wish this story had a happy ending that Lord Genocyde was finally laid to rest or went back home and never returned and Damien IMed, emailed and chatted into a virtual sunset.

I wish.

It isn't that I don't enjoy internet radio...I enjoy that immensely. It's like Batman enjoys being able to scare criminals using the suit, the ninja skills, the gadgets, gizmos, the Tumbler, The motorcycle and all that but what he doesn't like...and the part that tears him up is seeing what the victimization is like...what the effect is on the people that he's trying to protect. I enjoy internet radio and talking on the air, presenting the new music, bullshitting with you all but it's the bad news that I have to illustrate and the fact that the effects are being so vastly felt while still being largely denied. That's the part that kills me.

So I put on my own Ninja suit and went skulking around other parts under a name few will know...Deadpool.

No, I didn't choose the name from the Dirty Harry film. It was a comic book character. This character was the definition of human perfection.

He was smart, fast, agile and deadly. He had a host of strange guns and knives that were functional as hell and the best part...you couldn't hurt the guy...he just had no fucking fear whatsoever.

Why? Well, see, Deadpool was a mutant. He had the same mutant ability as Wolverine...he could heal and regenerate. That ability came in pretty handy because he was eaten alive with cancer. No bullshit. This guy was living with the plague of the 21st century on a daily basis...what the hell did he have to fear from anyone else? He was one of the deadliest assassins in the Marvel Universe so when someone absolutely, positively, had to be killed after having one of his smartass lines delivered...accept no substitutes. This guy could kick the shit out of anyone, cracking wiseass jokes the whole time.

The only problem that Marvel faced was that Deadpool was supposed to be a supervillain but the fans responded to him so well that eventually, Marvel had to turn him into the morally ambiguous contract killer-for-hire type mercenary...an anti-hero. What that meant is whether or not he did the right thing was solely dependent on where he was to benefit. That's us, one and all, dear readers. Whether you want to admit it or not, none of us are truly altruistic. We would like to think we are, but we're not.

Based on all of those things, should Deadpool have ever been an actual person, he would have been the illustration of what it is to be perfect in every way. Incidentally, Deadpool's actual name was Wade Wilson and that character will be played by Ryan Reynolds in the upcoming 2009 X-Men Origins: Wolverine movie if I'm not mistaken.

If all of our problems end up becoming solved, that will spell the end of The Genocydal Empyre Omega.

Just don't count Deadpool out.

Episode 105: Passive Dragonslaying

Sometimes, you really don't have to do anything at all but show a little initiative to solve a problem. I had the whole thing planned out in my head. Richie was going to be home, playing videogames as usual, Phoenix would be on one couch watching, I'd come into the living room and join the two and if Deb and Melissa were there, great. If not, no problem because one other thing would be there...my handy little Digital Voice Recorder. He wouldn't be able to lie his way out of the shit he was in with me.

The tension that had been coming about because as each would talk to him one-on-one, he'd go to the next person putting on an act and manipulating the situation. Even Misty identified him as an alcoholic loser sitting in my home. We decided to do what worked temporarily before. Corner him collectively and inundate him. This time, he'd be inundated with very forceful words from me and he'd be given three choices; attempt to "prove" something by trying to fight me, run like hell with his tail between his legs which was the most likely, or clean up his act...not fucking likely.

I'd come in and turn the TV off right in the middle of him playing Resident Evil 4.

"Dude!" he would say, "that was my game!"

"Actually," I'd say, "there's where your problem begins because, first, the console belongs to Deb and Phoenix. The controllers are mine since I bought them and they're on an indefinite loan to Deb and Phoenix who exercise sole authority over them until I step in which I'm doing now and since you're playing on MY fuckin' TV...I'd like to know what you're going to do about it. Nothing...that's what I thought. Sit there, get killed by a zombie and fucking deal with it because I'm here to tell you a few things. First, your life as you know it ends today. Second, you obviously can't control yourself or conduct yourself in a civil manner when you drink so that's out. That bottle of Jagermeister in the freezer now belongs to me for disposal or consumption...entirely at my discretion, of course. Third, you've wasted three weeks of my time so I'm opting to not teach you a fucking thing. You wanna learn about then hand-to-hand stuff? You have a long fucking way to go to change your fucking attitude. Fourth, your attitude is a fucking problem and I don't like it so that's going to change too. Fifth, I don't like the way you treat Melissa...neither does Phoenix and Deb. What this means is continued treatment of her the way you have been is going to cost you some fucking teeth if you don't knock it the fuck off and, as I see it, I have more people backing me while you only continue to back down so that's it. Wanna continue what you're doing? Pack your shit because you won't do it here. Your contribution to this household is nowhere near enough to keep this kind of activity up. Got that? Understand? Good! Then we have an understanding. Breach of that understanding will have you on the business end of three really bad fucking motor scooters who will take that bottle of Jager, drink it and bust it over your melon fucking head, got that? Good...this discussion is over."

