What Have You Done To His Eyes, You Maniacs?!?

Posted by E

Thursday, December 20, 2007

I went out and got myself a nice upgrade yesterday. Gone are the days of grainy, blurred images obscuring my objectives. Everything looks gorgeous now, with full anti-aliasing, anistropic filtering, bump mapping, and all sorts of amazing visual doo-dads leaping out at me. I have moved from the world of bland and muddy textures running in low resolution to the astounding clarity of full HD. What exactly was this upgrade? Did I invest in an 8800 GTX? Nope, already got one. ;) Was it a new monitor? Sorry, not even close. I finally went out and invested in a nice pair of glasses. And let me tell you, this world doesn't look anything like I've been imagining it all these years.

Sometimes we just have to face the facts and acknowledge certain things about ourselves. I finally came to grips in the last year with the fact that I am not a 7 foot tall ripped and muscular sex machine. In reality, I'm only 6'1". And although that ONE trait prevents me from being a paragon of human perfection, these features are only skin deep. (Except my toned and ripped abs. Those are muscle deep.)

But of the attributes that go beyond merely the physical, my eyesight is the one causing me the most distress of late. About a month ago I put out a moratorium on passengers in my car after dark. I felt I could no longer vouch for the safety of anybody in the vehicle beyond myself. If I go careening off the road and slide into a busload of handicapped children, I'm gonna be really embarassed if one of my friends is there to see it.

So, in the interest of NOT being made a fool of by the court system, I decided to go ahead and get my eyes checked. Much as I suspected, my eyesight was slightly less than perfect, in the same sense that Rhode Island is slightly smaller than Jupiter. So, after taking all of their fun tests and trying out a few frames, I settled on a pair that I liked and ordered away.

Yesterday I received the call that they were ready and I rushed from my office to pick them up. Well, rushed in the sense that I sat in 11 miles of traffic for an hour, as this IS Atlanta at Christmas time. After picking them up I headed outside to face life with halfway decent eyes for the first time in who knows how long.

And I have to admit, I giggled like a schoolgirl doing whip-its. I spent the next 20 minutes in traffic flipping my glasses up and down to compare life with and without them. The difference is quite astounding, really.

My favorite moment was noticing that a car in front of me had a 3 foot wide sign in their back windshield....but only if I had my magic glasses on. Without them, it was just a normal pane. With them, a white and blue sign said "BROOKLYN". And just like any other green blooded reptiloid, I took note of that location for "future reference".

If you have been reading all of this expecting some amazing insight or witty rejoinder, you're out of luck. I have no philosophical diatribes to launch into. I will not begin with the, "I never saw the inhumanity of man until I SAW humanity" type crap. The tale is fairly simple. I couldn't see. I got glasses. I can see now.

And yes, now that I can see, it will be WAY MORE FUN to slide into busloads of handicapped children. At petting zoos. Feeding the elderly. I'll take my camera, I swear.

As with everything I post around here, you've just been tricked into reading my verbal masturbation just long enough for me to grab your wallet. I'm heading for Mexico. Peace out, y'all.

All I See is Pornograffiti, All I Hear is Pornograffiti

Posted by E

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Like many others here at Bonez, I pride myself in striving to put forward the very best original content I can muster. Whether this endeavour is successful is ultimately a subjective decision. I'd like to think that at least one or two of my missives offered a minor amount of mild entertainment to somebody, though I'm sure at least one of my works has caused someone to spontaneously claw their own eyes out while screaming for me to get out of their head.

All that being as it may, I cannot help but notice a fact, of late, that I've discovered to be a tad disheartening. As you may or may not have noticed, over there on the right panel doo-dad, we maintain a list of the "Bonez Top Hits". Like anybody else that posts here, I strive to make my material of a quality that attracts an audience and a few hits. Truth be told, I've managed one or two posts that seem to find their way onto (and back off of) that list regularly. But there is a darker side to that list, and it is a trend I've seen plastered across these multiwebs in various manners. I've tried to stay silent on the topic for ages, but the time at last has come for me to speak.

Take, for example, the Bonez Top Hit List of the last 24 hours. At the time of this writing, here are the top 10 entries. Let's see if anybody can spot the trend:

1) Orangina and Kyla Ebbert Exposed
2) Beauty and the Breast
3) Interwebs Porn Wins Over Iran Nukes
4) Female Porn
5) Japan's Tiny Butts No Contest For World's Best Bottom
6) NSFW Video of Hot Cam Babe Stripping
7) Flexible Women and UFO's
8) HOOPZ is Sexy Latin Dance Video
9) Free Viagra Robot Sex Cow Molesting Aliens
10) JK Rowling's Boobs Make Personal Appearance

Did you spot it? Don't be upset, it's easy to miss.

Now, please don't take this as an indictment of my fellow Bonez crewmembers. I am not denigrating their work or contributions, nor am I implying anything. It's just hard to deny what the big draw is here.

Let's go for another example. I'm going to give you two possible titles for this entry. I want you to select the one that will get me more hits:

1) A Personal Diatribe on the Overabundance of Sexual Material Apparent in Internet Trends and a Discussion for Methods of Reversing Them

2) Totally Naked and Hot Brazillian Chicks Doing Dirty and Naughty NSFW Things in Schoolgirl Skirts

Again, who do you think the winner would be here? I'm gonna have to go with number 2, though stranger things have happened, I suppose.

As I stated before, this isn't a Bonez related trend. This can be seen across all of the intarwebs. Let's look at the trends on Wikipedia...

Number 4 - List of Big Busted Models and Performers
Number 6 - List of Sex Positions
Number 10 - List of Female Porn Stars

Need I point out that Wikipedia is a fucking ENCYCLOPEDIA? Yeah, I think I'll go spank it to Britannica, back in a few. Usually when I'M hitting Wiki, it's to, I don't know, LEARN something? I like to feel like I leave the encyclopedia a little fuller than when I arrived and not emptier. [wink, wink, nudge, nudge]

Seriously, folks, there are a great many people out here who are trying to offer content. Substance, if you will. It can be a bit annoying to put forward your best effort (good or bad as it is) knowing that you'll automatically lose out to the SAME SHIT YOU SEE EVERYWHERE ELSE. It's not really hard to find porn on the net. It's kind of like trying to find grass in a field.

