Operation Endgame walkthrough, part 1

Last night, I watched a movie called "Operation Endgame", which can only be described as a Dark Action Comedy. Now, there were several things in this movie that confused me, EXCLUDING the choice of actors to play the deadliest assassins in the world.

Pictured: The strongest Assassin in the group, described as death incarnate. Yes. Really.

The movie starts with an attractive Asian woman pointing a gun at some guy's crotch. The guy, our protagonist, is apparently a new recruit in an organization of government super-assassins. There are two teams working for this Agency. The Alpha Team and the Omega Team. One of the teams wreaks havoc and pretty much ruins the world for everyone, and the other team tries to balance it out and sort out the trouble that the first team causes. The Protagonist asks "So why even have these teams in the first place, if they're just balancing each other out?", which is the question every fucking person with a braincell or two asks. The answer? "It's the black heart of our democracy. It's just how it is."
... THIS IS IDIOCY!
Oh... wait...Right. Sorry. I forgot that I was talking about the Government. Why am I even surprised?

Anyway, we're introduced to a group of the most unlikely Assassins ever.

Old Gentleman, Cougar, Alcoholic, Hot Chick, Handsome psycho, Black Wiz-kid, Cute innocent one, Token Asian, Normal-looking Protagonist and Ving Rhames. About every single movie-trope ever. In one movie.

Suddenly their boss is murdered, and the entire place goes into lockdown. And then, bloody murder. For no reason, Old Gentleman and Ving Rhames are killed. Gentleman is killed with a Stapler by Cougar, and Ving Rhames is killed by a Table-leg by Cute Innocent One.

Oh, come on. You didn't think Cute Innocent One was a nice person, did you? It's the nice ones you look out for in movies! Which I will be coming back to later, by the way. Believe me. In movie, the nice guys are NEVER nice...And in movies, the well built, McGyver esque black men (Ving. Motherfucking. Rhames.) get killed by 1.60 cm tall, skinny white girls. But atleast she's hot...

To be continued.

Introduction number 2, because the first one broke the site.

So, yeah. I'm gonna make another attempt to start writing in this blog. My first entry had to be deleted because it, for some inexplicable reason, fucked up the entire blog and made it unreadable.

That's me and technology for you. So, yeah.
So I'm Erik Mannfelt (hurr di durr, I've been felt by a man. Very fucking original, dickhead), writing under the pen name Over The Top.
I'm 18 years old, live in Cambodia (No, it's not in Africa. Learn your geography, retard.) and currently finishing my last year of High School. Other IB students out there, feel my pain.
I will do my best to amuse any potential readers of this block, and not make completely fucking useless entries (Looking at you, Niina) that amuse absolutely nobody.

So, yeah. This is my introduction.
Oh yeah! I draw comics. And play bass. And stuff. But you probably don't care.

Anyway, I am sitting in school right now.
Dear god, school is boring. It's like, Homework but worse. It just sucks all the fun out of your life. You know what would make school more awesome?A Zombie Apocalypse.

"That's for the F you gave me!... No, wait! School's out!... No, wait... Talk about boring you to death!... No wait..."

Honest to god, this place bores me to death. Anyway, I'll write an article or something funny later this week. So, yeah. Introduction over. Hi. Bye. And stuff.

Songs of the Now 1

Since I just got back stateside after a fantastic Summer in Cambodia, I'm much too busy/tired/excited/lazy for a lengthy post. I've decided to use this time to start a new blog series where I will be laying out up to ten songs that have my knickers all up in my bum (this means songs that are fucking fantastic). This is not a daily, though sometimes it may be. I will be posting these freeform, whenever I find enough great songs to justify a post. This will in no way get in the way of my other posting.

The now's top songs are:

On My Balcony by Flunk
Visions by Hooverphonic
6 Underground by Sneaker Pimps
Don't Really Know Me by Snowden
Up All Night With Stereotypes by Young Jesus
Bring The Night by Sia
Brave New World by Covenant
8 Bits by mind.in.a.box
I Love 64 by mind.in.a.box

Go and enjoy these songs if you want. I certainly do.

Living Life On a Razor's Edge - The Startling Conclusion

As I pondered Lindsay Lohan and how despite her drug issues and consequent fluctuating weight her boobs always stay the same delightful size, a mustachioed masterpiece of a man approached me where I sat.

