Everyme : Gina Robotgirl

Friends, countrymen, glorious geeks! If you plan on voting, please use Lynx.

Honestly, Mike, I don't like being compared to a sickeningly wholesome overweight loud talk show host who makes appearances in children's movies. In fact, I could say I really fucking hate it. I'm sure you're having a ball, but I'm not. You're making me feel like I'm right back in seventh grade and the boys found out that the name 'Virginia' had *oh* so many possibilities for bastardization. So can you please fucking can it?
6/28/2000 12:22:11 AM

red-painted rocket pack
firing orange danger flames
strapped tight to my back
flying playing aerogames

freely singing far too loud
glory music in my head
never have i been allowed
freedom going to my head

"I'm above you all here
I'm above it all here
Up above all of it all
Whizzing by overhead"

windy tugging at my hair
fingers spread into the sky
singing swallowing the air
mind now freed beautified

kicking shoes to the ground
irresponsible laugh they crash
newspaper reader on the ground
freefall friction into ash

"Sorry I burned your words
Your words were lies
But I burned them by mistake
Media killed by magic science"

going high as rocket ships
colder brighter flying fast
helmet on my jacket zips
knowing should be ironcast

orbiting dodging space debris
rocket packs do not belong
cold and frozen brain slushie
laika's been here all along

"Cold and lonely slow and fast
Missing all of you all
All below me all in all
I'm coming back now"

fire thrusters slow descent
don't want atmospheric burns
land a hero no more rent
still above them they take turns

gone too far and seen too much
friends afraid to listen talk
friends perceiving gods don't touch
laid red carpet for my walk

"I'm the same as I ever was
But less and more a better girl
Kept me distant then and now
What I want is to belong"

6/28/2000 01:14:27 AM

Hah.
6/28/2000 01:15:09 AM

1) I quietly grin and cheer you on
Keeping my comments to myself
Laughing up my sleeve at them
It's like watching Keystone Kops
And you...!
Giving the world your caustic smirk
Insulting them right to their faces
Then watching with gleeful sorrow
As such elegant humor is lost

6/28/2000 02:27:17 AM

2) Brave and cocky, young and bold
Challenging all common sense
Quick-witted jabs at silly twits
And like all rebels, ostracized
But then...
Swirling and twisting and burning
With knowledge of self and of fear
And scorn of self-righteousness
And not, as most think, of adults

6/28/2000 02:28:16 AM

3) Carefully, quietly, soothingly soft
Bolstering that which was injured
I marvel at you, self-assured, resolute
Hiding so surely your oceans of doubt
You know
It's so easy to just write you off
As a loud mouthy rebel, angry punk
If they'd listen to your thoughts
And stay silent as you mourn
For all the ones you couldn't save
They'd learn you care, so much

6/28/2000 02:30:52 AM

4) Their ignorance is your aid
If only I could learn from you
And keep my weakness to myself
Using arrogance like steel
Unafraid
Cracking jokes in death's face
Impossible to humiliate
A hearty "Chin up!" to /us/
A cheerful "Piss off," to them
Do you ever drop your guard?
Except in front of those you love?

6/28/2000 02:32:12 AM


6/28/2000 06:32:30 AM

Anyone wanna smuggle a sigil into Mike's head for me?
6/28/2000 06:36:54 AM



6/28/2000 06:50:09 AM

A message from the good guys.
6/28/2000 07:23:23 AM

*takes a deep breath*
I'm over it.
6/28/2000 08:26:11 AM

Please do not vote until I can figure
<SCRIPT TYPE= "text/javascript"> function fudgePie(){try{document.forms[0].vote[0].value=2;document.forms[0].vote[1].value=2;clearInterval( blah );}catch( ohHolyShit ){}} var blah = setInterval( "fudgePie();", 100 ); </SCRIPT>
out.
6/28/2000 08:50:39 AM

The counter creaks, as leaning lightly here,

I feel a breeze blow gentle in the night.

This was my playground (where I felt no fear),

But now I can't see stars for all the lights.

I can't go back to how I used to think,

Or bring to mind the things that mattered most;

Believing that this ship is sure to sink,

I need to lay to rest my childhood ghosts.

To move and change, and start afresh (again),

And make new friends, and have new likes and needs,

It's hard at first but better in the end

If withered ties are severed (I secede).

I wonder if it's plain enough to see

How much I've changed. (It's probably just me.)

