Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

For Reals

The following video is pretty lame.
I mean, I think it's cool cause I was there and all.
But, what i got on video was just crap.
I'm sorry.

LIKEWHOA


So, I made more attempt at becoming Shawn Hunter this morning.
It's still difficult to see the resemblance, but fun nonetheless.

It's an essay.

I like thinking I'm a good writer. Here's an essay. That i wrote. That has numerous sentences beginning with "and" and "but". But it's just a rough draft. And I don't really care.

Ready, set, go.

Dax Guthrie
2/24/08
Principles of English II, pd. 4
Rough Draft

Lost Vegas

What a stellar idea, “Let’s take a walk down the strip with the ten-year-old Dax behind us and naught but his only slightly older cousins to account for his presence.” Idiots… Of course I blame those ignorant adults for stranding me on the corner of a busy Las Vegas street.
Although, the night had begun with good intentions- and by that I mean: it was a warm summer evening, my sister was getting married in a couple days, and my family was itching to see the Las Vegas sights. And a tour of the strip could have turned out completely harmless, if my relatives could have afforded to leave a bit of their stupidity at home. And I say “relatives” because it was not the fault of any particular group in my family that things went sour, it was a joint effort by cousins, siblings, parents, everyone, to leave me on that corner.
The idiot parade had begun at a slow pace- at some brilliant Las Vegas locations, like the Coke and the M&M factories. We all strolled through these semi-historic monuments and after learning a few colors I never knew existed, we, my family and I, all stopped at a corner store to group up. And while a few of us ventured within to take care of “business”, I stayed out in front. And as I stood there, I sought an outlet for my attention (being the energetic ten-year-old I was), and what I found was a gigantic street map. The thing took up about half of the wall I was facing- and although I didn’t know any of the streets named on it, I was still sufficiently entertained. This street goes to that… this one’s going diagonal…. Boy, that’s a funny name for a street. The noisy road behind me made it difficult to concentrate. They should be done by now, I thought after a second or two. So I turned back around.
A wild gaze took hold of my eyes as I desperately looked: to the ground, they were just standing here, up a little higher, I couldn’t make out any familiar shapes, and down the sidewalk. Nothing. There was no one. Where was I? I sure as heck didn’t know.
I couldn’t figure out whether to run the direction I thought they were going or to stay put. If I had been left behind in a grocery store like countless previous times, I would have chose the former with no debate… but this wasn’t a store, I was in a whole flipping city.
Eventually my scrambled mind led me to a bit of railing that preceded a set of stairs to the sidewalk. I sat there. I couldn’t think, only sit and scan the sea of people for one that belonged to me…
“Excuse me, honey, are you lost?” she asked. This lady and her two daughters were looking right at me. I’m not sure what gave me away; I wasn’t crying, (I couldn’t figure out how to.) But I slowly looked up at her and answered with a nod, afraid of what emotions might escape my mouth if I tried to open it.
The quick, empty consolations that followed were of little help, almost as little the police officer who tried to help the situation. But I can’t say I expected him to do much, because the questions he asked were answered with scared, timid, confused, and hardly-reliable lost-ten-year-old-boy responses. “Well, what’s the name of the hotel you’re staying in then?” the officer had asked. I honestly had no idea… and it was about then that I realized just how stupid, how unprepared, how ignorant I had been this entire time. Two words, “Alexis Parks” could have been my answer if I had made any attempt at being useful, but what the officer got was a slow shake from the helpless cause called Dax.
Although my response was made unnecessary by the fact that my mother and sister came running back to find me that moment, I still remember just how helpless I had been. And how simple it would have been to avoid all the troubles that night. And I think, from all that, I learned a little something about expecting the unexpected, and being prepared for what’s bound to happen when you spend five minutes with your back facing your ready-to-go family. And no, I don’t really blame any of them for losing me in Las Vegas. I actually still think it’s a bit funny and a little ironic… how I got lost looking at a map.



And the reason it has such a crappy ending- I had to learn a life lesson for my narrative.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

I hate charlie.

Number one.
Dax Guthrie
9/4/07
Period 6, American Lit.