If only...

"You Travis?" He inquired with a smile that spread his magnificent face-forest and sent tingles of joy through my racing heart; Lindsay Lohan could not have been further from my mind. This man was the epitome of masculine perfection. His beard flowed down around full lips like twin waterfalls, no soul patch. Broad shoulders draped in a navy sports jacket met a powerful torso, down to a swollen beer gut which sent my budding arousal to an early grave, and not in a good way.
"Hey, buddy, you listening to me?" I realized I was staring with a disgusted look on my face. I definitely needed to say something, anything. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.
"Are you fucking crazy?" He pressed. It's Hot Seat time, if I didn't say anything, I probably wouldn't be getting stoned later.
"I prefer Lindsay Lohan's unusually consistent breasts to your spectacular mustache!" Well done. I hoped I was done looking crazy.
"Excuse me?" He was clearly confused.
"I really thought I could love you." Why wouldn't I stop? "You aren't even Tom Selleck."
"Are you buying drugs or not?" Drugs! Yes! Drugs brought me back to reality. I cleared my throat and focused.
"I'm sorry. I get fluttery around drug dealers and mustaches. You being both seems to have broken something in my brain." He looked at me the way I suspect anyone would, and I continued. "Yes, I will be buying drugs from you, are you Dushane's guy?"
He stared at me for several moments. Agonizing moments. He seemed to be reconsidering selling me drugs. I would not accept that.
"Um, you caught me on a bad day. I woke up in the wrong dumpster and brutally murdered an angry homeless woman in a strange apartment where I took a shower so Steve wouldn't know I was high last night, he's such a fucker. I'm not usually-"
"That'll be 40 bucks" He interrupted, holding out two baggies. I slid off my dumpster and thrust the money in his hand.

Five minutes later I was in my apartment smoking what turned out to be Japanese Maple, which looks a lot like weed but isn't.

I smoked it anyway.

--------

That night after violently vomiting for several hours and being told to fuck off by my friend Mike Izuzaki (who I thought must know something about what I was going through) I vowed never to buy drugs again, only mooch off my friends. That reminds me, I should give Mike a call.

Have fun with that life and stuff

Oh god I need to get so much done it's crazy and I don't have time (okay I have more time than I need really but that's beside the point), get an apartment and keep this job and get some money and move (but god first find an apartment [done and I love it], find an apartment that the landlord will let me rent please oh let me rent it I really like it) watch more movies, ok watch less movies do something more productive.

Drink less exercise more save money.

I'm going to go sleep now because the senseless dribble is starting to drive me insane, it's useless to watch distressing movies while tired and alone because it just ends in a mindfuck.

Hi.

Living Life On A Razor's Edge - Part 2

"I'm sorry I crushed your femur, really," I sputtered, floundering around in the tub like a large flounder, "it's just, I'm really hungover and that fucker steve has me all frazzled and I woke up in the wrong dumpster-"

"My dumpster"

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah. Mistake"

I coughed as Commander Terror sent my soldiers to explore the upper regions of my stomach.

"Uhmm, look. I know how you must feel. If someone stole my dumpster I would-"

"And crushed your femur."

"Right, and crushed my femur, I would want to do something about it, too."

"I am going to crush your femur and remove your testicles."

"That's going to be difficult considering where they are." She didn't understand. But she looked ready to pounce. It was then that I realised that this woman was becoming a serious inconvenience to me, and I refuse to let a bitch be any problem of mine.

Not even one.

It was time to be daring. 

"Admire my penis!" I shrieked as I leapt to my feet. Several seconds of furious, noisy hip thrusting passed before I concluded that I had her as confused as possible. I dashed past her into the bedroom and located the closest conceivable weapon (a bottle of Captain Morgan's finest). Turning, I found the bitch that was not my problem in hot pursuit of my danglers. I lifted the bottle into the air,

"Have a drink on me!" I shouted as I brought the captain down on her head with a resounding clang. She hit the shag hard, and did not get up.

Approximately my reaction. Only I was nakeder.

I found a pair of sunglasses on the nightstand and slipped them on,

"You should watch your alcohol next time." I told her. Yeahhhhhh.

Feeling altogether far too good to get dressed, and far too awesome to not do pushups, I did pushups. After I was done doing pushups, I stole a suit from the closet and left through the front door. 