I've discussed this dilemma with Bonez himself on many occassions, as I refuse to stoop myself to writing about any of the following: breasts, boobs, milkbags, jugs, tits, winkle, vibraphone, booblies, perky erect nipples, hot and ready women, and/or Edison wax cylinders. I just can't bring myself to do it.

Does this make me an elitist? I guess it's how you want to look at it. I just consider it having some boundaries. I'm not offended by it, I'm not upset by it, it just seems like it's all kind of been said. I'm not certain what position, perversion, or fetish hasn't been written about by now.

For the record, said perversion would be photopyrobestialpedonecrophilia, which you now know is the act of achieving sexual gratification by having photos taken of oneself having sex with flaming dead baby animals.

Dead animals? You disgust me. You sick, sick pervert.

Tune in Again Tomorrow, Same Bat-Time, Same Bat-Channel

Posted by E

Monday, December 17, 2007

It always begins the same way... I walk into the backyard of the nameless man, who then greets me and leads me to a fenced in area. The man is dressed in a dingy safari style outfit, complete with pith helmet. It's apparent that I know this man and have known him for some time. In the middle of his yard is the fenced in section that is filled with a loose dirt. When I first came across him, there was nothing but the mound of dirt. With each subsequent visit human bones have begun to pile up. At first just a skull, but by now there is a pile a good two feet thick. He always seeks to entice me into the fenced in area. At first I had no reservations about this. It's always been apparent that I knew what he was doing with the bodies, and until recently he seemed to accept that I wouldn't say anything. But a hint of malice is now starting to cross over him on my visits, and I am becoming more and more wary of entering that area. I was further upset last night by him mentioning the need to dig a mass grave to "get rid of some of his problems". What am I supposed to do? Should I join him in the fenced in area? Am I one of the "problems" or am I part of the solution?

You're probably reading all that wondering what the hell I'm on about. Everything mentioned previously is part of an ongoing dream I've been experiencing. Dreaming for me has always been a strange phenomenon. I rarely have just a regular one-off dream that comes and goes over the course of an evening. When I dream, it tends to be a serialized affair. I will have the same dream every night for a month or two. For the first couple of weeks they will progress a little bit further until I reach a point where I am presented with a challenge. My goal is to determine the correct approach to that challenge. Upon determining the correct answer, I always get two things:

A) Some insight into my psyche that allows me to understand what it is the dream is telling me about my life
B) The dream will go away and I will never have it again.

Sometimes the dreams will go away for months at a time. Once they return, I will have them almost every night. Every dream brings a different feeling. This particular dream started out just fine. Oddly enough, I was never put off by the grave or the bones. But the comment the man made last night shot me awake and sent a cold chill through my blood.

As a good example, let me mention my favorite of these dreams. I had this particular dream recurrently around the age of 21. Even though the content seems grim, I never had an ill feeling in it. I was always calm and at ease.

I was walking down the street and would be approached by a man wearing a white suit. He would always look at me and offer enlightenment, if I would but follow him. Every night I would follow and we'd end up at his house. Inside this house was a small room, perhaps 10'x10'. The floor was covered in pools of coagulated blood. Set around this room was a series of shelves, each covered in human heads. Around this time I would turn and face the man in the suit, who was now brandishing a sword.

"The path to enlightenment lies in the destruction of the self. Do you understand?" he would ask me every night.

The answer was ultimately to nod and bow forward, exposing my neck to him. He swung and my head fell. I watched through my own eyes as it dropped, hit the floor and bounced.

As always, I received my insight upon recognizing the question. At 21, I was still pretty freshly out of my teenage years, and I hadn't always been the best person up to that point. I was a manipulator and ultimately untrustworthy. My dream awakened in me the insight that to blossom as an adult I needed to do away with the negative portions of who I was and metamorphose into what I have since become. After some self-imposed exile and a LOT of reading I came to complete grips with what it was telling me.

Ultimately, it was a very eye-opening and positive experience. It almost always is. Though the insights are not always so profound, they do help me sort out my personal issues. They are simply the manifestation of whatever turmoil is rattling inside my head, be it unseen, ignored or otherwise unnoticed.

I have yet to meet anybody else who dreams in this manner. They're not recurrent insomuch as they do tend to change over the first week or two. Once they've provided me with the choice, they are unchanging until solved. They are both exciting and terrifying, and the current one fills me with enough dread that I don't wish to have it again, though I know that ultimately what it's trying to tell me is a good thing.

But fact is fact, and last night's statement of the graves had a pretty profound impact on me. If you've ever seen the episode of The Twilight Zone called "Twenty-Two", then you'll have an understanding of how I felt. It was the same as the woman emerging from the morgue saying, "Room for one more". [shudders]

A Christmas Memory

Posted by E

Sunday, December 16, 2007

I guess now is as good a time as any for a little literary thievery. Yes, that's right, I'm stealing the title for this missive, so my apologies in advance to Mr. Twain. I know that you're probably aghast by this point. I've already admitted that I'm stealing the title of this piece wholesale from somebody else. What about the contents? Well, I stole those too, FROM MY OWN LIFE. Deal with it.

Let me take you back a few years to a simpler time. A time where folks were friendlier, when the roads were paved with gold and the world held hands to sing songs of harmony and understanding. I am speaking, of course about 1987, the idealized salad days of my youth. And let me tell you, to a teenaged boy in 1987 there was no grander wish for the Christmas season than a Nintendo Entertainment System.

Mind you, I'm speaking without hyperbole here. The NES is one of the progenitors of the modern day geek movement. Go to any male between the ages of 25 and 35 and ask him the "Konami code". Chances are very high that they'll know it. (For the record, U,U,D,D,L,R,L,R,B,A,Start...add a Select before Start for two players.) This little baby sold 60 million units and birthed Super Mario Bros, Metroid, Zelda, Castlevania and a number of other popular and still active series.