Then I'd walk. No chance for him to speak. He'd get both barrels from me and that would be it.

Unfortunately, that never happened...he simply wasn't there.

I decided to do some laundry early and get some shit done waiting for him to show up and show his ass again.

So, I took the laundry to the laundromat and played a game of M.A.C.H. while the clothes were washing. Once that was done, I stuck 'em all into a dryer, pumped a buck and a half into it and kicked the machine on. I went to Dairy Queen to get something to eat, taking the laptop with me.
I Am Damien's Smirking Revenge...

As I was entering I saw this young woman leaving so I pulled the door open. It looked like her hands were full. Much to my surprise but not, Richie followed her, carrying the rest of her bags as she talked to him. My household has been a fucking wreck, he's been lying his ass off to me and everyone else AND he's cheating...I did what I do best...pretended to not notice a fucking thing as he looked surprised and hauled ass while I took in every detail. It's pretty easy to do when you hang around people who are always trying to circumvent rules on a near-daily basis. I've mastered it by now.

I placed my order and took a table, trying to call home. He was supposed to be at his mom's house, not hanging all over some other chick. At that point, I made my decision...he was out. I'd toss in a beating if he didn't just opt to go of his own free will. Not one call I made would get me through to anyone in the house. Something was wrong. I popped out the laptop and, with a little finagling, I jacked the Dairy Queen's wireless connection and signed onto Yahoo, praying to God someone was home and signed in. Melissa was using Deb's screen name.

I Am Damien's Raging Bile Duct...

I filled her in on the whole mess. Needless to say, she tried to convince me to at least hear him out. I informed her that one lie out of his mouth would be replaced by my foot shoved forcefully INTO it.

I ate, stewing, wanting so badly to put my CQC expertise to the test and show my roomies only one point proven...it works and it works everytime. I went back to the laundromat and put my laundry away. Then...it was back home.

I Am Damien's Thumb Over The Red Button...

When I got home, he wasn't there. Phoenix and I talked. We were going to get him to talk. I ended up positively identifying via photos on myspace who it was he was hanging onto at the time. This chick was only sixteen! He's twenty-two going on twelve.

Now...he's fucked.

Once he got in, Phoenix and I exchanged devious grins.

Heads, I win...tails, you lose...outta my way I'm comin through...

"We need to talk," I told him from across the room, "Who's the chiiiiiiiick?" I asked in my best Joker impression. Naturally, he lied and it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from snatching him up by his throat and going Spawn on his dumbass.

"Open eyes don't think twice when we crush...CRUSH! Crush 'em...CRUSH 'EM!"

"We also need to talk about you pushin' my fuckin buttons the other night," I said. He ignored me...that little scrawny fuck who had all kinda liquid courage flowing through his veins was fucking ignoring me! Oh HELL No!

Then, I turned my attention toward Phoenix and wondered aloud if I could still bench as much as I used to as easily...that's a decision I'm regretting now. That led to a discussion and, during that discussion, this little scrawny fuck is trying to get closer and closer to me. Not smart. We all know what it is he's doing. He's trying to get me alone. Not going to happen. Now that everyone is here, I no longer need the goddamned recorder. I have three witnesses.

He wasn't interested in what I had to say then, I have no interest in what he wants to do to resolve the situation now. Phoenix and I grab the weights and haul them outside onto the front porch. I stacked 80 lbs onto the bar for starters. The problem with this bar is that it's not one of those Olympic style bars and that's all it will hold unless you really push it and then, it will only accomodate 90 lbs. I haven't benched in a long time. Most of what I've done is body weight or low weight. As I'm holding one of the 20 lb weights in one hand, he's still up in close proximity of me. I flat out told him to fuck off.

