I Have Seen The Future

And it is truly bleak.
And when I say I've seen the future, I don't mean I've caught snatches of convenience store line conversations through the mists of time, and I don't mean I've bilked someone through the crude trickery of palmistry or the tarot.
Nay, I have unearthed scrolls of eldritch learning, scrolls of such power that to merely leaf through them in the dentist's waiting room without first performing the required ablutions and meditations is to be driven mad -- yea, mad as fuck.

I have strode between the boles of the forest of infinity, smelled the rich peat of ancient fens... releived myself in the underbrush for what seemed like forever.
And I return with knowledge that will shake our world to its core, pull up its shirt and give it some kind of geological pink-belly.

The PlayStation 3 will never be released.


Yes, I know. We all know that sometime in February 2006 we'll see a press release postponing the release of this system, and assuring us that Sony is using this time to make really sure that the PS3's revolutionary cell processor will pecker-slap the Xbox 360 six ways from Sunday. And we'll expect two more delays, in May and August, but we'll all rest easy at night, confident that by the pre-Christmas buying rush, we'll all be ruining our lives with the best video game system this side of a holodeck.
But we won't. I've seen it. I've been there. We'll just get another delay excuse. And another trailer for Vision Gran Turismo and Metal Gear Solid 4. In fact, they'll give us trailers to the sequels to thise games. Sony Computer Entertainment close all its factories in a startlingly Wonkaesque worldwide layoff, but will continue to produce rendered trailers for its non-games, and insist that in March 2012, we'll all be blown away by the Cell architecture, which was stolen and marketed by AMD in 2007 simply because SCE had fired its legal department and its technicians. The final release, the last thing the world will see from Sony, will be video of its president, Ken Kutaragi, donning traditional seppuku robes and slitting his belly with the razor-sharp PS3 prototype controller. Gamers all over the world will weep for the loss of aout two-party console political system (Nintendo's still all about the kiddie games in the future, by the way), and bellow in rage as they finally realize that however cool the Xbox is, all the extra media crap it does (that you paid a hundred extra dollars for) is all shit that your computer can do anyway, and your computer has a mouse. I have even foreseen my own death. The medical examiner will not be able to tell whether I died from the overdose of Tylenol #2 I took, from choking on the receipt of my brand new Xbox 720, or from drowning in the toilet, somehow.

So Guess I'm Doing This Blog Bullshit Now.

Right, so, since the inception and immediate popularity of the easy (no-html) weblog, I've held a firm stance that no one really gives a shit about me or you or anybody, and only a narcissistic fuckhole or a greasy fanboy loser would assume that their deluded, masturbatory ramblings are remotely interesting to the world at large.

I still feel that way.

But I'm doing this anyway, because my mastubatory ramblings are way better than everybody else's. And because I'm a hypocrite. And because all my friends are and I'm a sheep.
Maybe this could be fun.

I'll do my best to keep the content away from crazy shit I saw on buses (which i currently drive), except for the following:
I saw a woman with gold lipstick today. No Shit.

It's been requested recently that I both register vincible.com's domain name again, and reinstate the periodic VinciMail updates. I think I'll do that here, but since there's not really a hell of a lot going on in the Vincible camp right now, what with Joe's eyes turning into pure cesium and Joel swearing off pants, it'll all be fake. Instead of being ninety-eight percent fake, one percent incorrect and one percent typographical error. So I guess I'll do that.

I spent most of this morning trying not to throw up, and then sort of trying to throw up. That may seem strange, but let me explain: I was driving a bus (Runnymede #71), and I had this headache, like a blinding, white-spots-when-you-close-your-eyes, praying-for-death, not-even-sex-will-make-it-better, would-rather-be-raped-by-tony-the-tiger-than-have-this-headache* kind of thing. And it was one of the ones that makes you nauseous. Now, we all know the stages of nausea that occur before the... event (Why am I mincing words about puke when i just talked about getting ass-plowed by a cartoon cultural institution?). First you feel kind of funny, like you're hungry, but not really. Then you get that barfy feeling, then you get the cold sweat, then you salivate heavily and then you realize that this was maybe not a great time for it to be your turn to be tied up, and forget the safety word. Anyway, every time I almost got to the gastric money-shot, I thought, "Okay, as soon as I get to the station, I'm gonna hurl, and call in sick and go home". I was reluctant to just call in and go home because I am, at heart, a good person. Plus I don't have any sick days left and the TTC really frowns on absences. But every time I got near the station, and really geared myself up to storm the porcelain beach-head, I felt better. Not even just better; I felt fucking fantastic! I could move mountains, I could solve the problems of the world, I was on fire, motherfucker! And as soon as I got to a place that had no door or bathroom or toilet, I felt like a sack of shit again. I'm not a religious man; I know little of the nature of our universe. But I have a feeling someone or something was fucking me today.




*Wouldn't it be crazy to get raped by Tony The Tiger? He'd be so cheerful.