Inspector Botan. Where are you now?

The city is once again dark. That’s mainly because the sun had dropped below the horizon five hours ago. It was three in the morning. The rest of the Police staff had gone elsewhere. Home, night patrol, investigations, or out to clubs with their outside friends.

Chief Inspector Paul Botan remained sitting, examining the murder case over and over. Henry J. Samson, killed by gunshot to back of head. Force splintered upper spine. The handgun was moreso a cannon. Botan had never seen a revolver round that big.

It was a revolver. The rounded tip could not be used for a sniper rifle. It bore through the back of the victim’s head.

Suspects so far: the girlfriend. Obvious factors prove her innocent. Botan examined the bullet. Not even he, an experienced firearm shooter to top off his thirty-seven year police career, could manage a gun this big. How can a standard university girl with the below-average interest in sports?

The girl had been transported to the safest place he knew where she’d be safe from potential shit hitting the fan: His son’s dormitory.

His son, Ryan, and his friend were well-known among the police for managing to get stuff done. The two boys had their own interests, but they would easily drop what they’re working on to help the Chief Inspector no matter what it was.

Anyway, said shit that could hit the fan: potential gang rowdiness. The victim had been confirmed to be part of the crime network around the city. It took one look at the pill bottle with the newest human-killing substance of the year.

MAIDS. Huge demand.

And someone was playing “Goodie-Two-Shoes Vigilante.”

Paul Botan pondered if this was a good thing or bad thing. It was difficult. Potentially hundreds could be slaughtered through the night. Like last night.

Fifteen dead, by their own weapons, or by hands that bore no prints. No evidence. The footprints were none Botan had ever seen before.

Next morning, he’d pick up the phone to find that another forty-nine had been slaughtered, and two hostages were left alive as a result.

The hostages would be innocent. The forty-nine would be violent gang members looking for the girl.

…

(Okay, this is some random bit I wrote up for HJ as a secondary piece to a part that he’s writing in a novel. The idea itself wasn’t exactly mine.)

-Jakob.

Screw it. I’m throwing in my own opinion.

(Jakob’s review in a sentence)

Twilight: Words cannot describe the utter horrid misogynistic trite that is this so-called “best-seller” – which also made me lose faith in MTV ever being any more trustworthy than Fox News ever again.

—

I tried reading it, honest. I also tried enjoying it. Managed to score it for no money whatsoever… I have my sources.

By the way, this is Jakob. HJ’s asleep now. Tired from the day.

I never thought shitty writing could be out-done in a single book. Usage of words in most meaningful instances was utterly horrid. (Verbose and Talkative DO NOT MEAN THE SAME THING) And other words were just put in for the sake of having big words. It’s like reading an unorganized thesaurus, except more expensive and has the worst case of creature-butchering I have ever seen.

Seriously! Vampires? Werewolves? They’re been DONE before. They’ve been done since… I don’t know when! And all those times before, they’ve been done RIGHT! These guys aren’t even suitable to be called such classic names.

Symbolism is utter moot, save for that apple in the cover, but that exact picture HAS been used for a book made by… I forget his name, but he’s the guy who wrote the Chronicles of Narnia. In another book by him, there was a picture of hands holding an apple.

But even so, the apple’s only meaning was how their “love” was forbidden. This falls flat on its face because there was nothing trying to prevent their “love.” I say “love” in sarcastic quotation marks because ultimately it’s just a shitty spoof of Romeo & Juliet, which actually took that kind of story and DID IT RIGHT!

Shakespeare is a REAL literary genius. He had to in order to write all of those plays in three days each and be able to get actors together and rehearsed to get such shows on in such short time… and then have them actually turn out GOOD!

So any form of symbolism that’s in the book is null and void. Otherwise it does not exist. It becomes painfully obvious that the author of this book (Can’t recall her name. I suck with names…) wrote this book for herself. Considering the raving fans that lack any speck of fucking logic, I would wish that the book should have stayed in her bookshelf and only her bookshelf.