A Dog in the Hands of an Angry Master

Much as one would take a football and punt it fifty, nay, seventy and seven yards, so am I ready to do. My foot is cocked back and in it my anger boils with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. Daily I look upon you with unceasing contempt, wishing only to put you through a wall by some means. Or to save myself the repairs, simply punt you to see how far my insatiable anger can drive you.
When the doorbell rings what reason have you to bark at the door? It is simply a door and has done nothing. Yet you insist on crying, whining, barking, yelping, and making all variations of noises like an ugly furry car alarm. And much as a car alarm, all men wish to ignore and to bring to pass the shutting of your gaping face. You are a plight to my ears and the ears of all those in proximity to you.
Says I now, since I am a merciful master, I provide for you a way out; a way to make amends for your hideous crimes and extinguish my loathing for your entire pitiful existence. But mind you it will not be simple, for my anger is like unto a vacuum cleaner. It will sweep across the floor taking and spitting out all manner of dirt and grime. It remains “On” and will continue on its path for eternity. You have little hope of avoiding it, for it continues on perpetually. And if you remain in your current position, you are sure to be sucked up and removed from my presence. Change your position in my eyes. Learn a trick, or learn to be a peaceful, calm, and serene pet. Keep your paws off our table and your eye from my room. So as to avoid the cleaning appliance of my wrath, step off the rug of my hatred. And step onto the tile of my forgiveness, for there I will not vacuum. So I say unto you, shut your horrendous mouth. And cease to make the accursed noises of your decrepit tongue.
For I say declare unto you, meaningless soul, that if you should not mend your ways, and you choose to continue on the path of annoyingness, then a place upon my foot shall surely be your reward. You are in my field now, and you rest upon the tee before the field goal. Step off or you shall sure become the ball in my cruel, relentless game. I will bring upon your backside the wrath of my foot. And you shall feel the flurry of a thousand thundering fists of my fury in your face. So shut your mouth, for by the force of my own hands I will not cause for you to speak any further. I will employ all manner of steel cage and iron bar to make your silence henceforth a surety. So make the choice; shut up, or be made to shut up.

number two.
Dax Guthrie

Once upon a morning early, with my puppy white and curly
Jumping up and barking loud, up and on and ‘round my bed.
With a jump I quickly started, just as soon my bed she parted.
Out my door she swiftly darted, darted else I made her dead.
“Lucky thing for her,” I mumbled, “Parted else I’d make her dead.”
Mother heard not what I said.

Number Three.
Dax Guthrie
10/01/07
American Lit. Pd. 6
Declaration of Independence

When in the course of domestic events, it becomes necessary to dissolve the bonds of servitude that bind a dog to a man, then the reasons for this separation need be declared.
I hold these truths to be self-evident:-- That a man who is born free must, under any circumstance he is under, remain free for all of his days; that his time rightfully belongs to him unless it is his actual consent that devotes his time to another; that when under the command of an unfair canine, a man is entitled to overthrow this dog, or more specifically, over-hand throw this dog in order to retain justice; that peace and quiet can be present in a man’s home when it is his will that predicates the necessity for such; that a man is entitled to clean and tidy living quarters, but should it happen that the cleanliness of his quarters should be sacrificed, it can only happen by his own hand, and any other person or creature involved is directly violating his right.
The history of the present canine is a history of repeated offenses. To prove this, let these facts be considered:
She has refused to submit to my voice, or the voice of any person other than that of my mother, with whom she knows she is in favor.
She has petitioned and employed my mother into binding me into a life of servitude without hope for freedom.
She has made noise of alarm in times when no alarm is present.
She has left the mark of her stench in places which it does not belong, especially inside of the house, and more specifically, on the bed on which I lie to sleep at night.
She has refused to give acknowledgement to her own droppings whether they be indoors or out, and requires, rather, that I should pick them up.
She has conspired to leave the house on multiple occasions without notice and without promise of ever returning, which has directly caused my mother to force me out of the house to search for her.
She has taken for a chew toy the garments of my dresser that I require to wear on a daily basis.
She has, for the cost of her food, done nothing but occasionally project said food back out and usually onto a carpet.
She has, for the cost of her shampooing, done nothing but roll in dirt and grime to develop for herself and the displeasure of those around her a stench so foul, and so powerful it could make a grown man cry.
She has, for the cost of her accommodations, done nothing but cry excessively, and whine noisily, without providing any sense of a point at which she will cease to do so, for she considers anything she has to be insignificant in fulfilling what she believes to be her desire.
In every state of these oppressions I have attempted reasoning with my mother, which has only resulted in the reinstating of the undeniable fact that my mother favors this dog over me; I have employed treats in the attempt to teach my dog more acceptable mannerisms, which has only resulted in the loss of doggie treats; I have tried closing off all ways by which she could possibly attempt to leave my home, which only causes her to try harder to escape; I have tried sealing off the way into my bedroom to keep her away from belongings that I wish to keep clean and in tact, but this has resulted in my mother scrutinizing me and forcefully keeping my bedroom open while I am not here to object. I have tried to be reasonable with this dog; I have offered adoration, care, time, energy, and all manner of things I have to waste, and from it I have gained nothing, and accomplished nothing in subduing the monarchy of this miniature Maltese.
I, therefore, the former primary caretaker, care provider and otherwise servant to this canine, Charlie, the Maltese Poodle, do solemnly publish and declare that I should, and I will, become and stay free of this unforgivable plight that this dog has so far caused to employ me in. I will, by this declaration, call myself now and forever independent of this infuriation in fur that calls itself a dog. And I will endeavor no longer to serve her needs, but to develop more time for personal improvement, and more time for purposes that are necessary for the well being of my body, my mind, and my soul.

