I'm looking for a place where I can buy old/vintage boomboxes. For some reason I've been obsessed with them lately. I don't know if thrift stores or pawn shops are the best bet. Example: (Invalid img) I live in the LA area if anyone knows specific places. Thanks, PitDwellers
"Right On" Was really awesome, I haven't listened to the whole album yet but "Clothes Tearing Extinction" and "Don't Wake Me Up" were pretty darn good as well. You've got talent. As said before, I say experimenting with different vocal styles and letting more melody develop in some songs, just keep playing them, refining them. The best way to do that is to play live. Take these songs for a turn live, keep an open mind to changes and let your style develop more and more even as you play old material.
You've got talent, it doesn't sound unoriginal, it's got touches of Bomb The Music Industry! which I love and The Strokes with the vocal effect but doesn't sound like either one really, it's a small resemblance. Wow, just listened to "All Of My Friends", good track.
It was a rainy spring day and I was cruising around the internet because I was bored and I ran across old articles about Megan Meier, that teenage girl who killed herself due to myspace bullies. Anyway, I hadn't fapped in a few days and I had some porn up in another tab. I closed the porn after a while but was still had a semi. For some reason when I came (pun not intended) across a photo of Megan Meier's mom I found it just attractive enough and squeezed my weasel to it. Felt terrible afterward, realizing I'd just jerked it to a picture of a mourning mother.
Thanks to everyone who liked it. I'll put up the next part now.
I moved softly and swiftly through the hallways, I’d rid myself of the bulky hazmat suit and was operating on what I’d memorized of the blueprints, another 500 feet and… Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’d gotten careless and moved around that last corner too quickly, they’d seen me, the group of guards in their yellow suits. I hadn’t been able to dive back around the corner quick enough. I was spotted. It was only a matter of time before…
The alarm siren wailed out like someone had plugged a police car into a Marshall MG. Let me tell you a secret, there are three things I hate, smoke alarms, car alarms, and any other thing that makes annoying wailing or beeping sounds, which is why Tom Morello is on my hit list. These guys had made a mistake when they pulled that alarm, a big mistake.
I spun around, put my back to the wall I was hiding behind and ripped three grenades off the front of my vest. One after another I banked the grenades off the opposite wall and down the hall toward the guards. With a series of loud clunks I ricocheted them off the dull steel wall at different heights to blanket the greatest area with the resulting explosions.
I didn’t have to wait long, the concussion of explosion followed by satisfying screams of agony met my ears a few seconds later. Now was the time, hit ‘em while they’re scared. My twin AutoMag .44’s were already in my hands as I leaped out into the hallway, spinning to slam my feet into the wall I’d ricocheted the grenades off a moment before and propel myself down the hall at a sprinter’s pace. One man was on the ground, unmoving, another was screaming, half of his leg gone, his hazmat suit sheeted in blood, a bullet to the skull finished him off.
“Fuck!” I screamed and spun off to my left in the narrow hallway as machinegun fire ripped out from the smoke up ahead, apparently my grenades hadn’t done all the work. I knew there was a large room at the end of this hallway but I didn’t know how many men were in there, I’d only had a chance to glimpse 3 or 4 before I dove back. All that mattered now was that someone was trying to punch my ticket. I opened fire with both guns, letting half a dozen bullets fly at the yellow figure I could hardly make out through the haze and saw it pitch back.
More bullets now, bursts flying down the hallway, tearing into the walls as I dodged and dipped, pushing myself faster. A grenade came skittering down the hall, spinning like a top right for me. I kicked hard, the grenade arced up and away, back towards the room.
The blast sounded somewhere up ahead, I didn’t know how far, my head was down, arms covering it, protecting myself from any spare shrapnel as I plunged onward.
By the time I lifted my head the hallway was coming to an end, thinking fast I slid forward on my knees, gun arms extended and at the ready. I didn’t have time to think of an appropriate curse, there were too many of them. I fired on instinct at the yellow figures scattered across the massive circular room, kicking them down in succession with slugs almost half an inch wide.
My guns clicked on empty with half a dozen left standing. I leapt to my feet, sprinting, diving behind one of the yellow clad corpses as bursts of submachine gun fire splattered all around me, I felt bullets hit me in the back, stopped narrowly by my vest as I finally made it to my goal. I dropped the AutoMags and ripped the .22 from my belt, propped my arms up over the corpse and let loose at the men charging my position, guns firing.
I dropped 3 of them before they closed on me. I was up an instant later, ducking, charging, grabbed the first man my arm, rammed the .22 up under his gas mask, pulled the trigger. The spray of blood still hung in the air as I spun and slammed the next man in the throat with my elbow, he dropped like a newborn baby out a three story window. My pistol was empty, I ripped my knife out of its sheath as the last man finished reloading his submachine gun, racked back the bolt and trained it on me. I clicked down on the button in the handle of the knife and watched the blade flick out and across the 8 foot span between me and my would-be murderer’s throat. Spring loaded knife, Russian made Spetsnaz standard issue, and you know the Russians make good stuff.