Although HJ DOES have a friend or two who love the series… but they’re still logically reasonable people and have actual brains and maturity. I respect that. HJ probably does too.

I saw no plot, other than the whole “Love story” and that part with the slightly more withstandable, more mainstream “vampire.”

The former of which is utterly inferior to the plot of Romeo & Juliet. (War between Montegues and Capulets, and young teenagers of both houses fall in lust with each other and end up killing each other, creating peace between both houses out of the tragedy)

The latter of which was practically at the end, rushed, and was right out of the fucking blue. There is a fine line between originality and “just plain stupid.”

The whole jist about the “vampires” is a perfect example of showing that fine line.

Then there’s the talk of it being a “Saga.” I’ve done my research, and the way the four books have turned out, from what I read, there is no evidence of it being a saga. Sure it can be called a series, but a SAGA?

If the story started with Edward’s past and developed him throughout the years he’s been alive, and THEN get to the so-called “wet dream,” then yes, it can be legitimately called a “saga.”

But no, it makes no background research for the past of characters. In fact, there’s absolutely NO DEPTH in the characters!

I saw the movie as well. Fortunately, it was a torrent put on Justin.tv, and given what’s called a “Youtube Poop” Treatment.

To be honest, the lulz-making editing made the movie slightly more tolerable. All it was was terrible music choice, unnecessary scenes, shitty camera angles, and the most atrocious acting I’ve ever bloody seen. It made me wish there was more of the “lulz-editing”

It was still good… The “lulz-editing” anyway. The movie utterly sucked. It actually makes me want to try to get my hands on the real DVD to listen to the commentary. From what I have heard from reliable sources, the Director had no idea what she… he… I-don’t-know-e… was doing.

With something like what I saw, I could agree. Must figure out how to get the DVD without having to give out anything. Then again, HJ’s brother HAS scored free stuff before, especially movies.

Ultimately, this was a sure-fire way to get hormone-plagued girls to find an alternative to masturbation… I’m guessing that anyway. There are some fans who are sane (again, some of HJ’s friends. I don’t really mean that much offense to those people in particular, unless they really are insane fans.) but I’ve planned to not get anywhere near rabid fangirls. If they come to me, I cannot be held responsible for what state they’ll be in if they screw with me out of harmless opinions.

Well, I’m tired. Hitting the sack as well. HJ’s whole wall-building is a decent plan of sorts. I just hope he doesn’t end up like Pink did. A line of defense to allow him to think, figure out a plan, get to work on said plan, heal emotional, mental, and physical wounds.

Time heals everything. He got that quote from me.

But back to this review of sorts, I recommend Twilight to the following kinds of people:

• Those with no hope for the improvement of story quality.
• Those “in it for the lulz”.
• Those who want to see vampires and werewolves utterly butchered and horribly developed.
• Those who want to read a less-tolerable version of an abridged thesaurus.
• Those who like shallow ponds filled to the brim with a lack of character development.
• Those who want to find out “how to do it wrong” in terms of writing good stories.
• Those who want to throw in a liable argument against rabid fangirls who bitch out for the most trivial reasons.
• Those who seriously… SERIOUSLY… have nothing better to do.
• Cabbage… Yeah…

EDITOR’S NOTE JAKOB’S NOTE: Those who take this shit to heart will find that it says a lot more about you than it does about me. Don’t be bitching out because you like the books. There are millions of others who will agree, and probably fewer others who will disagree. I don’t give a crap about what you think of this review or myself, be it positive or negative feedback.

That’s just how I am. HJ’s at least more tolerable for you nutjobs than I am. Be thankful he writes more than I do in this blog. I’m busy doing my thing. You get busy with your own thing.

And get your mind out of the gutter.

-Jakob.

Jakob’s Video Game Experience – Log 1

I don’t know. Tetris is pretty fun, but I don’t get it. What’s the story in it? Is there some evil scheme involving differently-shaped four-square blocks and you’re trying to blow up half of the moon with a rocket if you get 100,000 points of explosives or more?