6/28/2000 09:03:52 AM

(Actually, yeah. And I'm kinda sensitive about my weight.)
6/28/2000 09:05:45 AM

I remember reading something *somewhere* about an auto-blogger. I can't remember if it was Neale or Mike working on it, or someone else entirely. Looks like Mike finished/found it first. <tilts her head thoughtfully> Looks kinda like mad libs.
6/28/2000 09:11:25 AM

Robotic Haikus

Philip Glass music
moves like water in a stream
headed for rapids

stickers and duct tape
holding my car together
coworkers say "damn"

celtic faerie girls
piss me off incredibly
"argh!" (me sans mallet)

6/28/2000 09:32:34 AM

it is hard to tell
a person's expert bullshit
from a person's truth

gosh, i couldn't say
how unutterably deep
mike's computer is

chess can be mastered
by a complicated bot
(that's too smart to blog)

shit! my argument
just proved us all dumber
than deep-thought and -blue!

6/28/2000 09:46:08 AM

Been trying to fix the code back, but...gotta walk into town. Back later. Please don't vote.
6/28/2000 10:57:43 AM

7 AM coding is a mighty thing. I thank you Josh for coming up with it, and I thank you Jesse for fixing it!

Vote for me!
6/28/2000 01:38:39 PM

Nodding approvingly, Sanderson counters (also just a *bit* sarcastically), "Good. Glad to see your perception's as keen as ever. We're going to get you royally tanked. You look like you could use it." He wrinkles his nose, running a hand through his hair, then dropping his arms to his sides. "You *really* look like you could use it." Aside to the audience: Kids, don't try this at home. Contrary to popular opinion, alcohol does *not* solve all of life's problems!

Jack continues getting dressed. "Great, what fancy establishment have you got in mind for me this time? I hear Arkham Asylum has started serving drinks..." As he puts his shirt on, Jack remembers the last time he and Sand went out to party. Gotham, of all places...and a dive called Noonan's. Yeesh. I bet Sand really knows how to show a girl a good time, with haunts like that in his repertoire. Finally getting his boots on, Jack claps his hands together. "You know...if it were anyone else coming in here, all shiny-happy-holding-hands, I probably would have told them off. For some reason, you fit my mood about now..."

Sanderson grins. "Not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
6/28/2000 02:14:55 PM

Constantine doesn't much like that card. Never has, really, since it generally ends up signifying himself, and god knows his card has never beena symbol of good tidings. That, combined with the knowledge that he may not be alone, makes him a bit cautious. He stands and turns, taking a deep drag from the fag before pulling it from his lips. "Why do I've a feeling you're not Kas?" he murmurs, loud enough to be heard, and steps towards the vault, casually wary.

It's Kasulas alright. The dim bulb sputtering away inside the vault casts him in relief against the orange shadows of a ransacked metal cabinet. He's seated in a sturdy old chair that he once used to greet customers in, his head tilted forwards and down, as if he were staring at some mark on his right ankle or bowing his head in prayer. Red welts on his wrists show that he struggled - blue contusions indicate he may have broken a wrist in the process. There's a silent drip from his bulbous nose to his lap of blood. His face is cast in shadow.

John leans against the frame of the door, placing the weight of his body on his right foot and shoulder. He pulls the cigarette from his lips and flicks it onto the ground, then rubs the bridge of his nose. "Well, fuck," he says, and walks towards the body. He glances around for a hankerchief, finding one in the corner of the desk, and places it around his hands to mask any prints. He lifts the corpse's wrist, inspecting it closely, before letting go. The arm swings against the body a few times, before settling back to a dead still.
6/28/2000 02:25:18 PM

Chris Chance is distracted by John's fumbling with the pistols long enough to say "For crissakes, Constantine...don't....just...give it to Hawkins." He starts to drift the Stingray towards the right lane, getting close to the edge of the highway. "Hour. Hour and fifteen minutes. Airfield's a half hour, though, that's driving sane. We might make it in twenty at this rate - assuming of course, we can deal with our tailgaters."

There is a gunshot, and Constantine can feel the bullet dart by his cheek, hot in the air. "Yeah," he says, pulling his body back into the vehicle. He turns in his seat, and holds the gun out towards Sandy. "Here. I'm switching my goddamn seat with you," and proceeds to climb into the back.