I dispatched the man whose esophagus I’d crushed with my elbow by simply snatching up the gun he’d dropped and letting a burst find new residence in his face while he was still writhing on the ground. I cleaned up by retrieving my knife blade and reloading my pistols, keeping the AutoMags in my hand, no telling when whoever heard that alarm would come follow up this little welcome wagon.
I like it. It is, as has been said, a bit corny, a bit cliche at some points. But it's well-written apart from that, methinks.
Also, you should consider posting the whole thing in the Songwriting and Lyrics forum, all sorts of literary works are allowed there if I remember correctly.
Yeah, I have a couple Pit-only jokes in the segments that I was hoping people would catch.
I usually write more serious and stylistically creative things, but I saw Transporter 3 recently and thought writing a cliched action hero would be fun. I wrote some bits for the Dee Pitt story in The Pit a long time back and thought I'd put this in The Pit because it's not writing I'm taking very seriously from a creative standpoint and I remembered how much fun the Dee Pitt stuff was.
I pounded across the catwalk, pushing my feet as fast as they would go. Even if all the scans had shown no surveillance equipment in the storage chamber, probably due to the fumes that would render any electronics useless, there was bound to be someone who’d come along and check on my little dead buddy. Besides, I didn’t really want to stay in a giant room that smelled like someone had left a dead cat in a garbage bag for a week in the sun, then decided to blow it up with homemade fireworks.
“Fuck!” I cursed as I reached the end of the catwalk, the door ahead read “AIRLOCK ENTRANCE” if I was right… Yeah, I was right. Peering through the thick glass window in the heavy metal door into the little room beyond I could see there was no handle on the opposite door, a solid sheet of riveted steel. The airlock had to be operated from the other side, and since the guys hanging out here weren’t likely to pop open the door for an American operative packing more heat than a bulk size tub of Icy Hot I had to come up with an alternative plan.
A few minutes later I was back at the door, running down the catwalk in the torn, bloodstained hazmat suit I’d peeled off the guy whose windpipe I’d decided to remove. Wasn’t easy work, the stiff rubber suit was impossible to move freely in. In addition the guy who had this on before me possessed a massive head and the goggle/gas mask combo kept sliding down my face.
I shoved the mask firmly into place and turned the handle of the airlock. Time for some acting.
“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, smashing the door shut behind me and sprinting to mash down on the red intercom button. “You gotta let me in! Just let me in the fucking place! I’m cut bad! I’m cut fucking bad!” I was really pushing the melodrama, clutching at the torn neck of the hazmat suit and playing it up just in case anyone was watching via security cam.
“Malcolm? Is that you?” a voice crackled back through the intercom just before I started to scream again.
“Just let me in now! Let me in!”
“What happened?” The voice on the other end had picked up in intensity. I decided to stick to my guns. “Let me in! I’m bleeding fucking bad out here!” I pulled back from the intercom, lurched against the wall, letting the strap of the submachine gun I’d picked up drop from my shoulder to the crook of my arm.
I didn’t have to wait long. Instants later I felt air rushing into the little featureless steel room, flooding up from the grates beneath my feet in a cold wind. My eardrums felt like bursting as the pressure in the room curved up at first and then dropped sharply down. I swallowed frantically, felt my ears pop and my hearing return to normal as the pressure equalized. The door at the other end of the chamber swung outward and another figure sporting a yellow hazmat suit identical to mine, yellow with white reinforced rubber boots and gloves, massive goggles and gas mask respirator that completely obscured the man’s face.
“Malcolm!” The figure in the suit rushed into the room.
“Sorry, not the guy you’re looking for.” I straightened up from where I’d slumped against the wall and brought the submachine gun into play. “I’ll send you his way.”
The bullets took the man high in the chest sent him sprawling backwards through the oval porthole doorway. Well that was easy, felt like shopping at Staples.
It's supposed to be corny and kind of a joke on the whole action hero thing. As the story progresses it sort of pokes fun at the genre with gratuitous violence and over the top jokes. I started it as a joke that'd be kind of funny and entertaining for people to read.
I was working on some things and ended up starting this story. If anyone wants to see more I'll post it. I wrote it in small segments so I wouldn't bury people under a wall of text.
You know how in all those TV shows and movies they show the hero climbing through empty metal air ducts to infiltrate the enemy compound? The fact is those ducts are lined with so much old insulation you can get asbestosis just by looking at ‘em. Not to mention the nails and screws sticking in from every angle, attached to brackets and joists, or holding up ceiling tiles beneath, all cleverly hidden under fluffy pink fiberglass snow.