Maybe I’m over-thinking this shit. Maybe Tetris doesn’t even need a story, and it simply exists for entertainment and making money. Sounds a lot like Twilight, in that case.

I’m pondering if I should take a leap and try out an Xbox 360 game. HJ recommended I should try the Halo Wars Demo, but I’ll probably do that later. I don’t really get what HJ’s enthusiasm about the game is. If it’s the story, maybe I will take interest in the real game.

He also recommended the Halo Trilogy, but if I learned anything about Trilogies, the first one will always be the best, story-wise. Happened with The Matrix, happened with… well, other trilogies? Whatever; can’t be bothered to recall.

I can’t diagnose if this crap isn’t for me or otherwise until I try all genres. A little difficult to achieve, considering HJ mainly concentrates on games like Tetris, Halo, Call of Duty 4, or Halo Wars, or other things that I don’t really remember or give one to recall.

Anyway, I’m going to take a nap now, and maybe see if I can play one of those so-called “Steam Games”.

-Jakob.

Untitled… as of yet… Part 2

… Just occurred to me that the main character for both stories here are both named Bill. Shit. XD

—

The corner store was still open. It would’ve been open for another twenty minutes before closing up. Bill bought himself a chocolate milk and a bag of pretzels. He needed the sodium intake.

He was quick to consume the edibles, and even quicker to dispose of the bag and carton. He knew where to go. The police were working on it, but Bill knew everything about what’s been happening for the past month. Anyone who knew the truth would be liable to reveal just who Bill is, and his plan to rid the city of scum would be compromised. No one knows- not even the police, and no one suspects a thing; just the way he liked it. The only one who knew was the Inspector, but he didn’t know everything about what Bill does. Only that he’s got a sense of justice the toughness of titanium against butter knives.

His job had its risks, but Bill didn’t care. He had nothing to lose, but everything to gain.

He passed by where he knew was the dead kid from earlier. Two blocks away was where Bill knew was a big deal happening as he walked. He had twenty minutes to go in and utterly screw everything up.

He stopped by a hidden cache and grabbed a camera. It was safe there, but after what he would do, it wouldn’t be safe anymore. He also produced a second sidearm from the cache. Both of the objects, he pocketed.

The deal was going on in a warehouse, and Bill got in silently. The lower area was littered with crates that haven’t been moved in months, and moving vehicles that haven’t met a key for the same amount of time. Who knew what were in the crates? Who even remembered that the crates were there?

Irrelevant, Bill thought as he walked on a catwalk, making no sound whatsoever. Above the mass amount of crates were a series of catwalks with lights hanging on the undersides. Every step he took caused the lights under him to tremor, however slightly. Only the most observant would spot it. Bill wasn’t expecting who he was dealing with to be that intelligent. After all, they’re working in an abandoned warehouse. An obvious place to go to do illegal deeds.

Bill had the camera out when he spotted a table with people surrounding it. There were a wide assortment of illegal narcotics on the table and suitcases filled with money and more of the crap. Bill was quick. He took the most clear picture one could ever take and pocketed it. He heard voices of curiosity, and Bill got his pistols out.

The whispering turned into shouts and barks. The dogs had their own weapons, but Bill was already armed and aiming. He squeezed the triggers with grim accuracy, shooting the fish in the barrel they holed themselves in. None of them were quick enough to get their weapons ready, let alone take aim, let alone firing.

None survived the barrage from both high-capacity magazines of Bill’s sidearms. He slipped the clips out of his pistols and pocketed them, replacing them with fresh clips. He checked every member and made sure they were dead, then started taking more pictures. This time, close-ups of the objects on the table and the faces of each and every one of them. He also collected every firearm and stuffed them all into the suitcases. His gloves left no prints, and no one was awake to suspect a thing as he brought everything towards the Police Station.

To be continued…

-Jakob.

What teh eff? Part 2

Bill awoke when a meteor smashed into the ground in front of him. The resulting explosion left a crater and shrapnel going in all directions. A single piece pierced bill’s gut, which is strange, considering no other piece touched him. Bill felt his gut and was greeted with a warm fluid. His shirt started turning red.