--------

Now, I should probably fast forward to my encounter with that butterfuck Steve, because my story still hasn't reached the part where I go buy drugs. 

-------

I ring for Steve's door and wait  for a response. It took him about forty five seconds to get to the intercom.

Because he's fat and wears a thong.

"Who's there?" He asked, breathing heavily.

"It's me, Travis, a homeless woman stole my keys. Can you let me in?"

"That blows" He heaved with a chuckle, "How do you lose to a woman?" That fucker, I was not going to look like a dildo in front of a dildo.

"No, it's alright, I beat her unconscious with a bottle of Morgan."

"Then where are your keys?"

"..." Shit, "Fuck you Steve, let me in."

"Fine, jackass. I have someone you can talk to about your drug problem, you know." He sighed as he buzzed me in. 

That fucker. If only he could have seen my new suit.

-----

The rest of that day was spent admiring my new suit in the mirror, feeding my cat, and touching myself. But around 8 PM I made a startling discovery.

I was out of drugs.

I would have called my girlfriend, but I don't have one; I sold her for an eighth and a spot of E. I therefore assessed my money. I had 40 bucks. Fuck yeah that's enough for two grams from my favorite dealer; I felt like weed that night, nothing too wild, not after last night. So I picked up the phone and called Dushane.

"Yo my bro, you available? I need some marijuana weed" I never know how to talk to dealers.

"Nah man, not right now, but I'll hook you up with one of my guys, where you at?" 

"My pad, can he meet me in the alley out back?"

"Hold on a sec." Lots of shouting, what sounded like gunfire, someone shouting that someone had been shot.

"Sorry, bitches up in our shit. Yeah, he'll meet you in 20 minutes." 

"Okay dude, good luck with the bitches and shit. Oh and how's my ex-girlfriend?" He hung up.

What I wish I was when I talk to my dealer VS What I am when I talk to my dealer.

The alley was shrouded in darkness and I had no idea what to expect. I waited, seated on my favorite dumpster, wondering when Lindsay would be back.

To Be Continued... (the third and last part will come soon)

 

Living Life On A Razor's Edge (to cut my lines) - An Adventure

  Buying drugs is never easy, but my last foray into the festival of danger that is the drug trade may very well be my last, at least until I run out of drugs again. The following took place Saturday evening, just two nights ago. It began as a typical weekday, but when I didn’t wake up in my usual post-roister dwelling, I knew something very strange was going on.

 I knew I was in the wrong dumpster because this wasn't next to me

  This also meant that I would have to go find my apartment, and without keys I would have to ask that dickhead Steve to let me in, and Steve hates drugs and people who smell like they just slept in a dumpster they didn’t recognize. I missed Lindsay, she would always know what to do. However, since a bitch is not one of my numerous problems, I forced the idea of her leathery, drug-pocked flesh and stringy hair from my mind; sex can wait. What I needed was a shower so that fucker Steve wouldn’t know I was on all of the drugs and that I slept in a dumpster that isn’t even mine. 

 My dumpster has less bears, and more Lindsay trash.

  Fortunately, finding a place to shower was going to be the easiest thing I was going to do that day. After clumsily crushing a homeless woman while climbing out of not my dumpster, I attempted to gauge my general location. I assumed I couldn’t be more than an hour’s walk from my apartment in Lower Manhattan, and the accent of the angry homeless woman with the now crushed femur confirmed that I was still in New York, so I kicked her in the face, informed her that she was not one of my problems, and fled. I didn’t have time for bitches; I smelled really bad.

  Fortunately I was only fifteen minutes away from home, so all I had to do was get cleaned up. I checked the time on my broken watch and phone I didn’t have, which didn’t help. However, judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it was daytime.

 I could tell because the sky looked sort of like this.

  I had two options, I could go down to the YMCA and shower there, or I could sneak through an open apartment window on the second floor of the building and steal a dip in their shower. Since getting raped is not on my list of "Great Ways to Spend a Hangover", I opted for trespassing, because along with that comes the potential for something that is on that list: having sex with some guy's hot wife. I realised that it's a pipe dream, considering that most beautiful married women have noses, but a man can dream.

If you're into Voldemort sex.