I was in the middle of one of these ducts right now, past the middle, climbing down through the fiberglass, bracing my feet against the sides of the metal duct, working down. I felt a hidden screw slice my palm as I slammed my hand against the side to keep myself from falling the last 30 feet down the duct. I bit back curse words and kept moving down.
Another day, more of the same. Only none of them are the same. You’d think these missions would get easier with experience but what happens when you keep grinding a sharpened blade? You wear it away to nothing, that’s what.
I reached the bottom of the duct, looked past my feet through the aluminum grating, raised my head to plead to the heavens, received a load of fiberglass dust in my eyes for my trouble and looked down again. Twenty feet, that’s how far the drop was from the duct, not a jump I really wanted to make to the cold steel catwalk below.
Then I saw the man below, yellow hazmat suit and mask, holding a submachine gun, patrolling the catwalk. It was as good a chance as any. I crossed my arms over my chest and plunged downward.
The guard never knew what hit him, I know from experience that having a man land on you with twenty feet of momentum behind him isn’t a laughing matter, it’s not easy to laugh with broken ribs. A second later my utility knife had ripped through the yellow rubber of the suit and the man’s throat. No chance to scream, he was done.
Is that what I was smelling in the air? I didn’t like the way the man’s blood had gotten all black and flaky so fast where it’d washed across the yellow hazmat suit either. There was something in the air here, more than just danger, something in the massive metal tanks beneath the catwalk, something that had clung to the thick rubber suit. Good thing I wasn’t planning on having kids anyway.
I had my first day about a year ago, only a month 'till I'm back in class. I met my roommate a couple of weeks beforehand, we hung out and got to know each other before classes started, he's still a good friend of mine.
The first day of class however, the first person I met was one of the bitchiest sorority girls I know, and the second person I met is the guy who I now consider the best friend I've ever had. It was crazy and a little weird doing everything for myself for the first couple days but the people you meet in college become like a second family because you're all going through this growing up stage together. Trust me, the first day is a good time, I have some fun memories of my first classes that I won't get into now.
EDIT: And I went in state technically, my family had just moved to a new state though so it felt like I was going to an out of state school anyway.
there i am, in my room fapping away to ye olde pron. i hear my parents doors open and walking across the hall towards my room. I couldnt possibly stop right there so i knocked it out at a extreme and dangerous rate the fluid flying miles into the air. i closed the laptop quick to make it look turned off leaving only my television still on and the sticky white mess all over me. i quickly pull my covers (of my bed) over my body leaving them sticky and stained. My door opens and the father walks on while i pretend to be asleep. He simply turns off my tv and leaves the room, a win on my part i feel. except for having to clean the crispy and foul covers in the morning.
What the hell is that, an antique Hustler mag? I'm imagining a 12th century tapestry with images of a knight stuffing his goofshooter into some fair maiden's holiest of holies.
Alice In Chains anyone? Jerry Cantrell uses blues inspired riffs and solos (Put You Down) and he uses metal riffs with very blues inspired solos (Dam That River). Jerry Cantrell's solo stuff has some very blues inspired bits as well. I'd say he's a good example of a guitarist who mixes blues and metal/rock, you can say he's not that "metal" because his riffs aren't the heaviest but influences from both genre are in his style and they work very well together. It can be done.
Wow, I'm not the only one with a strange and somewhat unnerving attraction to Flo from the Progressive Insurance commercials. I feel slightly less ashamed of myself. Phoebe from friends is my strange one though, Lisa Kudrow is just cute and I have a thing for really upbeat and funny girls like that.
It's Berkeley, people won't think you're weird. I've been in and around Berkeley a lot (my family lives up near there) and trust me, you won't be the strangest person there because you've got a scooter. I say it's a good idea because not having transporation while you're at college is no fun, I was in that situation last year, which is why I'm getting a car now. Go for it.
God: What if someone said you are an odd duck in a very small pond ? Me: Then they would be talking our of their ass God: They might have other options. Me: Talking out of their dick? God: If you could have any kind of robot what would it be? Me: A sexbot, duh God: Are you talking about an animal, vegetable or mineral? Me: A robot, assclown God: Tell me more about this robot. I'm intrigued. Me: You see, it's a robot...and you **** it
I think as a rhythm guitarist Hetfield is good, not overrated at all, his singing on the other hand... Well it's all really opinion, but personally his singing has always sounded colorless because he has all the range of dry toast. He's really just doing the best he can with what he's got, and on some albums I think it's the production that makes his voice sound more pathetic, but he's still not a great vocalist.