Then the bleeding stopped. Bill wiped the blood off to see that his wound healed almost instantly. His first reaction was screaming, followed by “Hey, I think I’m a superhero!”

He stood up otherwise unscatched, while the thatched basket was torn to shreds behind him. It lay pitifully on the ground, getting picked up by the soft breeze going through what was left of Desert Toqn. The town itself remained destroyed and desolate. After realising that there’s no one left, and that everyone is dead and gone, Bill wet himself again. His urine was suddenly a deadly acid, and ate through his previous urine expulsion and his pants. The acid did not affect him, however.

The now-pantsless Bill made a mental note to never ever wet himself again and ran off through the destroyed town. He spotted a clothes shop and grabbed some pants. They were pretty torn, but they covered Bill’s crotch just as well as any other pants. There was really no reason to that other than his natural instinct to not be pantsless in public. After all, there was no one around to complain.

Regardless, Bill got back to the subject that he might be a superhero. After testing out basic physical enhancements, he determined that he couldn’t lift any more than he could prior to the meteor. However, he could fly. All in all, Bill’s powers included fast regeneration, powerful acidic urine, and flight. Using his flying ability, he got out of the desert.

Suddenly, a dark thunderstorm came and blasted Bill out of the air. He plummeted to the ground from a million meters up. Bill wet himself again, destroying his pants. He landed somewhere in the desert and was knocked out again.

To be continued… again…

-Jakob.

(HJ: Where were you?)

Downstairs.

What the eff?

IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT! Like an unoriginal setting for some preceding event from a movie’s title screen, which comprised of the introduction credits and all that sort of stuff. Bill was walking through the dark and stormy desert when he just realised that he was in a desert. Why was there a huge rain storm complete with thunder in a typically dry place?

The mystery was one of many. But Bill didn’t mind. He took the positive side of the mystery and drank the rain water. It was clean, not at all acidy, like the rain he usually saw.

He was then struck by lightning. He lay on the ground, dead, but alive at once. He could see, but could not think. He was now brain-dead… Well, for four hours anyway.

He truly “awoke” after those four hours. The storm was gone without a trace. The water sank below the sand and it was dry as ever. Bill started running onward toward his intended destination: The town of “DESERT TOQN”.

Desert Toqn was named after a typing error in the name “Desert Town”, which was its intended name. Unfortunately, the man who put in the Q did not realise it. Neither did the contractors who created and erected the sign itself. The town itself was filled with fools. Bill always knew that a Fool and his money were soon parted. That was why Bill was going there.

Money, and a woman. Who was the woman? Bill did not know. He was a typical man trying to make it through life with the standards: Healthy living and a wife.

Desert Toqn was on the horizon, and Bill started running faster. He suddenly tripped into an oasis, which he determined was a mirage five minutes ago from running. He scrambled to get out of the water, but accidentally wet himself before he succeeded. Bill then continued running, uncaring that sand is collecting on his wet boots and pants. He tripped a second time, covering his wet skin, shirt, and jacket with sand as well. It was irritating, but Bill soon dried off while running. After all, he was in the desert.

Before entering Desert Toqn, Bill sweeped off every grain of sand he could spot. The town was made of stone buildings, stone roads, and other stone things. The only visible creations of the Higher Being that were not made of stone were the thatched roofs hanging over assorted market stalls, non-stone objects being sold at said markets, and the humans who resembled Bill, but wore different attire.

A Meteor storm arrived, and started pounding Desert Toqn with every inch of space rock that got close. Buildings exploded, and people screamed as they ran around like headless chickens. Bill jumped into a thatched carrying case and went to his happy place. He wet himself again.

Another two hours later, Bill noticed that the carnage was over. He climbed out of the thatched carrying case to view that Desert Toqn was entirely obliterated. The only thing unscathed was Bill’s hiding place. Bill ran around, looking for survivors, just like the deep-down good person he is. He searched high and low throughout the flattened city, but did not find anyone. He was tired, and fell asleep in the shade of the thatched carrying case he hid in.