I don't know about you but when someone I've pissed off is holding something that weighs 20 pounds and has the inclination to kick my ass, I don't know that I would be hanging around them much longer.

During my weight session, I suddenly hear Melissa crying in the living room. Richie left because no one will talk to him.

The situation seemed to be resolving itself. Impatient little shit couldn't wait for me to blow off some steam to which he'd been a major contributor. I was about to put him through Msgt. Cross' Boot Camp by blowing that 150 decibel whistle in his face each morning and put him through my workout (15-Minute Hell) and scream Sgt. Hartman lines at him through the entire thing like, "Are you gonna fucking die? DON'T DO THAT! THAT WOULD BREAK MY FUCKING HEART!" and make his life so miserable that he would want to quit. Knowing the kind of person he is, he would. He'd do that to himself. Granted, I haven't done my workouts in awhile but that doesn't mean I don't do them at all. He wouldn't last through one minute in The Bullring with me in the least. He didn't last through a serious discussion...he just left and now, he faces worse than me. He faces a pissed off stepdad and a pissed off mom with thoughts of slow and painful evisceration. Me? I'd have just beaten his ass but these two seek worse than that. Needless to say he's no longer welcome here.

Melissa seems to be doing better today tormenting me again.

Richie walked by the house today while I was on the phone.

He didn't even LOOK at the place.

Situation Normal...All Fucked Up. Mission: Accomplished

Episode 104: SPARTANS!!! PREPARE FOR GLORY!!!

I've never really liked having more than two roomies at a time and preferably unrelated. If it's one thing I truly despise worse than having Milton Berle pick my butt (it's never happened but I figured it was better than most analogies I could think of), it's having family disputes brought into my house. It's only one of a laundry list of complaints with my new roomies. Granted, at times they're fun, fairly easy to talk to and I have no problems leaving the house without worrying if I'm going to come home to some chemical-fueled clusterfuck in my living room.

Over the past several months or so, I've lost access to my favorite sleeping spot...my couch, I've actually been DENIED the privelege of watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force on occasion, I haven't seen my wrestling since that one night of pizza and beer, UFC, Ultimate Fighter, Elite XC? Nope, haven't seen those either and let's not forget the lifeblood of my show....recording. I haven't been able to do that yet either. Why? Imagine hearing something that I recorded with someone in the background incessantly chiming, "Hey D! D! Hey D! D!" I'm not kidding.

There's another complaint I feel the need to file...NOTHING happens when I'm bored off my ass and have absolutely dick to do besides stare for hours at mind-numbing porn and take care of what's becoming a seven-time-per-day-going-for-eight habit. Draw your own conclusions. On the phone, in the middle of a show, recording, writing, name the time, I pretty much have to wait until they're all asleep to get any of this done. It's like somewhere, somehow, they store information to tell me when I'm in the middle of doing something and when I finally put the shit on hold because someone on the other end of the line calls this shit to my attention and then I get, "Oh...I'll tell you later." it makes me thank God that my phone is a Razor in name only or I'd be slicing some throats. What makes it even worse is when they feel they have to apologize the minute you're in the middle of your conversation again.

Oh but that's not all...leave it to me to find the real prize winners. The unmotivated ones...the ones that haven't quite reached past childhood (like the other two weren't big damn clues, right?) and feel that anything goes and they have zero in the way of obligations. Well, I beg to fucking differ. We recently got one dude in who's been bugging the piss out of me to show him what I know about the Post WWII Hand-To-Hand I've been studying for the past two, going on three years now. I kept blowing him off because I felt he had the wrong attitude. Finally, I caved but figured he should have to prove himself. He objected when I decided to conduct it like a class. Yep, he has to read, take notes, consult and then be quizzed. Wrong move #1. Then, he never even cracks the books I put down for him to read. Wrong move #2. Not only that but he simply lacks ANY motivation whatsoever and his attitude just plain sucks. Wrong move #3. I don't think I need to go on but when I see a kid with anger issues, a self-pity complex and then tells his girlfriend that, in the event that his drinking turns him into an asshole (and I guess all the aforementioned hasn't been a clue to him yet), to stop him...that's proof positive that he doesn't even begin to comprehend the seriousness of what he's getting himself into. Last night, he decided to get cute by taking pokes at me. Must have been the Jagermeister writing checks I know his ass can't cash. He actually told me that whenever I feel froggy to jump.

