- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
I can only imagine what kind of a charge of dynamite it took to uproot him from the broken-down shack. Maybe code enforcement got a good look around and outright forced him and Momma Sweet out.
🎨 Artcow Iconoclast / Jonathan Mack Sweet - The Chris-Chan of Arkansas
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- Sep 3, 2014
My guess is the idiot let his wall get so bad by being too stupid to bother fixing it that it actually collapsed, thus leaving the house entirely open to the elements.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
There's a couple new Blech blogs out, but they're utterly boring. There's comics that might have something good, but they give me a fucking headache to look at so someone else can do the honors.
https://www.deviantart.com/haggismccrablice/journal/Feb-14-2019-V-D-785622037
This one's slightly more interesting. He muses about storage lockers. He's gonna end up living in one when Momma Sweet passes on.
https://www.deviantart.com/haggismccrablice/journal/Feb-12-2019-785338540
"All told, it's been a pretty eventful year since my last conspiraversary. I'm still sorting a lot of things out. I can't help but notice, since I moved to my new place, the large number of storage units they have for rent around here. I have one of those cinder-block lockers myself, where most of my books, papers, and clothes currently sit. It makes this town feel somehow temporary, like nobody really lives here -- they just have all their stuff boxed, bagged, and at the ready, like they're stationed in some war-torn corner of the world and they're expecting the order to bug out at any minute.
So, adios for now."
Edit: The Feb 12 comic has a picture of the house. Take a gander at this:
https://www.deviantart.com/haggismccrablice/journal/Feb-14-2019-V-D-785622037
This one's slightly more interesting. He muses about storage lockers. He's gonna end up living in one when Momma Sweet passes on.
https://www.deviantart.com/haggismccrablice/journal/Feb-12-2019-785338540
"All told, it's been a pretty eventful year since my last conspiraversary. I'm still sorting a lot of things out. I can't help but notice, since I moved to my new place, the large number of storage units they have for rent around here. I have one of those cinder-block lockers myself, where most of my books, papers, and clothes currently sit. It makes this town feel somehow temporary, like nobody really lives here -- they just have all their stuff boxed, bagged, and at the ready, like they're stationed in some war-torn corner of the world and they're expecting the order to bug out at any minute.
So, adios for now."
Edit: The Feb 12 comic has a picture of the house. Take a gander at this:
Last edited:
O
ON 190
Guest
kiwifarms.net
My god. He actively counts the years, to the day, when he was fired for plagiarism. I knew he was pathetic, but this is insane.
Then again he did think a piece of broken headlight was a diamond...
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2015
And he still doesn't get that his response to getting removed from the Herald staff is what tanked his life, not that. If he'd just sucked it up and moved on, I doubt he'd have a thread here. And I still cannot fathom why an unpaid spot on a college paper at a third-rate university was so important to him he destroyed his life over it.
Dr. Merkwurdichliebe
Kiwiminister für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2015
Hey, The Giant Brain got a check from The Herald for somewhere in the neighborhood of $40 for that semester's work. Plus all the pennies jammed in his door and all the crap he stole from the paper's office, thinking it was "tribute" from his thousands of adoring readers. Considering the quality of his work, Thumbskull wasn't just paid, he was extravagantly overpaid.
As to why he let a tempest in an ASU teacup destroy his life, I'm gonna go with profound mental illness as the answer. Sweet would be exactly where he is today if he had never written a single word for the paper.
I do have a question. Is the Mold Kingdom being repaired for Sweet's eventual return, or will he be living in his welfare apartment until his inevitable arrest and incarceration?
- Joined
- Sep 3, 2014
Probably is supposed to be fixed, but given the hideous laziness from all parties will never be and just be left there to rot into its foundations.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
Over a year ago is when the Great Brain first announced that they were going to work on the house. I'm thinking that the problems revealed were bad enough to finally force Belch and his poor mom out. Either her other sons stepped in or a government agency did. I'm betting on the former, because if code enforcement or the senior welfare people had been involved he'd be screaming about bureaucrats picking on him.
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2015
I always assumed the rest of the house was in good repair and that Sweet’s room was an anomaly but yikes. I guess his mom has a few screws loose too.
- Joined
- Mar 29, 2014
It's probably the single -- and only -- biggest event in Sweet's otherwise uneventful life.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
A super-boring Belch-blog, where he hints at terrible events affecting him physically. Sadly, I doubt it's serious.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Also, have some bonus racism from 2012: Jiggaboos Vs. Joggers or Why Jon Don't Exercise
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Also, have some bonus racism from 2012: Jiggaboos Vs. Joggers or Why Jon Don't Exercise
Dr. Merkwurdichliebe
Kiwiminister für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2015
An April First bulletin from Jigaboo Junction World Headquarters:
www.deviantart.com
More vague hints about a recent Dire Event that May Not Be Discussed but whose subsequent symptoms sound suspiciously like a mental breakdown. Or maybe it's all an April Fool's joke.