To be continued.

-Jakob.

Huh, I wondered what the password actually was.

Hey guys, Jakob here. I’m using a bud’s computer over here in Europe. I prefer to keep my location a secret, so I won’t say what country.

My purpose of being here: What I figured out about why many girls, if not all girls try to dress up, put on make-up, on some cases, obsess about shoes, and in the slightly rarer case, why girls dress up as if they were fuckin’ wearing STRINGS instead of fabric sheets sewed together like clothing really should be.

Yes, this also goes for why men try to obtain six-packs, muscles, and good-looking hair. It all sort of came to me while I was at this one Beach. I noticed hundreds of men and women all in their suits. Some wore full-body suits, some guys wore t-shirts along with their trunks, and women in two-piece bikinis that seemed to be real fucking tight, or too small for their so-called “watermelon avalanches”. It sickened me in a sense, which made me ask “Why?”

Why? Deep-down, humans are still animals. They’re the only ones with the ability to reason, the ability to think further than instinct could ever hope to think about achieving. Hell, why else do you think we’ve got fuckin’ computers like these and why this blog is here in the first place?

Deep-down, humans still have that instinct all animals strive to achieve: Reproduction.

Don’t get me wrong. Reproduction is a natural part of any life. To be honest, I’m getting a little sick of people trying to achieve that, but really, they’re just “in it for the lulz.” Real damned absurd.

*sigh*

When I was in England, I spotted a strip club with a sign that could be seen for miles, and I could’ve sworn I saw an elementary school about three blocks away. A strip club, filled with “guys and dolls” that try to make members of the opposite sex turn to fucking mush just for their own entertainment, but also entertain the mush-people as well.

It seems like a win-win situation, but who ends up with the money?

Money is also a bullshit factor of the world. People try to bribe their way out of situations, despite the fact that all they have on the fucking planet is what’s on the fucking planet.

Just how much is the globe itself? We live on it for free, and we rip Earth’s organs out for whatever reasons we humans desire, and ultimately sell them off to someone who can just as easily obtain something similar by shoving his hand into the multi-material surface right under his shoes.

There may be a God, but I doubt he appreciates us fucking up our lives for incredibly stupid reasons. Considering that, we just may as well be alone as it would be if there was no God to begin with.

I’m just one guy who lost his faith in humanity long ago, and HJ’s just one guy trying to get through his life with as little regrets as possible. What the hell is happening to us humans? Inter-reproduction screwed up our minds? Memories of wars caused my single idiots and multitudes of people who followed said idiot?

Psychology doesn’t kill people. A lack of psychology leaves us with an unknown factor as to why people kill people, and why Guns sure do help.

Well, random thoughts…

-Jakob

HA HA HA HA HA!

HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA

—–

Now then, lets see someone pull off a story as wacked-out, sudden, and plot-filled as this. Just try.

-Jakob

Hmm…

To hate means that you seriously don’t like someone and are willing to do something about it. That’s what makes “hate” different from “dislike”

HJ and I dislike people. We don’t hate. I’ve yet to actually kill someone apart from those in my stories, to be honest. I usually just send them to the hospital with major injuries, but none of them died as far as I know.

There are those that overreact, however. They throw around that dreaded word as if it was a complete joke. To really hate is not a laughing manner. Disliking isn’t a laughing matter as well, but it’s not as serious.

Those who just don’t like someone won’t give a shit about them. If they hate said person, then they would actually do something about it, such as kill, which is the most common practice of real hate.

Idiots these days need to get their terminology straight. Then they need to write a story. Get their innermost feelings out. HJ’s going into that practice with this blog, and I like that. I seriously respect that. In fact, I might let him write for my sector, and make it seem as if it was my own. Then I’ll set up a contest with no prize for people to see which one was done by the HJ himself.

Anyway, my story today was more a reflection on how fucked-up the English Language really is. Especially the word “fuck”. It started off as simply “to strike”, as in hit someone. Such as this:

“Billy punched Bob in the face.”

