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Rumble in the.. retirement home?

Posted 9 June 2002, 6.50 am by Villager

So, The Big Fight Live. What an unsurprising disappointment. After all the media hype, pundit analysis and pay-check figures unprecedented, even I, somebody who never really cared about boxing, thought that perhaps Lewis v Tyson would be a good fight. No question, in his youth Tyson was an animal. Perhaps the old dog could recapture his old form and force boring half-British half-Canadian Lennox Lewis to actually work for his crown and fight. Perhaps common sense that tells us two men nearly in their forties aren't going to produce anything other than a casual fight would be wrong.

Perhaps not. All done and dusted it was a pathetic display. Lewis, the old stalwart, prodded away happily enough at Tyson until his eyes puffed up so much that he couldn't see. Tyson, supposedly a serious challenger for the title of greatest fighter on earth, barely threw a punch. He looked old, tired and quite unlike he knew which sport he was supposed to be participating in. But then, perhaps I'm expecting too much.

I think it was somewhere between Rocky 2 and Rocky 4 that real Boxing didn't feel like it was real anymore. The Glamour, intensity and spark that was present in films like Rocky and indeed in the Yester Years of boxing seems totally absent in Heavyweight boxing. I think it's sad when a fight between two old guys well past their prime is considered the greatest ever occasion in boxing. There are no prominent fighters with real ability anymore. No Cassius Clays, no personalities. Boxing is just another sport where Greed, Media and the good old American Dollar have so diluted any passion so as to make it unrecognisable. Perhaps there is great boxing to be seen; but it's certainly not at the right end of the publicity.

I'm going to live to 87! Yay!

Posted 9 June 2002, 6.32 am by Villager

Ever wondered how long you'll live?
Ever wanted a grossly generalised and inspecific test to tell you?
Ever wanted to know just how grey you will get barring an untimely accident/suicide/murder/terrorist attack?





Then here is the answer that you've been looking for.

What is your porn star name?

Posted 8 June 2002, 6.59 pm by Craig


I'm Paul Foreskin

Visit Site.

How To Get Free Hosting For a Webcomic

Posted 6 June 2002, 7.43 am by The_Roach

This was posted to the news section of the incredibly cool webcomic The Woodwork [/shameless plug], but I thought that it made a good article (and I wanted another opportunity to whore the site) so it is posted here as well. Enjoy. -The Roach

Suck somebody's cock.

I'm serious, I'm starting to think that finding a good, free place on which to host a webcomic is a damn near impossible task. Spooky and I are very blessed to have AKpCEP backing us up the way it is and I know that it wouldn't have happened were it not for some of those cold, lonely nights when Alexander just needed a "friend".

The space we're occupying now is, well, a touch of last resort. It's primarily a financial issue. As much as I've always wanted to do a project like this, I work retail. There's a lot of cost involved in running a good website, between having enough server space allocated, to the ever-present fear of exceeding bandwidth limitations (not that I was too concerned about this but, hey, a guy can dream).

There is a company that does provide free hosting for webcomics. KeenSpot, home of some of the greatest web-based comics in existence, has a service called "KeenSpace" in which people can sign up for a completely free account with unlimited storage. The only catch being that they require you to host banner ads for them. In addition, if your comic attains a high level of popularity, they'll actually pay you for letting them host the content. Good deal, no?

Well, there is one other problem with KeenSpace: Actually getting an account from them. There's a 4-8 week waiting period before you can recieve a response to your application. I filed mine in February, and am still awaiting a reply.

At present, KeenSpace hosts 3201 sites, which is a rather impressive number. Of those sites, 1363 have at least one comic on them. How many of those sites have current content, you ask?

Two. Trust me, I checked.

There are four accounts that I am still uncertain about the progress of, in all fairness. I say uncertain because while the most recent comic (according to Keenspace) was within the months of May or April, Keenspace does not display the year and neither do any of the pages associated with these comics. One had less than twenty strips, the rest less than ten. Granted, it doesn't look like KeenSpace has made any effort to remove accounts that are no longer updating. I'm sure that there are a lot of those 1000+ people who got started on the project and realized they couldn't support it any longer. To these people, I can extend a modicum of understanding, and I sincerely apologize if they should see this rant and become offended. You are not my target audience (not right now, anyway).