Ok, let's get one thing straight...I never feel froggy. I'm like a fuckin bunny and unless you want Thumper here to lay a bunny-footed smackdown on your stupid ass you just don't fucking say things like that...especially in my lair.

Now, combinations of these things, PLUS the roomies constantly using my computer because theirs has a virus and despite repeated blow-by-blows on how to fix the damn problem...it hasn't been done, I've just retreated into my room. I'm not one for confrontation but with my hip killing me from sitting on the bed and using the laptop all this time, I felt enough was enough...here comes the line in the sand and it's not going to be pleasant.

I think my emergence from my hole was ill-timed. The repeated venomous threats that I threw back with a razor-tongued edge at the roomie who was suddenly full of Jager turned him into a "Dude, I'm sorry I was only joking" kinda guy. Next bottle that surfaces in this house, I'm jacking it...the dude drank nearly all my beer leaving me only two. Normally, I don't get bent outta shape about that but goddammit, stuffing my case with cans of Dr. Pepper is bullshit. I'm going to make him go broke getting off that shit because it's not allowing him to think and he can barely do that independently. He's got a job that's attempting to make him quit, a girlfriend who's having doubts about the relationship and a teacher that refuses to show him any respect (that's me...until he flunks three tests) because he is a fucking idiot.

When he expressed his concern about his own drinking to his girlfriend, I butted in.

"The answer to your problem is simple," I said, "Lay off the fucking sauce and then all you have to worry about is quitting your shitty judgment calls."

Simple enough, right?

"Go on..." he said.

I wanted to plug his throat with that damned bottle of Jager sitting in my freezer. I couldn't believe a solution so simple was actually THIS evasive to this guy. It was pretty simple to me. I guess I'd have to simplify it even further so that the brain dead on life support with only half of a synapse firing could understand. Jesus H. Jumped-Up Christ this kid is fucked.

Last night was my night to finally just take my computer and at least some semblance of normal use of my place back. This last stand is going to be gruesome to say the least.

I guess when having a phone stuck to your ear, headphones on or chronic masturbation isn't a fucking clue that you're not to be disturbed the screams of "CAN'T YOU SEE I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING BEATING YA JERKOFF!" has to suffice. It would just be better if I never had to do that but you know...sometimes, you just gotta rally up the troops and go on a deathmarch.

Rhianna "Disturbia"

Rhianna surprised me with this video. Not only is the video a little atypically goth for a hip hop song but the song itself is atypically industrial/EBM. Plus it takes on this whole fetish theme. Brings me back to the days when Nine Inch Nails was this cool.

Episode 103: It's Just Unwise To Withhold Oxygen Intake At This Point

Rick Rolling...I'm beginning to compile a list of names of users on YouTube that oughtta be strapped down to chairs and have their extremities beaten with sledgehammers. Look, the act of Rick Rolling is simple. First, all you have to do is post something...a cover perhaps. Let's say you wanna nail all those geeks out there (like me...) that wanna see the new leaked trailers for some of the upcoming comic books turned movies. Ok, so you get a little bit of some footage from somewhere ...about five seconds worth and then that's your thumbnail.

Second, you give it a title like Transformers 2 LEAKED TRAILER!!! and then you're all set.

Third, you edit in Rick Astley's video for Never Gonna Give You Up.

Fourth, with editing complete, you post it and watch the havoc begin.

As a user, naturally, you'll click that link to investigate only to find, much to your chagrin, that you've just been Rick Rolled.

After having been Rick Rolled THREE FUCKING TIMES tonight, I'm compiling a hitlist. Pray I don't get someone to make a chair that's portable or you're in deep shit when I find you dickheads. I'm gonna go through my Saw and Hostel movies for ideas now...as far as I'm concerned, laugh it up because it won't last.

Speaking of movies for 2009, it seems most of them are going to be sequels or remakes...no surprise there seeing as how Hollyweird is simply running out of ideas. I could pitch a few but I'm sure that will turn out like one idea I had which I think was pretty cool.

You could get big pharmaceutical companies and even computer companies together. The first ever combination colostomy bag/MP3 Player...The Apple iPood.

See...toldja. Ok, well, fuck you, I think it's cool.