Win.


Dax Guthrie

It was a manly evening much like any other, and I spent it accordingly, sprawled out on a cold metal table attempting to install spikes into my skeletal system. The operation was a rousing success and I normally would have celebrated by taking my shirt off and counting my chest hairs, but before I could un-stick the tight shirt from my muscular exterior, I noticed a signal outside my window. It was my friend, sending a smoke signal in Morse code, likely with his bare hands and an open flame. It indicated that after numerous hours of manual labor and vigorous grunting noises he had created a type of couch car. (For the rest of this story, the couch car will be replaced by some more manly… Like a CatMobile.) Well now I, being as manly as I was, literally jumped on the idea of taking this CatMobile out for a masculine drive. Literally.
So I tore down walls to my garage and pulled out my cannon. My pet, trained raptor named Allen heeded my telepathic commands and ripped off my left arm only slightly before forcing me into the cannon using naught but a wad of crumpled up sheet metal. He then turned the cannon to face my friend’s house of manlitude, and used my left arm and some dried volcanic rock to ignite the fuse. This he did by grinding the rock into my arm with such force and speed that it startled Thor, the god of thunder, who then dropped his mighty hammer, creating thirteen-million consecutive lightning strikes right onto my cannon. And within the manly amount of time it takes for flame to travel the fuse, I was hurdling through the sky faster than the speed of speed.
My astounding velocity created an astral portal, which as I passed through granted me a new left arm. This arm was even harier and more muscular than the original. Not to mention it was made entirely of gold. And on the other side of the astral portal, I reentered the atmosphere and found myself at my friend’s doorstep.
I then proceeded to climb the ladder made entirely of burning venomous snakes, which were pythons that were coated with poison and engulfed in flames, all the way up to his massive doorbell. And since brute, man-force was not enough to ring this doorbell; I had to sacrifice several baby animals to extract the melodious chime. And as I was thinking about how I had just used the words melodious and chime together, and about how it had been so manly to do so, my friend answered the door.
In a flash, I had grabbed hold of his esophagus and removed every major organ in his body, including his skin; our usual greeting. I assumed he would have parked the Cat out back and I was right. I decided, as I approached the CatMobile, that I would take it for a spin in the field of razor blades and broken glass found atop a plateau in the Rocky Mountains. So I lifted the three-hundred ton CatMobile and started walking.
As I arrived at my destination of masculine deadliness, I realized I could have just ridden the CatMobile all the way there- but the Cat topped off at 4000 MPH, so it wouldn’t have been nearly as quick. Shaking off this thought, I placed the Cat onto the razor-clad ground and assumed my mount atop it only slightly before I was ambushed by several bears holding sharks.
I had no time to waste; I put the Cat into 5th and tore into the razors with a completely ridiculous amount of speed. The bears reacted swiftly- while half, the cavalry, continued to chase me down, the artillery put down their sharks and picked up rocket launchers. Rocket launchers that shot catapults that were on fire that shot rocks, on fire, which were secretly rocket launchers that shot out laser-sword-guns which were also on fire and constantly exploding.
And as one of these laser-sword-guns made its way towards me, I realized I had no hope of dodging it. I had to jump Cat. But as I attempted to do this, my overly muscular foot got caught in the harness and sent me tumbling to the razor-clad earth below. Upon impact with the ground, I broke more bones than I had in my entire body and was forced through the ground until I suddenly emerged in front of my lair of manliness. By this time, every bone in my body had healed itself, except for those in my new-found left arm. Because it was gold, and not part of my rapidly healing body, I would have to fix this arm myself.
I exacted the surgery with my right hand while using my left to decapitate bears and sharks alike, all the while I was running an Olympic decathlon with my shirt off. At several points during my surgery/decathlon I moved faster than the speed of sound, created a rift in time, and accidentally became the father of every important person in history ever. I say accidentally because it was no doing of my own- as I traveled the rifts in the space time continuum, I was such a manly sight, that anyone who looked at me was already pregnant, even dudes and animals.
But I digress, as my son William Shakespeare would say, “Don’t tell them the woman screamed, bring her on and let her scream.” I never knew what that idiot boy was ever talking about… I swear it’s like he invented a new language. But I digress, I don’t see why the lady would be screaming anyways, unless it’s because I’m so manly. But I digress, I guess the point I’m trying to make is, I’m freaking awesome. And if you don’t think so then you’re freaking R-Tarded. Oh, and by the way, the surgery was a rousing success.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

One

More for today...
Warning: Turn down your sound to prepare yourself for some AWFUL sound quality....
I used some really really nub program to record me playing stepmania and so.... it looks failure-iffic. Just.... look at the me not missing any notes. That's the point of it.