This wasn't just a game system, this was a cultural movement and my lack of ability to play Super Mario Bros meant that I was falling behind the curve and would assuredly reach the end of my life a failure, incapable of even the most basic social interactions because I lacked proclivity at claiming and consuming mushrooms and fiery flowers.

As any child around Christmas time is wont to do, I made it known at every conceivable opportunity how fantastic and appreciated a gift like a Nintendo would be. Assuredly, I would be the most contented child on the block who possessed the two greatest and most loving parents of all time because I got an NES.

Though I made every attempt to interject my passion for all things Nintendian at each conceivable moment, I found my efforts somewhat rebuffed by a pair of parental overlords who did not seem to view the holy gray machine with the same misty eyed adulation that came so naturally to me.

Nevertheless, I found my countenance undeterred as I optimistically believed in my dream coming to fruition. And not long after my sister returned home from college a large wrapped present found its way under our Christmas tree. Seeing that box only made the long wait until Christmas all the worse. Knowing what was in it caused my insomnia to flare up again, as I mentally pictured the hundreds of hours of digital entertainment awaiting me when sleep should have been taking me. Mario... Zelda... Contra... Metroid... So many fantastic worlds for me to explore and so many new characters to interact with.

Still the days crept by ever slower, the tree and it's promises mocking me each morning on my way to school and presenting themselves so tantalizingly real and yet so untouchable in the evenings. Which set did I get? Did I get the one with the robot? Were any of those smaller packages games? Which ones would they be? Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the big day arrived and I paced the house, eager with anticipation, salivating at the thought of holding my beloved NES.

When present opening time came you know which one I wanted to rip apart first, but rules are rules and that was the "big final present". So, we maintained our yearly tradition and opened the presents from Grandma first. Grandma's gifts were always good for a laugh. I don't know if she purchased these gifts with a smirk of irony, or if she really just didn't care. One year my sister actually got a bag of catnip and some bobby pins, no kidding. Grandma's presents this year were par for the course. A set of thick brown socks and a jigsaw puzzle. Actually, not bad considering...

Gift after gift made its way through the room and we each opened ours in turn. After making my way down to the final box, I couldn't help but notice the complete lack of Nintendo games that I had opened. But oh well, it kind of made sense, as they wouldn't want to give away the big surprise. And finally all packages were accounte for, save one, and the time arrived for the big reveal.

Intending to give everybody their money's worth, I opened the large package as slowly as possible. Hands trembling with excitement, I began removing the paper coating from the box. After removing a portion of it, I noticed that the box underneath was plain cardboard and not the black glossy box I would have expected. That was fine, though, they were just playing a trick, hiding the NES in a larger box so that I couldn't possibly guess what it was.

After having removed enough paper to see the uppermost section of the box, I undid the tape holding the flaps together and slowly pried them apart, waiting for the choir of angels to burst forth with their trumpeting and the golden light of holy electronic love to bathe my face in its irridescent glory.

Except, there wasn't another box to be seen. Just some logs. Plain old firewood. And a shit encrusted cat box scoop. My mood, which seconds before had been bursting with joyous anticipation immediately dissipated. A large and painful lump encased itself deep within my throat as I began to notice the sounds. Laughter. From everybody in the room, directed at me. Eyes watering, I looked up to see what the joke was, and as I feared it was me.

"If you want a Nintendo so bad, do some chores and earn the money for one," they said to me between bouts of laughter.

To my young brain this was proving to be too much. Was this serious? Had they planted this...JOKE under the tree for all these weeks? Surely, any moment now the laughter would stop and they would run to a closet and pull out my real gift. Right? But no such luck was to be found for me that night. Although I kept waiting for the reassurance that it was all just a mean spirited joke and here was your Nintendo, it never came. That lump stayed in my throat the rest of the evening.

There was no joy to be found in my other presents. No consolation in the fact that I had gotten other gifts. Hell, to this day I can't name ANY of the real gifts I got that year. The only gift I can name is the crushing sense of how unfair life can be at times. It was definitely a hard pill to swallow and to this day sometimes it is referred to jokingly. I can put on a fake smile and "laugh" about it now, as an adult, but even all these years later it stings me when I think about it, and a slight sense of anger always comes over me on Christmas Eve.

As a side note to this story, I got a job managing a restaurant in our town (it was a VERY small town) shortly thereafter and did, in fact, buy my OWN DAMN NINTENDO with my OWN DAMN MONEY. Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.

We Suck Young Blood

Posted by E

Thursday, December 13, 2007

It's funny how life can work sometimes. I've been struggling to come up with something to say for awhile. It's not so much that I have nothing to talk about, but more like my mind has been a bit clouded and unable to arrange all these letters the way I'd like. It's a common issue with me and one that I rambled about pointlessly on my personal blog. But regardless, I have slowly been clawing my way from the funk which has so completely ensconced my brain as of late. Myriad topics have infiltrated my mind and it has taken everything I have just to keep pace with it all. But that's all neither here nor there.

Since successfully ridding myself of my lifelong nicotine addiction, I have been trying to slowly incorporate a few healthy habits into my life. Not too quickly, mind you. I don't want to shock the system. ;) Anyways, one of these habits is power walking with my sister a few nights a week. There's a local mall that's a circular design and just happens to be about a mile around on foot. So we make our way up there and walk it three to four times, striving for the best time we can achieve. Tonight we were making very good time. (10 minute laps!)

As we were doing our third lap, I noticed a little girl who couldn't have been more than seven years old walking to our left. I primarily noticed her because she kept looking over at me with a rather sad expression in her eye. I took a quick mental note of myself. No offensive t-shirts on tonight, tattoos completely covered. Truly, I had no idea what was catching her eye. After about the fifth look she cast at me, I flashed her a quick smile. No sooner had I done this than she started to cry. As she was walking the mall alone we couldn't help but stop to see what the problem was.