Now switch “punch” with “fuck”:

“Billy fucked Bob in the face.”

Nowadays, it would sound wrong on so many levels. Pathetic, I find; to be honest. Back when “fuck” simply meant “to strike” and not as a vulgar substitute for “having out-of-line sex with”, “fuck” was an actually good word.

Same with “shit” or “crap”. Those who mucked-up the word are those to blame, throwing censorship and barriers over parts of the English Language. They’re ultimately just words. It’s the meaning the rest of the human race packed with it that made it horrid.

Sigh…

Of course, I tend to swear a lot. HJ doesn’t as much. He’s got that “politeness” element to him. He would never hurt a fly unless very certain “precautions” would be taken. Too bad there are idiots out there actually trying to achieve those precautions. I personally would not want to see HJ when he “truly snaps”, and neither do his friends… his good friends… Myself especially…

Well, onto the story I never promised, but was implied as promised.

—–

Billy punched Bob in the face. Bob’s nose was broken. The snap was heard across the hallway. The teacher laughed his guts out and then died as a result of organ loss. Kids screamed, cheered, jeered, and flailed every appendage attached to their torso around in any assortment of emotion.

It was a typical day at “Macabre School”.

—–

I lol’ed. I’m sorry, but I did lol. Well, I’ll probably hit the sack. Don’t know about HJ, but I know he’ll go to sleep reasonably. He still has school.

-Jakob

Untitled… as of yet…

He stood amongst the garbage bags left out in the alleyway, waiting to be collected by the garbage man for a whole week now. He was fiddling with one of them, trying to make it look natural amongst the rest. He then walked off.

Murder was a fickle thing, even if the target had it coming. However, Bill didn’t care. He left the corpse amongst the trash where he belonged, fourteen pounds of cocaine still left jammed in the kid’s jacket pockets.

The kid had a chance, but he didn’t bring the crack to the police station so they could take up a thorough search of the city and be able to find the junkies that messed with the law system. They didn’t know why the laws were there. They didn’t know that their father’s fathers were the ones who instigated them. They were too stupid and blinded with the thought of money.

Which made Bill wonder: Just what the hell would they DO with the money they get? It’s crime money, and any good investigation would get their fingerprints anyway. There are also ways to find out which bills came from where. The unfortunate thing about crime is that those who commit it are too stupid to figure out that they only have one world to live in. Where would they run? Canada? They have almost-as-strict laws and superior terrain. It would be impossible to walk all the way to Alaska before getting spotted, let alone captured and thrown back across the Forty-ninth parallel.

Mexico would be the better bet, but considering “illegal immigrants” try to get into the United States from there, there would be thousands, maybe millions of them trying to get across the border, and all of them desperate for money.

Anywhere outside would either house terrain unfamiliar to them, just as strict or stricter law enforcers, predators that can kill humans effortlessly, or worst off: horrific weather and disease.

One world. One world, and they think they can hide in it. No one can hide from the world. It’s always going to be right under their noses.

Always.

Bill kept a pound in his own jacket pocket, kept closed by a zip-lock bag. He got to the police station without another word to any pedestrians. He plopped the bag in front of the inspector’s face when he entered the inspector’s office.

“Yours, I assume?” he joked.

“No. I found it off some dead kid,” Bill lied, “Found the kid amongst some trash bags. Fingerprints all over this block. Think you can get this analyzed?”

“How was the kid killed?” The Inspector asked.

“By whoever messed with this nose powder.” Bill replied.

“It boggles my mind. Who does this stuff?”

“Idiots with no care for the great gift of life.” Bill guessed.

“Hmm… Pity…”

Bill left silently, leaving the Inspector to scan the fingerprints on the block of cocaine. He checked his pockets to feel the piano wire he used to kill the kid earlier, along with a case of hard candies in his other pocket. A pencil and notepad were also present. Within his coat was his personal sidearm.

He wanted to go home, eat some supper, and sleep, but he couldn’t. He had a lead. He had a target, and he wanted to take it down.

To be continued… Because I’m lazy.