I can't stand Hammet though, his solos are good every so often but when he just cocks around with his wah pedal while playing a completely out of place solo it ruins songs that would otherwise be good. I'm not a Metallica fan, but I have heard a lot of their work, and personally I think if anyone in the band is overrated it's Kirk.
Sounds like a bad situation. My advice: Ask around with your friends and see if anyone knows this guy. Give a description of him and his car and try and find out who he is and if anyone has anything against you that you don't know about. Then work from there.
I thought the book was amazing, the movie...not so much. Kubrick films can be good (Full Metal Jacket) but I really didn't like A Clockwork Orange. Mainly because it didn't have the actual ending of the novel, it only went up to the abridged ending. And I thought the whole message of the story was ruined irreperably without the inclusion of the final chapter, therefore I couldn't stand the movie.
I appreciate the graffiti art, sometimes, but I cannot despise anything more than the gang culture. It does absolutely nothing but instill a sense of insecurity among innocent families, break apart homes, and kill.
You stop appreciating graffiti art when you've been through downtown L.A. and Oakland enough. Everything, and I mean everything is tagged along the interstate through L.A. until you get up to Sunset, the street signs aren't even legible most of the time. Oakland's not quite as bad but some places are pretty nasty, graffiti-wise.
The more you see it the more you realize street gangs don't contribute anything positive at all, not that I'm trying to say you were saying they did, I actually agree with you completely.
Drop C, because the looser strings just make it such a joy to play and you can create amazingly heavy riffs. Hand Of Blood by Bullet For My Valentine is also an extremely fun song to play and it's in Drop C.
Then again, last night I dreamed I was a young Teddy Roosevelt and I had to do a cross-country race in a Model T against several competitors to get my dead Uncle's inheritance money. When I got to the destination I met Keira Knightley in a Seattle's Best coffee shop and talked to her about my hometown in Iowa before giving her my driving scarf
Is that some British thing? I've never heard it before.
I'm not British nor have I ever been to Britain so I doubt it. I heard it from my mother and she's from Texas, so I'm guessing it's a southern word like "tump" or some of the other strange things I hear from her.
I know it's hardly ever used but when it is I just want to slap the person who said it because they sound like a retarded hick from Alabama(Don't know why, Alabama always comes to mind). I believe it's fresh in my mind because Jon Stewart used it on The Daily Show last night.
EDIT: And when people say "pwn" in real life, it sounds like they're saying "pone" and whoever utters a word like that deserves to die a hideous death. I honestly cannot think of anything stupider that could be said than "el-oh-el I poned that noob"
"Hot" girls are generally the kind I get bored with. Other than for purely sexual reasons they don't attract me, and although I may have a thing for them it wears off extremely quickly, they just don't seem to have any depth.
"Cute" girls on the other hand are the kind that I actually consider having real relationships with, unfortunately they're few and far between. Cuteness is sort of subjective, it's a personality thing as well as looks.
He's a great blues guitarist, his first two albums are really good (as someone stated earlier, Lie To Me is a badass album). If you've got the chance to see him and Jeff Beck I say you're one lucky man.
EDIT: Oh, he's not touring with Beck at the moment, re-read the OP. Still, I'd definitley go, I missed the chance to see Lang with Buddy Guy once and I'm still kicking myself for that
No, unlike you I was backing up my opinion with research and knowledge. People on this site say things about respecting other's opinions, the way I see it if it's someone like this that doesn't know anything about the subject they're voicing their "opinion" on they deserve absolutely no respect.
Punk started out as an ideal of individuality and became a scene, an extremely elitist and selective scene. "Punks" try and say it's about individuality but in reality the scene attacks what tries to break out of the accepted norm. Punk is a sham, a farce, and a place for disenfranchised youths to feel like they belong instead of really trying to be themselve or think for themselves, basically the anti-establishment became another establishment.
If you look at it the bands who call themselves "punks" just spew the same crap and the only ones who really say anything profound or worthwhile are the ones who didn't really try to fit into the scene.
I lay blame on the parents. It's their responsibility to teach their kid the right ways to eat and exercise regardless of her genetic makeup/disorders. They need to take an active role in shaping her perception of what is right and what's not, and they need to provide good food and not allow junk food in the house.
I'm glad my parents always stressed healthy eating and exercise to me and my siblings. In my family we had sit-down home cooked dinner with a lot of organic ingredients, and we only had dessert-type foods on the weekends. I literally only have fast food about twice a year (basically when there's absolutely no other choice). I also get a lot of excercise skateboarding, snowboarding, hiking, and doing other sports because my parents were willing to go the extra mile and get us kids involved in those things. It really carries over into your whole life and gets you to go out and do things, (a couple of weeks ago my brother and I climbed to the top of the highest waterfall in the U.S.). So there's goes your stereotype, since I'm pretty sure I eat healthier and stay more active than most europeans.