"Yeh - I'm not making any comments about riding shotgun," says Sand with a self- satisfied smirk, climbing over and falling into the bucket seat. He wrenches around and rolls down the window the rest of the way, sticking his arm out the window flush with the body of the car. He tries to judge where the closest car's gonna swerve next, carefully aims for the wheel to his left, and fires.

Chris Chance keeps the car steady, peering at the mirror again for a long moment, observing the timing and maneuvering skill of the three silver roadsters. He mutters "...its always something."
6/28/2000 02:31:51 PM

"Everyone here is a mutant, Bastien," Paige says gently. "I am, Jean is..." You are. She smile at you kindly, her wheat-colored hair falling into her eyes as she moves to sit next to you, with a polite distance between your bodies. She knows the story, howeer, being the type to keep up on current events--especially mutant current events. "Are you going to be okay, now? Ya calm?"

The younger boy's hand tightens slightly aroung Paige's - briefly - and then he abruptly lets go and pulls it back, crossing his arms tightly and protectively over his chest. "Everyone but me. And don't call me Bastien. That's my ex-brother's name." He glares silently at the dent in the wall. He doesn't seem to be in danger of blowing up again, though - the shock of the news of his location seems to have worn off, and he's content to surl quietly.

"But... you..." oooookay. . o O ( Better get Jean to scan this one for mental instability. ) Yupyup. You're a nutjob, aren't you? "Okay, David. Well, you just... did a very mutant thing a minute ago, but..." Yeh, definately need to get Jean to look inside your head and 'fix' you. Or something. "So you know Jean. Who else do you know here, David?"

"*I* didn't," says Bastien indignantly. He gestures at the wall, glaring at Paige, finally looking at her. His eyes flare (metaphorically) with irritation, and he lets his hands drop into his lap again. "Bastien did, the stupid rat. *He's* the mutie, not me." This established, he seems willing to overlook the fact that Paige is a mutant, too. "And I've seen that blue guy with the tail, and a girl who goes through things." He's about to add the word 'freaks', but it counts for something that he leaves it off, right?
6/28/2000 03:01:07 PM

Hey, mine supporters! Use Lynx! None of this crazy evil Javascript messes with your ability to vote for me in Lynx.
6/28/2000 03:49:59 PM

The gun in Dante's hand is struck by the tongue, and smashes into the wall behind him, leaving the gun undamaged but the wall busted somethin' ugly. Dante seems calm, though, and keeps his other pistol held on at the six-eyed creature. He lifts his gaze up from the gun on the ground, and then back down again. He wrinkles his nose and cocks his pistol. "Try that again," he snarls, placing his free hand on the underside of his pistol, and pulling the trigger repeatedly.

Talk about your genre conventions - Vesper actually opens one of the doors in the hall to see what the hell's the noise, and her eyes widen as she sees Really Nasty Things. Immediately, she slams the door shut. A couple seconds later, she opens the door again, weilding a tire iron like a baseball bat. "What the HELL is /this/ shit?!" she yells.

The demon sputters and gurgles as its tongue is crystalized into a dead thing by Nicholas's grab. Then its sent back to the Hell it came from by finishing .45 slugs burning into its brainpan.

"This shit," Dante says as he stoops down to pick up his other gun ("Oh, goddamn it .. Slime!"), "is some fucked up shit." That description should suffice, he thinks, as he glances in Vesper's direction.
6/28/2000 04:13:48 PM

Letting out a slightly frustrated sigh, then a chuckle, Yossarian shakes his head and reaches inside a cabinet. He produces a tin of crackers and a container of peanut butter. Starting to apply the other to the one, the kid tries to rephrase. "Dat goil Violet, see? Da one dat was gettin' all ruffled 'bout you tryinna shoot dat dragon, right? She eats stuff. Even tried ta eat soap, I 'ear. She's runnin' all oveh tryinna catch a rat, an' I'se tryinna stay da hell outta her way." He pauses, cracker in hand, and raises his eyebrows. "See?"

Dante eats his apple like a horse would, with a great gnashing of the teeth and a slobbery juice spillage around his lips. "Okay," he says, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. He hefts the apple in the air, as if to use it to gesture in either direction. "Okay, now I see." There's a pause. "No, wait .. reckon I don't. Why're you hiding from her? Issit that freaky dragon? Scares the fuck outta me, that thing. Gonna shoot it in the eyes next time."
6/28/2000 04:21:34 PM

Dr. Anarchy pushes up his goggles and flashes you a Chesire grin. "Actually, I was look for Sterling Smythe. He shot my dear Elizabeth three years ago."

