Smudging is fun

Smudgy, smudgy. Yes, I like smudging. It could be said that smudging was the only thing I was any good at in a picture editing tool. Hence my infatuation with the thing. I also like crafting while whistling my carpenter tune but that tends to differ between settings. Today it was the opening song from The Three Amigos. Yes, I was crafting. Me and my brother, Silverhawk, were making finishing touches to the new baby dragon pen in the stables. Why, you doubtlessly wonder, was he whistling the opening song from The Three Amigos whilst constructing a dragon pen? Those two surely don’t mix. Well, I can give you an honest answer to that; I have no idea. It just came to me. Have you ever noticed how songs are sometimes connected to trivial memories or experiences. I am not talking about that special song between lovers or the such. Just simple things. I played Tomb Raider the other day and had started, before I knew it, to sing every song from U2’s Pop. This works the other way as well. Bloodhound Gang remind me of summers of seemingly everlasting sun bearing gently down on hard working and Andrew WK also produces very interesting memories.

Now why on earth was I talking about that? I guess I have been gradually straying from the rant style of web-writing (once again, refusing to admit to blogging) and perhaps thought this would be a dandy time to rant a bit. Like Weebl talks about pie, I can say ‘Ranting is goooood. Want rant now.’ So, after getting to such a thin piece of writing as to rant about ranting I have now run out of ideas. And that is truly a terrible thing. There is no such thing as ‘writer’s block’ but rather a ‘you don’t want to write pure crap, now do you’ kind of thing. I am part of this eccentric group of people who refuse to succumb to pure boredom in writing, whichever the subject may be. For example, just before the Easter vacation a plump lady entered our English class, popped a tape in the VCR and showed us six short sketches most of whom were focused on bullying and how one-chasing (there really isn’t a proper English word for ‘einelti’ that I know of). We were then supposed to write about whatever we wanted related to one or more subjects of these sketches. I, being a complete bastard, of course, wrote about all those whining little gits who practically beg people to mistreat them and shove them around. I didn’t really care what anyone would think of the writer because this was to be turned in anonymously. That lead to harsh, but immensely enjoyable writings and I would have loved to have a copy. But despite the fact the text may have been considered unjust I felt there was some truth to it. Some people really should look at themselves and say: “So what am I going to do about this.” Because there is always some percentage of those who are bullied that are the target because, apparently, they like the attention, they are aliens, they are masochists or something as inane as that. I feel for those who get caught in a situation such as being bullied but could very well do without those who seem to jump into those circumstances.

And that will be all for today.

tack tack

--Drekafluga the ranter.