  Ignoring the sobbing homeless woman, I climbed up onto the dumpster and climbed a pipe conveniently close to the open window. Being hungover, this was not the easiest thing, but fear of that butterface Steve being a dick strengthened my resolve. After rolling into the bedroom and smashing a bedside lamp to bits and not being immediately killed by anyone, I concluded that the home was empty. I would have to leave a note telling the owner to keep the window closed next time. 

  I threw my filthy clothes on the floor in front of the bathroom and hopped in the shower, a large, luxurious affair that I figured the owners must have had redone, and took the most relaxing, refreshing, feminine shower of my life. 

  My hangover all but gone, I swung the curtain aside in search for a towel, screamed like a prepubescent girl, and fell backward in uninhibited terror. Standing before me was an angry homeless woman with a pair of scissors. It appeared that woman decided to make herself one of my many problems. And there wasn't a god damn towel in sight.

To be continued...

(not) Getting Things Done At Work

Salutations my dedicated, mistreated readers. I'm back! The last week has been terrifying and involved a  lot of me getting from one place I didn't want to be to another I place I wanted to be even less where I would then carry around two heavy recording tools and a large stick with legs to make memories of things I have no intention of remembering. If you're a bit slow and haven't already guessed, I'm a photo/videographer. Now that the 60th anniversary of diplomatic relations between the United States and Cambodia (true story) has ended, I find myself released from my bonds of harried servitude and therefore able to pay more attention to the things I love, you.

I've decided to celebrate my return to the desolate, dicouraging world of internet obscurity by taking you through the many risks of having an internet connection and/or access to glue at the office.

Prior to this week of uninhibited governmental celebration, my office time was largely spent wandering bleary-eyed across the vast landscapes of the internet searching for entertainment; I had completed my assigned tasks within several minutes of having been received them, and therefore had nothing to do almost all of the time. Thankfully, the internet was more than happy to oblige my desire for entertainment. In the beginning, I was startled and confused to find that I could use the internet for more than just pleasuring myself to video games porn, but I soon got used to it and became a professional pioneer of its virtual safaris. I mastered the art of moving from one page of entertainment to the next without faltering and having to start over. A typical session of internet perusal (last wednesday) may go as follows:

I started at Cracked, which I adore, and embarked on my adventure from a Linkstorm, which leads me to a topic of vital importance. After reading through the article and staring at the pretty pictures, I am inspired to do something with my hands. After a quick search through my low-quality office supplies, I found an item with the potential entertainment value of The Pianist with clowns instead of nazis and an even greater focus on Adrien Brody's nose.

You know you would watch this.

I glanced around my desk in search of something to anoint in my newly found glue, and my eyes alighted upon a staple sculpture I had created several days before. It is at this time that I am faced with the certainty that the glorious structure, in all its pointy wonder, would be best immortalized in a shower of Chainteef Office Brand Water Glue. 

Modern Art

Disappointed by my creation of something that was much to ahead of its time to be displayed in a museum, I allowed my mind to wander while staring at the half-empty bottle of glue slowly leaking onto my pants, which is alright because their the kind of pants that suffocate one's groin all day. Amid the thoughts of my own impending, pants-derived infertility, I struck genius. I would pour the remaining glue all over my hands and think it through later.

After fashioning a pair of glue gloves like we all did in grade school, I did the thing we all did next; I rubbed my hands together and fashioned the glue into a ball. A ball which functioned more effectively than any professionally crafted bouncy ball ever has. The only downside is it instills in peeping coworkers the unwavering idea that you had just picked your nose and began playing with the findings. 

Shiny strawberry lip balm included for reference.

My glue ball lasted me about 25 minutes before it hardened and it became unusable. After some tears, I was able to pursue my nagging desire to learn more about making your own gloves; back to the internet. I found phone gloves which were disappointingly unwieldy, which led me to recycled decor, which gave me ideas for my own home decoration endeavors. The recycled decor led me to, from a link to an article on another site, something that made me want to punch a woman in the eye, and then not apologize.

If you have a job, and there is a 77% percent chance you don't, you know exactly what I am talking about when I say that the internet and mundane office supplies can entertain for hours on end, especially when you have work to do. 

Hmm, I must say, my return to internet failure is not well-represented by this rather mediocre article, but I am going to post it anyway because I am vindictive. Vindictive as, well, those women who shave and dress and dye their poodles.

I'll produce a work of quality shortly.