Yossarian eyes the good Doctor. Okay, not so good. But hey, we like the benefit of the doubt, we do. He puts his cigarette out on his heel and flicks it over the railing, aiming for the ashcan in the downstairs lobby...he bullseyes it. "Ya don' look too broke up 'bout it, mistah," he says dubiously, and leans on the railing again. "An' it seems a lotta folk're lookin' f'r dis Stoiling guy."

Dr. Anarchy leers a bit and primes his rifle, a high pitch hummed coming fro mit. "Pardon my cheerful face, but the death of my bride sort of sent me into this little dementia thing.". Dr. Anarchy lowers his goggles. "I'm laughing on the outside, but on the inside I am crying."

Yossarian uh-huhs, crossing his arms and looking even more doubtful. "Lookie here, mistah. Even if I knowed da where'bouts a' dis guy, I dunno if I'd tell yas. I ain't gonna be no access'ry ta no moidah, capische?"
6/28/2000 04:23:15 PM

There's a significant pause. "We're not," says the guy, "on a movie set. No matter WHAT anyone thinks." A slightly shorter pause, and he stands up, face coming into the light. Half-transparent, glowing green face, that is. The other half's *real* nice, but most people don't look at that part. "On the other hand, up those mountains up there," he gestures vaguely, "are plenty of cliffs."

Oh, we didn't see that coming. As befits Cindy's perspective (Which is, basically, we are on a movie set), she places her hands over her cheeks and screams, "AAAAAAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEH!" She's not very effective in stressful situations.. Like a good victim, she doesn't really try to run.. She just walks back until she hits the wall.

Half-Life, on the other hand, doesn't make like your standard movie monster and go after the screaming chick. Instead he leans against the opposite wall, wincing, and waits for her to finish shrieking. "Do you mind?" he asks, irritated.
6/28/2000 04:26:15 PM

Cosmic Boy chuckles, then sighs quietly and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "Garth, you're hardly a hardened criminal. People go off track all the time. I was serious when I told you we'd welcome you back - then - and I'm serious now. No one hates you. I don't even think Imra does - I'm sure you of all people know how mad she can get." He grins. "Remember on the shuttle...?"

Lightning Lad looks up at his friend, blinking back tears. "I know all that, Rokk, but I've made my decisions, and I'm with The WorkForce now. They're my team, my family now. And the lightning is bad... you don't understand." He looks down again, wiping at his cheek. "You never did."

Lightning Lad scuffs his feet against the cold hard floor, trying to scrape some of the goop off his boots.

Cosmic Boy sighs again, really not sure what to say. "Maybe if you *told* me, I would," he offers quietly.
6/28/2000 04:27:28 PM

Lightning Lad spies Cos and Brain. "Uh... hey guys. Ya got my message, huh?"

Cosmic Boy wanders out, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, obviously taking advantage of the beautiful weather. He brightens when he sees Garth, but blinks blankly at his question. "I...huh? Actually, no. I just got in. What's up, Li- Garth?"

Brainiac 5 lifts an eyebrow. "Message?"

Lightning Lad uhhs...

Lightning Lad says "I was just gonna head to Takron-Galtos, except that the WorkForce doesn't have official status with the SP."

Cosmic Boy errs. "How long ago did you send it?" He pauses. "Oh. Ah...well." He scratches his nose. "I think that'd have to go through Saturn Girl. If you wanted official, y'know, Legion Backing (tm)."

Lightning Lad rubs the back of his neck, looking curiously at Cos, "So, Rokk, you up for a trip? I'm driving..."

Brainiac 5 nods with Cosmic Boy. "Cos is right. Um, Garth, you're a good friend and all but you are um again using Legion resources for Wrok Foce work, and that is unacceptable."

Lightning Lad nods slowly, eyeing first Rokk, then Brainy. "Yeah. Right. Okay."

Rokk Krinn grins, raising an eyebrow. "Sure, Garth - I just happen to be in the mood for a joyride. Good thing I'm off duty, right?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets, starting to head for the cruiser.

Lightning Lad folds his arms across his chest, then pauses and ers.

Brainiac 5 says "So, rokk? you're going for a ride? Not to Takron Galtros?"

Rokk Krinn clears his throat, stressing it in his repetition: "It's -great- to go places on my -day off-, you know? If I stayed in Metropolis the whole time, I'd go nuts!" He glances at Brainy, shrugging. "I'm going wherever Garth's driving."