At this point, I would like to note that this is not any sort of negative commentary on KeenSpace or KeenSpot. They've made several noble efforts to make comics free for the viewing public. It is only in the last year that they've even offered a pay service with comics that are solely available to it's premium members. In addition, I'm sure that they're far too busy focusing their efforts on keeping the whole thing afloat to concern themselves with another application from another leech who's simply going to waste their valuable time by not making use of their account.

The problem is that most of the people who aren't using their KeenSpace accounts probably didn't even consider any of the above. It's like going to the supermarket and they're giving away free food. If you don't eat it, what's the harm, right? Wrong. Nothing is free, and by taking something that you aren't going to make use of, you deprive somebody else who might actually need it. In addition, it's a fucking insult. Would you throw away the sweater that your aunt sent you for your birthday because you don't need it? Hell no! At the very least, you keep it around for that one occasion you're going to see her and wear it just that once out of consideration. Obviously, there's nearly 2000 people with KeenSpace accounts that don't have an aunt.

Anyway, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the people who are actually making good use of what they've been given. The following are the comics that are currently updating at KeenSpace. Please, take a minute to check them out.

Too Fat to be a Rockstar!
Yvette


Addendum: Since this rant was first written, approximately four weeks prior to the launch of The Woodwork, additional information has surfaced. Firstly, that KeenSpace apparently doesn't list the correct date on a significant portion of it's listings. I apologize for those comics which were overlooked in my previous hunting expedition. If anyone reading this has a KeenSpace account and is currently updating it, please send me an e-mail at thewoodwork@akpcep.com, and you'll get a plug in the news article following my reciept of your (likely angry) message. In order to save one person a few minutes of their time, run your mouse cursor over this link (yes, click it as well):

Stalag '99

Secondly, my account at KeenSpace is apparently open now, as I recieved a note from those guys on the 20th of May. I am, of course, going to politely decline the account so that someone else might be able to make use of it. Still, I felt it was important to note that good things do come to those who wait, and KeenSpace is a very good thing.

If you were a dog..

Posted 4 June 2002, 7.20 pm by Villager

If you were a dog, what would YOU be?




Take the
test.

The Woodwork

Posted 4 June 2002, 2.31 am by The_Roach

Well, after a few months of hyping it up, The Woodwork launches today. Please take a minute and come check out our shiznit here.

Hurt the Bear!!

Posted 2 June 2002, 3.23 pm by Craig


Visit Site.

A Reader Submission

Posted 30 May 2002, 7.00 pm by Alexander

This is another great submission from Alfalfa... Enjoy!

Slowly the door opens, the rustling of grocery bags being adjusted over takes the creaking sound of the door. The sunny glow of mid-afternoon floods in through the opening door. Aurora stumbles through the door, kicking it closed with her right shoe's sole. Two heavy grocery bags filled to the brim reside in each of her arms. In one hand, that is clasped tightly around one of the brown paper bags, her keys are dangling, hung on a makeshift hanger around one finger. Her face is flushed like the color of a pink rose, from the effort of carrying the weighty bags. Her eyes are in a cold hard stare, focusing on something down the hallway into the kitchen.

Her roommates are gone at their classes and the house is empty. As she continues to walk through the hallway she sees more and more of that glaring light that she knows can only be reflected from one thing: metal pots and pans. In an instant her face morphs from a blank nonchalant stare into an angry, stony expression. Her face begins to redden and her breathing quickens until she is out of breath. Her grip on the bag tightens and the normally hidden veins on the back of her hands begin to bulge. She continues to walk slowly down the seemingly never-ending hallway. Her footsteps are even and barely make a noticeable thud on the hardwood floor.

Looking from far away it is difficult to tell that she is upset. Her attitude usually calms the mood and each movement of her body is graceful and slight. She still has her usual calm posture, her back is straight and her movements are slow and deliberate. She does look different; her face is twisting up slowly, like a rag, being dried out, slowly contorting into an unfamiliar position. Her eyes are becoming blood-shot and they are beginning to squint like the sun is shining in her face. Her jaw is dropped slightly as in shock. The spaces between her knuckles are fading into white as her grip tightens on the bags.