After my sister snapped into maternal mode and asked the girl what was wrong, we discovered that she had lost her parents. She was wandering the mall looking quite terrified and really had no idea where they could be. We tried to find out what store she had lost them at, but we really couldn't understand what she was telling us. So my sister took her hand and we made our way to find either the store or someone capable of paging her parents.

Amazingly enough, the little girl seemed to have a pretty keen memory as to what her parents were wearing, and the reassuring touch from my sister seemed to calm her. We had her with us for about 5 minutes before she saw her father. She took off running and we watched until she made it to him. We then smiled and waved and continued our walk.

It really kind of bothered me at the time, to be honest. I'm a decently nice guy and I actually do have a little bit of a heart, even if I do tend to hide it. But the fact is that I'm a bit of a softy when it comes to little ones. That poor little girl was terrified and reached out for help. But as an adult male in the 21st century, I'll be damned if I can offer it. All I could think as we were escorting this girl is that I can't hold her hand. I can't give her a reassuring hug. I can't touch her in any conceivable way. If I do, I can rest assured that a lawsuit is headed my way.

This country is so helplessly terrified of its own shadow that it has become inconceivable that a grown man could actually just CARE about the well being of another. It's beyond the realm of feasibility that I cannot stand to see a child crying or that I just want to help them find their parents. Nope, I MUST be Ian Brady and my sister is Myra Hindley.

Pardon my French, but at times I just want to scream at this country, "Va te faire foutre!" When I was a kid, every single adult wasn't out to kidnap, torture and rape me, only to discard my dessicated corpse in an abandoned field. In fact, when I was a child we were told that if we got lost the first thing we should do is "Find an adult". Kids today must just look at the adult world as nothing but snarling perverts and deviants.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't the parents of today the kids of yesterday? Seriously, if we didn't spend our entire childhood in fear of the gnashing teeth and sharpened blades of the adult populous, why do we feel the need to inflict this fear on our offspring? It's rational and natural to worry about your children's welfare, but it's easy to reach a point where your concern becomes self serving and ultimately damaging to the childrens' psyche. Is it necessary to terrify them with nonstop tales of horror? Yes, there ARE bad people out there. Yes, bad things DO happen. But not every day and not to every kid. Teach them common sense. Don't get in the rusty van with the stranger offering candy is a good lesson. Don't ask anybody in a crowded mall for help when you're terrified? Not quite as useful in my book.

I'm glad we were able to help that kid, and I'm glad that it's still somewhat socially acceptable for my sister to offer comfort, but truth be told the system is broken and somebody needs to fix it. At least, that's how I see it.

Go With The Flow

Posted by E

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

So, after taking care of my daily personal habits upon my arrival home last night, I decided to peruse the internet for a bit. Realizing that I hadn't blasphemed the front page of Bonez in awhile, I decided to see what was happening over there. Lo and behold, I found the posting declaring that Bonez himself has now become a Guitar Hero addict. Of course, the mere act of reading about the damn game brewed within me an irresistible urge to play it. So, not being the type to deny myself whatever it is I'm craving, I loaded up the Playstation 2 and began playing. I decided to warm up with 'La Grange' by ZZ Top. I've never been a big fan of their work, but I like the rhythm of that particular song a lot. I had been playing for about a minute when the realization hit me...I was 'in the zone'.

As a gamer, I am accustomed to that feeling, also known as 'flow'. It's that moment where the world fades away and complete focus and concentration become the only reality. It can be felt by athletes, by musicians, by gamers...hell, I tend to find my 'flow' when I sit down to write. But last night really made me reflect on how much I enjoy the zone.

From what I've read on the topic, you are likely to reach the zone when you are focused on a task that is not so easy that it's mindless, but no so difficult that it's outside of your ability. You find the zone when you find the perfect balance.

For me, finding that place is very akin to being inebriated. I feel light-headed and lack the ability to think of anything except the task at hand. My whole body feels hollow and I become a creature of reflex and impulse. It's quite interesting to exist outside of your humanity while your eyes, fingers and brain become one united organ.

When I was younger, I was heavily into vertical shoot em up style games, my favorite at the time being Sky Shark. The joy of that kind of game came from the fact that I reached that same point of nirvana, that same awareness of the lack of self. I could play 30-40 minutes without dying, doing nothing but focusing, moving and shooting.

Gaming is very much a spiritual activity for me, being a stress reliever, a mental workout, a means of relaxation and a social activity. I've been an avid and active gamer since I was a wee lad. Heck, I remember fussing about with our Fairchild Channel F when I was 4. As a result, I got to grow up alongside the industry, watching from the very dawn of gaming where a white box was the ultimate in graphics to the modern day games that approach photo-realism.

Through the years that I've gamed, I have always sought the zone. I've found it in many, many games over the years. Sky Shark. Rygar. Lode Runner. Pinball Fantasies. Guitar Hero. The list goes on and on. Although the outer appearance of these games may be different, they all offer the same thing, a pure gaming experience. And it is via this experience that I can enter the zone.

Welcome To Your Doom

Posted by E

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Look, I'll be honest. I'm a big chicken. A wuss. I'm terrified of my own shadow. I may write all my entries on here about death and morbidity, but the truth of the matter is that three days ago I sat in my room, burning up, because I was too scared to go downstairs and change the thermostat. (True story!) Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I have anxiety and nervousness issues. On the whole, I don't mind. They're just part of what makes me E. But why am I bringing this up? What possible benefit is there to me tearing asunder the facade I've so meticulously constructed here at Bonez? The easy answer is, because I'm able to laugh at myself. And it was this ability that led me to this post.