Another thing that many have lodged complaints about is the total lack of 9/11-related material on my show. Before you start asking if I've been bought, let me ask you in response pre-emptively...if that were true...WHAT THE FUCK AM I STILL DOING WORKING?! Ok, with that firmly out of the damn way, we can now move on to some actual news.

Truth be told, I've been waiting. I ask all my listeners to be open-minded and it seemed that shutting down to the No Planes theory would be a bit hypocritical of me. So, I decided I wouldn't do that. I sent out an open invitation to all those who hold that theory to be true several months ago to present me with their findings. I would then take those findings and nitpick through them all. I'd test them. I'd beat the shit out of them and then I'd come back with my own findings and distribute them to all who sent in information.

I've been waiting on these people for several months. Know what I got out of the deal? A good damn reason behind not holding my fucking breath. I didn't get one ounce of information on this from ANYONE. Now that I've officially seen that my generosity has been taken for granted, I'm withdrawing only to NOW suddenly find interested parties. Sorry, all but I'm not waiting any longer on this. You have had a several-month window to win another very vocal convert and you blew it. Go away.

For those who want to whine about it, let me put it to you this way...when I have to have some ne'er-do-well from fucking Backwater, West Virginia hounding me on the goddamn phone with some horrible Tarbash accent telling ME that I'M supposedly talking about this bullshit while waiting on the information (because I have no fucking clue as to what he's talking about) after awhile, my sense of humor about it fucks off and says "Ok, we're done!"

So you've had your seven months or more. Now you don't. I'm not waiting around forever for you to get your shit together.

Finally, just in case you haven't bothered subscribing to the newsletter, we've quit Darkside due to some really huge irritations with scheduling.

It works like this. During our Tuesday slot, there was someone scheduled to be on after us. We didn't know that so we've been planning our shows. Why didn't we know? Because the guy never opened his mouth or added us to Yahoo so that we could properly count down for him. When I say never I mean fucking NEVER added us. That meant I had to cut and run at least a minute early. That's a pain in the fucking ass for someone who doesn't have their shit together. After awhile of this, we threw protocol out the window. We gave him a window, he blew it and we started eating into his time...let him bitch.

Then, it happened again only this time we actually got added and we ended up cancelling the better half of our show to let him on. What happened? No one bothered to train the guy. He DIDN'T know how to work the program, didn't know what he was doing and NEVER took the air. We ended up with wasted time.

We left. It's not Mirage's fault, really. It's more or less that these people don't have any real initiative. Hey, if this thing matters that much to you you'll fucking do something about it, right? Don't expect 'net radio to simply be handed to you. Get in there and fucking do the job.

Needless to say, we bonked out and decided it's time for us all to take some time off...that's exactly what I'm doing...chilling out and relaxing.

When will we be back...Who Knows? We have some leads on some stations. We've made all necessary inquiries now we're just kicking back and waiting on the info to come in. If they don't feel like giving it to us, cool.

In the meantime, I have a few things up my sleeve. I've just been certified to teach Close Quarters Combat. That's the Post-WWII Hand-To-Hand to you and I'm going to use my certification and my minister's credentials to teach a new form of CQC.

I ripped the idea from Fight Club and refined it. I've gotten the idea of self-improvement through self-defense, self-motivation and self-discipline. I'm starting a core group here but this thing will hopefully spread like a damn virus. Right now, Team Havoc only consists of two or three members. We're not looking for people who want to be elite in every aspect of their lives. We're looking for people who ARE elite but need to chip away the rough edges. The self-improvement aspect MUST pervade every aspect of your life. What this means is that in your job and your homelife, you do your best and then a little better with each passing day so that, when things are at their worst, you're at your best. The team aspect comes in when you can use those skills to reach out to your fellow human being. If you can do that and you can inspire them to do the same...you're part of Team Havoc.

Why did I choose the name Team Havoc? Well, quite simply, it's because we don't look at bad situations with a sense of dread and fear. Those things cause you to act in irrational ways. We look upon it with anticipation because we know there are valuable lessons to be learned and, take it from me, adversity truly does introduce you to yourself. If you don't know or like who you are, time to figure it out and adjust accordingly. When things are at their worst, you should be at your best.

Pretty soon (if I can get this boy that moved in with us to get off his rump) the Cry HAVOC! video series will go into full production. That means I'm going to have to whip Phoenix's ass into shape and blow-torch that gut off of him.

Boy do I ever have my work cut out for me.