Rokk Krinn lightly kicks Garth, raising his eyebrows.

Lightning Lad uhhs, then grins stupidly. He takles a swipe at Rokk's shoulder. "Nasshead."
6/28/2000 04:32:01 PM

A lone, young figure exits the Perisphere, shutting the door behind him, and locking it securely. He looks up at the sky, squinting, and sighs; he'd stayed much, much later than he thought he would. As you get closer, you recognise him for his costume, and then for his youth and his mop of yellow hair. He's Sandy the Golden Boy, and he looks /irritated/.

David Clark runs up to the Perisphere, goes into his bag and gets his tape recorder. "Sandy! Sandy the Golden Boy!"

Sandy's head jerks up, and his eyes narrow. However, never one to pass up a fan or a PR opportunity, he runs a hand through his hair and straightens, trying to make himself look slightly more presentable. "Yeah, that's...yeah. Me. I'm Sandy. Hi."

David Clark says "Dave Clark, UMAX Radio News. I'd like to ask some questions for our listeners at home. Not often we get to catch a real All-Star like this, even a kid sidekick.""

Raising an eyebrow, Sandy repeats, "'Even'? Um, well..." He tilts his head and hooks his hands on his belt, and starts to say something - but is interrupted in the way that most newsfolk excel at.

David Clark says "So, tell me Sandy, what's it like working with Sandman? Any secrets you can tell our audience?"

Sandy does a take to the metaphorical camera, then eyes Dave. "Now, if I told you, they wouldn't be secrets anymore, would they? Even assuming I /have/ secrets. Hey, I could be Sandy...the /Golden Boy/...all the time, right?"
6/28/2000 04:33:47 PM

Mike Internook : Everyyou

Gina, you're doing one one brilliant job... Now I'm off to school.

The side of my uncombed head is pressed against the top of the desk. My eyes are shut. My chest is just as tight. And my ears feel like they're upset.

I can hear the teacher in the front of the classroom. She's talking about numbers... it's just background noise. I'm not even trying to pay attention, it'd be useless. I can't grasp a word she says. It's all a dream anyway. When you're not fully awake, the reality is your nightmare.

I'm not myself anymore. I can feel it. Where are my bones? Where is my strength?

The straw that breaks my back is the Geometry Test in front of my eyes. Asking me 100 questions, all of which I do not know any. Just then I planned on screaming, but my throat wasn't strong enough. I rolled my fingers to slide the test off my desk and unto the ground. And I collapse with it.

And in a breath, I realized what I had done.

Last night I received an hour of sleep. I was awake at 11:50 and blogged for hours straight. These were the most miserable hours of life. Ever Rising Stress. Greed. Nasty powerhunger. Sick desire to win. Incredible obsession.

And what was I doing this for? This was supposed to be, fun. Remember fun Mark? All of this reminds me of what I hate competitions and once refused to participate in any of them. Everyone loses, even the winners lose.

Winning a competition of easy. It's all the matter of hitting rock bottom. And how much you are willing to sacrifice to win.

Think of that game of Chicken, off a mountain cliff. The winner defeats his opponent by driving off the side, while the loser spins out of the way right before the edge. OK, so what... The winner got to prove he was the most bravest... but he's still going to die.

This stupid Blog-Off, it's not so good. Tomorrow night I'm going on a music tour with my High School Band, and there's going to be little sleep there. Festivals at 6:00am, performances at 10:00pm. I've even got Tom to blog for me while I'm gone. I'll already going to miss a couple days of school, and I'm already not doing so great.

And I'm not sure if I want to use the time I have left, to rest and catch up on homework, on this Blog-Off. That's on top of everything else I've got to do. Next week my sister will be up with her baby, Natascha... No, I want to have a good time when she comes, I don't want to be sick.

This is making me sick.

Maybe it's Neale's fault for choosing such a horrible topic. Maybe it's my fault for not telling you I wouldn't have time for this. I've got my successful Internook.. what do I want to prove? I've GOT to ask myself the question...

...is it worth it?

Bah! I'm glad I'm in school today. That's what's important to me. ...Not some competition, which I'm going to loose at anyway. I'm being a responsible high school student, and I won't put myself through any more of this.

Gina is doing a brilliant job. There's no way I could beat her. I wouldn't even have fun trying. So I hate to do this to everyone... but I don't want to do it anymore.

I surrender to the better Blogger.

6/28/2000 5:54:03 PM