I found myself feeling rather nostalgic this afternoon, so I wandered teh intarwebs looking up whatever little tidbits of my childhood happened to wander across my mind. It all began innocently enough, with the search for a board game that I remembered getting for Christmas at the age of 6. The game in question was "Monster Mansion", and my research informed me that this was a board game based on the classic Universal monsters. Apparently it wasn't in production for very long. From here I began to look up more of the games and toys I had as a child. Then I was hit by a shocking revelation....The toys that I had were at least partly responsible for how terrified I am of of the world! Good lord, some of these things were HORRIFYING to a young lad.

Let's start out light, shall we? This first game was very similar to the game Operation in many regards, with one main difference. When you messed up in Operation (so the commercials would have me believe) your friends would laugh at you and lightheartedly refer to you as a "butter finger". Not so with Beware of the Spider. One mistake in that game and a giant fucking spider LUNGES at you! Do you think I'm kidding? LOOK AT THE BOX! That black widow is the size of that kid's head! It wouldn't just bite you and inject you, that thing's fangs would PIERCE THROUGH YOUR SKULL. It would literally chew THROUGH your eyeballs and then liquify your brain. It must have enough venom to DESTROY A SMALL EUROPEAN NATION. The kid on the right is merely stunned with horror. You can see that his sister/girlfriend/neighbor is a tad more ghoulish. She looks like she's rather excited about all this. Perhaps she has a thing for watching her friends convulse while their ethmoidal and maxillial bones are crushed by the powerful mandibles of a spider so enormous you would need a gun to finish it off. What a bitch. And WHY were they doing this anyways? It says BEWARE in HUGE LETTERS! Right there on the box! I have enough sense to stay away from that. Look at the web. That spider caught a bat. A FUCKING BAT! In its web! I don't know about you, but if I'm wandering through the woods and come upon a spider web that has ENSNARED MAMMALS, I'm getting the hell out of there! I'm certainly not going to poke and prod about, hoping to save the poor helpless SCORPION that's in the web! I've noticed something about scorpions, let me share it with you. THEY STING! And it hurts. A lot. Again, to hell with the scorpion and the bat. But that's just me....

My next nightmare is a delightful little game called "Curse of the Cobras". There is, rather unsurprisingly, little information about this game available online. I say unsurprisingly because I'm pretty certain this game can induce heart attacks. I don't fully recall, but I'm pretty certain the one time I played this game properly, I cried. You can see from the cover that apparently Indiana Jones (ironically played here by Tom Selleck) has wandered upon some form of ancient game. Again, in my prudence, I can state that I've seen the Indiana Jones films. Nothing good EVER comes from messing with things you find in tombs. NOTHING GOOD. Well, anyways, to play this wonderful game, you have to slide your wrist between two cobras. Now, I'll grant you, these cobras are kind of laying back, chilling, if you will. They don't seem all THAT menacing at a glance. Once comfortably ensconced within the grasp of the DEADLY VENOMOUS SNAKES, you begin MESSING WITH THE SARCOPHOGUS of some unknown dead Myan or Incan or Aztec. I suppose the nationality is irrelevant. You have a series of 8 ankhs which must be placed into the sarcophogus. There are 9 holes, though, so you have to be careful where these pieces are placed, as ONE of those holes will trigger the unrelenting and unendurable horror that is "Curse of the Cobras". The kicker? It's random. There is no logic that one can apply. So, with shaking, sweaty hands you slowly slide each ankh into place, praying to all that is holy that you have chosen wisely. But put it in the wrong hole and RAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!! The coffin springs open and the cadaverous, half rotted form of whatever ancient horror lies within makes itself known. Your normal reaction to this horrific undead vision would be to recoil in terror, but you can't because the cobras have LOCKED AROUND YOUR WRIST! When I said I think this game made me cry, I mean it. My main memory of this game is being too afraid of it to go near. Especially those damn cobras. Much like our earlier discussion of giant spiders, if I'm ever deep within the hallowed burial grounds of some ancient civilization and I find a stone coffin and some puzzle pieces surrounded by bloody snakes, I am NOT going to engage any further curiousity in it. Again. COBRAS. The main bad guy in GI Joe was Cobra. Think that's a coincidence? How many NICE cobras can you name? I bet you can count them on one finger...

Fingers. I've got them. I'm assuming you do as well. (If not, I intend no offense!) I'm rather fond of them. I use them for playing Guitar Hero, for pointing out which spider webs to NOT poke and occasionally for demonstrating to other drivers just how I feel. In other words, I like my fingers just fine. And apparently so do some other people. Say hello to "I Vant to Bite Your Finger". (Yes, the pseudo-Transylvanian pronunciation is correct.) This game makes no bones about what it's after. Blood. YOUR BLOOD. It doesn't want to play. It's not "I Vant to Pet a Pony" or "I Vant to Be Your Friend", no, this game is flat out telling you IT WANTS TO BITE YOU. It wants to taste your warm lifeforce. Yet another game to send me cowering into a corner as a wee boy. The gameplay was simple. Make your way around this board until you are instructed to fiddle with the clock in the back. As you can see in the photo here, this clock is guarded by a vampire. An enormous vampire. Now, in normal gameplay, his cloak would be closed and except for his eyes, there would not be much to see. So you would be given instructions to turn the clock a certain number of ticks. Anywhere from 1-5. If Jesus loved you, then your clicks would go by without incident. But if you've been a naughty unlovable child, then the vampire would fling his cape open, jaw agape, demanding an immediate FLESH SACRIFICE. You're probably thinking to yourself, "Oh, big deal. It's just a game. It won't ACTUALLY hurt me." Let me put it to you this way. You're walking down the street one day and you're approached by me. I'm an average looking guy, not particularly menacing. But out of the blue I produce a box and ask you to put your hand in it, where SOMETHING would BITE you, but it 'wouldn't hurt'. Would you put your hand in that box? HELL NO. Would you put your finger in the mouth of a crazed looking vampire that WANTS TO BITE YOU!?!? You can see that he would probably go into a frenzy driven by his insatiable lust for human blood. Would he stop with just one bite? Just one finger? I'm not putting that to the test!