As she reaches the end of the hallway her eyes open wide. They guide her into the opening until she suddenly stops. Her blood begins to boil, and her heart races. Her hands begin to shake and are loosing grip of the bags. Her mouth quick shuts pursing her lips together tightly. Her eyes begin to search the room, taking it all in. The kitchen and dining area is a mess. Not one of those small takes-five-minutes-to-pick-up messes, but a devastating wreck. The kitchen looks like a truck just drove through it, spattering food all over the place. The white kitchen cabinets are covered with sauce, noodles, eggs; any food they had in the house remnants could be found in that kitchen. The floor had not only crumbs, but also whole chunks of bread, fruit, even meat that were stuck to the floor they had been there so long. She looked up at the counters, as her anger boiled inside of her. The counters once shined to a glimmering white had now since been destroyed.

The blue green countertop was covered with more than just dishes from the house. It had pots and pans filled with the remainder of the food prepared in them. There was old macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, spaghetti sauce and soup crusted all over the metal pans. There were cracked eggs just left on the counter after use, the remainder of their yolk having long since adhered itself to the counter. Dishes littered the place with leftover food remnants petrified to their surfaces. The glasses and utensils too had just been left carelessly after their use. There was even a glass half full of milk that was beginning to grow green mold from the once white milk. The whole kitchen was filled with oddly placed dirty dishes and left over food. Old worn sandals and socks sat atop the counter next to the plates, waiting to be picked up. The sink had been overflowed with dirty dishes ages ago and what had been put in there was stuck together.

She was shocked by the atrocious conditions her roommates had allowed their home to contain. If she cleaned this up it would be what seemed like the millionth time she had cleaned up after them. She suddenly dropped the grocery bags. The egg carton fell out and the runny yolks began to leak out the holes onto the floor. Canned food rushed out of the bags slamming up against the wooden base of the counter and legs of the table. The orange juice container's lid broke off and the liquid began to spread across the smooth surface.

She threw her keys against the window and rushed over to the sink. She grabbed the dirty plates and threw them up against every wall like Frisbees. She didn't even wait to hear them shatter before throwing more. Each time she threw a plate she threw it with more and more force as the anger welled up inside of her. She slammed them on the ground and kicked around the remains as she rushed to the counter top. She grabbed all of the pots and flings them to her right and left, their liquid spewing out while soaring through the air. Aurora picks up the half full glasses and throws their contents out in a half circle splattering the liquid against the walls and windows. The sound of crashing and shattering glass could be heard so loud like a symphony played on full volume.

Her eyes avert to the table and she sprints over to it. She grabs a vase filled with wilted day old flowers. She grabs the flowers and begins ripping them apart and throwing them down. She stomps on their remains and smashes their vase on the orange juice covered floor. Her eyes wildly search the table for something to destroy. They settle upon a breakfast tray and she slams it against the refrigerator ten feet from her. Aurora continues to recklessly throw every dish in sight. When there are no dishes left, she grabs the two sandals and stiff worn gym socks and begins to shove them down the disposal one and at a time until they are ripped into shreds and have become barely recognizable. She dashes to the counter and swipes all of the old newspapers letters and their phone onto the ground and then flies over to the table. In one clean wipe of her hand she removed every remaining utensil and all of the place mats.

The floor looks like a war zone, her fallen broken groceries are mixed in with old food, shattered glass, newspapers, torn flowers and her keys, covered in a soupy mess where they fell when she threw them. She turns to the refrigerator that sits as shrine filled with pictures, she madly swipes off all of it decorations with blind fury. She then opens it and begins to pull out ever item and throw it and smash it all to bits around the room.

As if on command, Aurora dusts her self off and surveys her work. Her eyes are open in shock as if she cannot believe what she has just done. Looking with this newfound perspective she is able to see a hypocritical situation she never wanted to create. Sighing heavily she turns to walk down the hallway. As she turns the corner she looks back, almost as if she is pausing. She returns through the rubble to find her keys, after having found them coved in shards of class and egg yolk she stops by the sink to rinse them clean. Having cleansed them, she slowly forces her legs and mind to walk herself down the hallway, and out through the front door.

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I truly believe that Vancouver has one of the most beautiful cityscapes. This photo was taken late in the afternoon. The way the sun was hitting the water almost brought me to tears. I think that someone should make this into a postcard that promotes our beautiful city.

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Hmph

80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?

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