The sad thing, folks, is that these aren't the only games I had that would scare-ify the vast majority of right thinking people. You can easily see why I wasn't the most popular kid in school. "Should we go over to Jimmy's house and play Life? Or maybe Ted's to play Connect Four? No, I've got it, let's go to E's and play games where our very lives are at stake at the fangs of spiders, cobras and vampires!" Yeah, that conversation was never had. And it shows in the bitter, spiteful man I've become. sigh

The Most Fun You'll Ever Have Being Scared

Posted by E

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Greetings, kiddies. It's been quite awhile since Bonez last let me out of that locked basement to spread my filth across the multitudinous interwebs. I've had reasons for my disappearance and I hope to make it up to everybody in the near future, both here and on my personal blog. For those that are interested, I'm still alive. The primary cause for my absence was my battle with cigarettes. After @ 2 1/2 packs a day for 17 years, I've finally managed to kick the little buggers. Anybody who knows me personally can attest that E without his cigs is generally not a very nice or contented person. But, enough of this shameless self promotion...

Seeing as this is October and I am an enormous fan of horror films, I find it fitting that my triumphant return to Bonez should be heralded by the glorious trumpets of terror. In this particular missive, I would like to dedicate some time to the 1982 film, Creepshow. Creepshow was written by Stephen King and directed by George Romero. It is an homage to the EC comics of the 1950's, both in style and substance. It is also one of the formative bricks in my personality, being a movie that both repelled and attracted me as a child, to the point where I would watch daily and then be unable to sleep as a result.

Creepshow is presented, not as one continuous story, but as a series of five stories, analogous to The Haunt of Fear or The Vault of Horror. Between and around these stories is a short vignette that ties everything together, allowing the stories to exist both on their own and as part of a larger whole. Much like the source material it derives from, Creepshow is both terrifying and darkly humorous.

The writing across the board is excellent, with King spinning yarns about vengeful corpses, bloodthirsty creatures and alien infestations. Every story is unique, and with the possible exception of The Crate, very short and to the point.

In order to stay true to the feel of the comics, many scenes are framed and lit as if they were, in fact, panels from a book. This adds to the film with interesting results, helping to either repulse the audience or heighten a bit of humor.

FX master Tom Savini lends his talents to the film, bringing to life many creations, the most endearingly popular one being Fluffy from "The Crate". (Although I must profess a personal preference to the re-animated Nathan Grantham, as he scared the living tar out of me as a child.)

I'd love to write ad infinitum about the various segments and their inherent awesomeness, but part of the purpose of this post is to expose those who might not have seen the movie. As each story is so short, to merely discuss them would be to risk giving away too much.

In short, I see Creepshow as one of the last great horror films. It is accessible, fun and scary all at the same time and would make a great pre-Halloween warmup.

To Absent Friends

Posted by E

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

I came home tonight to one of those messages that we all dread. My mother wrote to inform me that my cat Fahrvergnügen (Fahrvy, for short) had to be put down. Any of you who are pet owners can understand the overwhelming weight of a moment like that.

Granted, Fahrvy has not been a part of my day to day life for years now, but that doesn't lessen what I felt for him. One of the best parts of "going home" has always been that flash of recognition he would get when I came in the house. I was guaranteed to spend my time with him nestled on me and leave with my clothes covered in white fur.

Fahrvy picked me out at the animal shelter back in 1990. Our previous cat, Weazer, had recently died, and to help ease the pain of his passing, my mother allowed me to pick our next cat. And pick him I did, all cute and fluffy and gray. But unfortunately, that cat wasn't available for adoption yet, as they had to wait and see its reaction to all the shots. So, on the day it was to be available, my mom and I got to the shelter before they opened to wait for that kitten. However, one person beat us there that day, and wouldn't you know it, they wanted the EXACT SAME KITTEN.

Once the place opened we entered in defeat, knowing full well that I wouldn't get the cat I wanted. We looked around the various cages looking for an acceptable runner-up. Rather unexpectedly, I felt a splash of water on my face. I quickly turned to ascertain where it came from and that's when I first saw him.

Don't take any of what I say here the wrong way, but Fahrvy was UGLY. Even as a kitten he was rather long and gangly, with a black eye, a black nose, a black rat-like tail, and what appeared to be a hoofprint from a deer on his neck. Once I saw him he splashed me again. I knew right away that this was the cat for me. He's not much to look at, but he's got personality, and personality goes a long way.

He was rather sickly when we first got him, so he subsequently spent the first couple of weeks at our home more or less confined to my room. I established a rather strong bond with him that never fully went away. He was a lot of fun, energetic and exciteable, but always friendly and loving to everyone. He was great with children, showing immense amounts of patience and understanding.

All in all, it pleases me to know that good old Fahrvy had a happy life. He had several cat friends over the years: Black Kitty, Chessie, Frodo and Scrumpy, and never lived in want of shelter, food, comfort or love. It saddens me to know that my time with him has come to an end, but he'll always live on in my heart.

Of Ham and Eggs of Green

Posted by E

Saturday, September 8, 2007

I thought I'd change things up a bit this post. Instead of focusing on any kind of real world event, current or historic, or blathering on for ages about some topic that many Bonez readers have little to no interest in, I thought I might just reach into the dusty vault of work I had committed to 1's and 0's before my emergence at Bonez.

Instead of presenting something new or original, (let's face it, that's SO 2006), I thought I'd befoul this place with a small piece of my own personal literature. Does this story have any real value? No. But truthfully, it amuses me greatly.

Allow me to give a little background on it before I present it. A certain woman who is very near and dear to me used to present me with challenges in order to keep my writing chops up. We had recently been on a rather long car trip together, and to amuse ourselves over the long miles we played some books on tape. One such tape contained 18th century tales of horror, and the stories, while good, were written in such a poncy language that we could not help but laugh at them. She soon thereafter requested that I construct a piece in that heavy, overdone language. This is what came out of that.



Mere moments had passed since my morning respite, and I, feeling quite refreshed and eager to face the day’s challenges had nestled myself snugly into my favorite chair, perchance to rest just a bit longer.

Suddenly, I heard the sound. It was that of boot on cobblestone, ratcheting the air and befouling my repose with its blasphemous clatter. I clasped my hands to my ears, ratiocinating under duress that mayhap if I could not hear the commotion approaching, then indeed this very act would cease its infernal racket. But unfortunately, it was not to be, for out in the distance, on the horizon, a figure appeared, bathed in shadow its name and meaning a beguiling mystery to me.

The dark figure neared, and as it approached I became keenly aware of a placard being held aloft by the mysterious figure. My mind awash with curiosity, I had no choice but to stare at the unholy visage as it passed.

The sign was simple, and bore but three words. “Samuel I am”, and as quickly as he had appeared, the stranger once again disappeared into shadow.

“What manner of imp is this,” I wondered aloud, “which takes such pleasure in disrupting the serenity of others on such a fine day!”

I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, and upon reopening them discovered that the vile creature had returned, yet this time his bill was turned and the image of his new message burned itself into my consciousness.

I hesitate to reveal to you, dear reader, the words so emblazoned in my psyche, but for the benefit of your edification I have no choice but to make these words clear.

“I am Samuel”.

Whence from this beast came, I cannot say, but suffice to say my animosity towards this creature was ever growing.

“That Samuel! That Samuel! I truly fear this beast from Hell!”

Unbeknownst to me, dear reader, this vile monster heard every word uttered forth from my gullet, and with a mischievous grin turned to face me, holding a platter of mysterious foodstuffs, and ushered forth the following discourse.

“What say you to ham and eggs of green?”

Rage swelled within me. What right did this beast have to question me on culinary matters? Was he so numb to the audacity of the situation that he believed himself justified to treat me as such? I had no choice but to reply.


“Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel”

I would like to say to you, my literary compatriot, that this tirade of mine rid me of the hideous curse of Samuel’s companionship, but alas, the good lord saw fit to continue my trials alongside this insidious fiend.

“Would you prefer them hence or whence?”

“I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

And with this said, Samuel grabbed me bodily and pulled me from my chair, forcibly pushing your humble narrator down the road until we approached the residence of my neighbor. I stifled the urge to cry for help, knowing full well that not a soul apart from vermin was stirring within this home.

“How about against this wall
To sup along a beast which crawls?”

“Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

Samuel spun me round and faced me towards a crate which lay on the ground.

“Would you consider in a crate
With perchance, a fox as mate?”

“This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

And again under his control, I was led forth to a horse and buggy hitched alongside the road.

“Wouldst you say nay if t’were in a carriage?
Could you do so without such umbrage?”

“Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

But Samuel’s resolve was unshaken, and pointing to the nearest tree continued his attempt to sway my opinion.

“Your words to me seek to deceive
You might enjoy amongst the leaves.”

“Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

“Perhaps surrounded by a group of men?”


“No, no, no, I say again!
Your manners are so full of sin
Have I not made myself clear?
With you I will not sup this year
Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

And with this, he forced me into my neighbor’s home, and moving quickly drew back the curtains to drown out all of this glorious day’s sun.

“What about right in here?
For if it is the sight you fear
Then eating here in room of black
Would help you to enjoy this snack”

“It is not the food I fear
It is your unsightly leer
I do not care to try such food
Especially from one so rude
No, no, no, I say again!
Your manners are so full of sin
Have I not made myself clear?
With you I will not sup this year
Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”

“You do not like my food so well?”

“I don’t like YOU, foul Samuel!”

At once Sam burst through the door. For a moment I felt elated, the beast now fully dissipated, his mind must now be deflated, because this creature I have berated.

It must be apparent to you by now that the time I had spent with Samuel had taken its toll on me. I was finding myself now thinking in rhyme, a trait which can only be attributed to the scourge knownst to you as Samuel.

Just as I was collecting myself and making preparations for the cessation of my day, the door burst open and in came Sam with a beast of burden. Looking me coldly in the eyes he continued his tirade.

“Would you dine now with this goat?
Not here, of course, but on a boat?”

My rage bubbled to the surface.

“Why is it that you cannot see
That your games do not tempt me
It may just be, I cannot tell
That you are a beast from Hell
Leave me now, and let me be!
You foul accursed entity!
It is not the food I fear
It is your unsightly leer
I do not care to try such food
Especially from one so rude
No, no, no, I say again!
Your manners are so full of sin
Have I not made myself clear?
With you I will not sup this year
Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”


And spaketh Samuel:

“You claim to hate them, so you say
But these you have not tried this day
Perhaps with just one simple bite
Your inner spirit will alight
One taste for you, it will delight
And then I will bade you good night”



Finding myself unable to bear this torment any further, I sought to placate the insatiable desires of my most loathsome acquaintance.

“If I had a single wish
T’would be your head upon this dish
But since this wish cannot come true
I’ll do my best to placate you
After all your endless taunts
I find it is your meal I want
If this can make you go away
This food I will eat everyday!”

And so, with trembling hands full of trepidation, I did, in fact, eat every bite of food proffered to me. I would not go so far as to say I did this with glee, but I did not hesitate for fear that Samuel would not leave. To my great surprise, I found his dish to be a culinary masterpiece, resplendent with flavor and of a perfect texture and consistency. To Samuel I then turned.

“Truth be told, dear Samuel
I mistook you for a beast from Hell
I ate your food, you got your wish
I would even have another dish
With your means I can’t agree
All you did was trouble me
But your point now has been made
My debt to you has now been paid
I do like them, as you say
And would eat them everyday
I would eat them with your goat
Even perched upon a boat
I would eat in room of black
Upon your food I would then snack
I would eat this meal again
Even amongst a group of men
Though appearances may deceive
I would eat within a group of leaves
I’d still eat them, don’t disparage
Even if offered to me in a carriage
I thought, perhaps, this food I’d hate
But now I find I cannot wait
To sup within a wooden crate
With, perchance, a fox as mate
And with a beast, though it may crawl
I would dine right here against this wall
I would have them hence or whence
I would have them anywhere, since
As you have made abundantly clear
This food to me, it does endear
And though my mind was clouded then
This meal of yours I’ll eat again
And so I say without delay
I’ll dine with you another day
To sit and eat, and talk as well
With you, my dear friend Samuel.”

And Samuel, his task being completed, made quick with the gathering of his things and left me to myself, to ponder the meaning of our strange acquaintance. And to you, dear reader, I say only this, that food was an eternal bliss, and though I did not judge him well, I truly love that Samuel.

And All That Could Have Been

Posted by E

Monday, September 3, 2007

Have you ever been constrained by your mind? I'm not talking in the, "I had a steel I-beam crash three stories, shattering my spine, so now my mind won't talk to my legs anymore" sense, but more in the sense that you have something you want to say but the creative goo that oozes through your cranium just won't let you say it in a way that's productive, useful or appropriate?

Point in example: I have a few ideas for a topic to throw up onto Bonez, (heh, throw up), but I cannot find a way of discussing the topic without heavily traversing that line between good and bad taste, between prurient morbidity and shock value. The topic in question, snuff movies. Amusingly enough, the subject matter itself is of little concern to me. I could write about snuff films on the Bonez blog until the cows came home (to the abattoir) and never worry about crossing that line into offense. But there are limitations.

I certainly would not choose to link to violent material (chechclear, ofex, the events in Dagestan, etc.), as the inclusion of these materials would hurt me and my reputation in multiple ways. I think it's fair to say that if I linked that sort of material, I would be asked to leave Bonez, and honestly, I don't feel that I've finished with corrupting the hearts and minds of those that peruse the site. In all honesty, I've written about such topics, though in a much more limited context. See my Dwyer post. That was me toeing that line, writing about something rather gruesome, but never quite making the plunge into the meat (pardon the pun) of the subject matter. I didn't link the video and everybody got to crawl into their warm snuggly beds and dream pleasant dreams of kittens and rainbows.

But in order for me to attack a subject of such ferocity, or to impart unto you horrors of which you (hopefully) have never dreamed, it is incumbent upon me as both writer and guide, to give a fundamental understanding of the nature of the subject. Absent the ability to provide visual aid in either frozen frame or full motion, I would have to find a secondary means of demonstrating these horrors. That, of course, leaves me with nothing but the written word. Anybody who's spent enough time around me would probably prefer that I not go into lengthy diatribes describing horrific acts.

I have watched Bonez enough to know that we have begun to develop a rather diverse readership. I am certain that this is because of the varying nature of topics one can discover on Bonez at any given moment. My contributions, morbid as they may be, constitute but one slice of the full pie offered to all who wish to browse here. My fear is that even by offering mere descriptions of my topic of choice, I will put off, frighten, upset or otherwise alienate faithful readers. I certainly would not want to be responsible for the breach of trust that would ensue between our readership and Bonez as an entity.

Therefore, in the spirit of fair play, I have elected NOT to post on the topic, as badly as I want to, as I just do not think that I can find a way of doing it without pushing the line too far, without crossing the event horizon and reaching the proverbial point of no return.

If all of this smacks of egotism, I do heartily apologize. It really is not my place to soliloquize, but after several posts of deviation from my earlier voice, I felt it only fair that I at least explain why there has been such a tragic gap in my discussion of the tragic.

If there are any who would truly like to see what the post might have been, let me know and I'll consider throwing it on my personal blog. But for now, I fear that I have to indulge in a little self censorship.

Would You Kindly Read This Article?

Posted by E

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

There has been a long standing argument over whether or not video games can be considered art. Certain critics, such as Roger Ebert, have voiced the opinion that games cannot be art because, "Video games by their nature require player choices, which is the opposite of the strategy of serious film and literature, which requires authorial control." Some have argued that all art requires interaction on the part of the viewer, as interpretation of the work plays a prime role in the enjoyment of whatever has been visualized by the artist.

I bring this up because every once in awhile a game comes along that can truly bridge the gap between gaming and art. (Half-Life 2 and Okami are two recent examples.) BioShock is the latest game to achieve this and ultimately may be the best argument available for games as art.

BioShock is set in 1960 within the confines of an underwater city known as Rapture. Rapture is a little bit Ayn Rand, a little bit Citizen Kane and a little bit Logan's Run. Rapture was created in the 40's as a response to the direction that America was taking. Freeing themselves from the fear of the bomb and of a world going haywire, they built their utopia under the sea, where a man is "entitled to the sweat from his brow".

Deep in the confines of the ocean they discovered a creature which could generate extraordinary effects in humans. Specifically, they unlock our complete mental capabilities and provide the means for using psionic powers: telekinesis, control of electricity and flame, etc. However, these powers took an enormous toll on the human hosts and mutated them into unsightly and crazed creatures.

The story begins with you on an airplane which crashes into the ocean, right next to the entryway to Rapture. You find yourself quickly trapped deep within its confines, searching for a means of escape.

Honestly, that's about all I'm going to tell you as far as the story is concerned. The game is amazing and beautiful and has a narrative that pulls you in deep. By the time you reach the understanding of what is going on, your jaw will be on the floor.

The game has a visual style that is consistent throughout. Rapture is heavily based on Art Deco design. Every area of the game has a distinct feel and flavor, though it all adheres to the overall graphical style of the game.

The gameplay is varied, with the player being offered choices as how best to proceed. The choices are not always as simple as fight or flight, however. One of the more controversial aspects of the game involves the Little Sisters, young girls who are more or less possessed. When you have killed the Big Daddy that is protecting them, you can either release them, curing them of their affliction, or harvest them for the raw materials they provide...a process they cannot survive.

The players finds himself constantly torn between right and wrong, with different warring factions pulling him this way and that. Why are you here? How can you escape? Why has this once utopian city crumbled into its current dystopian state?

The answers are all provided as you play. And play you must. If you enjoy video games at all, this is one that absolutely should not be missed.