Apr 1, 2019 by HaggisMcCrablice on DeviantArt
www.deviantart.com
More vague hints about a recent Dire Event that May Not Be Discussed but whose subsequent symptoms sound suspiciously like a mental breakdown. Or maybe it's all an April Fool's joke.
Last edited:
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
Yeah, the April 1st Belch blog had an interesting and revealing bit: "like the weird, awkward fourth cousin of Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network... you know, the kid whose family is too poor to afford a satellite dish so whenever you go over to his house you see Shelldon instead of SpongeBob and 3-2-1 Penguins instead of Teen Titans, whose toys and clothes are all from secondhand shops and Salvation Army grab-bags, and about whom all the other kids whisper insipid playground rumors that he was actually born with six toes on one foot."
I firmly believe Jon Sweet was the weird kid growing up, he never had a satellite dish, and everything his parents dressed him in and gave him to play with was second-hand. Of course, now I want to see a picture of Jon's feet really badly, I could easily see Jon having six toes on a foot. Even if he didn't, that's exactly the kind of rumor kids would start about a weird autist like Jon.
Also the mystery of his terrible trauma is solved in his new Belchblog. First up, his dog Bear died in March. To commemorate him, Sweet posted a series of seven one minute or less videos. Perhaps the strangest part is the first vid, where he plays the theme from the Muppet Show while filming a small "In Memory Of" flag. Note that it doesn't say who it's in memory of. The descriptions are priceless, but the real gold is in Jon's hobo visage lying on a pillow deep sighing to show how upset he is. It's not all bad news though: the Ghost of Bear is now sending Jon a scattering of pennies.
Second up, he apparently buried his dog in the junkyard behind his old house. I wouldn't be surprised if he sneaks back over there to steal the dog's head and keep it in the closet with the dead cat head. He still insists work is ongoing at the house. I am highly doubtful Jon Sweet will ever live in that house again.
I firmly believe Jon Sweet was the weird kid growing up, he never had a satellite dish, and everything his parents dressed him in and gave him to play with was second-hand. Of course, now I want to see a picture of Jon's feet really badly, I could easily see Jon having six toes on a foot. Even if he didn't, that's exactly the kind of rumor kids would start about a weird autist like Jon.
Also the mystery of his terrible trauma is solved in his new Belchblog. First up, his dog Bear died in March. To commemorate him, Sweet posted a series of seven one minute or less videos. Perhaps the strangest part is the first vid, where he plays the theme from the Muppet Show while filming a small "In Memory Of" flag. Note that it doesn't say who it's in memory of. The descriptions are priceless, but the real gold is in Jon's hobo visage lying on a pillow deep sighing to show how upset he is. It's not all bad news though: the Ghost of Bear is now sending Jon a scattering of pennies.
Second up, he apparently buried his dog in the junkyard behind his old house. I wouldn't be surprised if he sneaks back over there to steal the dog's head and keep it in the closet with the dead cat head. He still insists work is ongoing at the house. I am highly doubtful Jon Sweet will ever live in that house again.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2014
You nasty.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
At this point I wouldn't be surprised to find out he had a tail or gills.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
So Jon's had a few updates since his dog died, nothing very memorable or worth putting up. Until now.
June 21:
The Return of All Jon's Obsessions
Truly the end of an era... the implosion of the Seminole Twin Towers at Arkansas State University. Screenshots taken from this video , filmed May 25th, 2008.
At the time I was in a very bad domestic situation, and I had come up with what, at the time, I thought was a genius scheme to get out of it. My plan was to pack up a few things and a little cash and simply leave home, telling no one, and arrange somehow to get to Jonesboro. Deducing cabs and public transportation were far too costly for me, I had my eye on the trainyards near my house. All I needed, I figured, was an unguarded boxcar, a pair of strong legs to make the jump aboard, and enough luck to insure this freight-car was going my way. When the train rolled past A-State at Nettleton Avenue, I'd hop off and run. I would wait 'til night, sneak onto campus, make for Twin, and move lock, stock, and Sweetchuck into an old dorm room I remembered from my days there. It was on the fifth floor, between the weight room and the door leading to the back stairs. It was small, dirty, dark, and above all, vacant and unnoticed-- perfect for my needs. I'd hide there during much of the day, leaving (in disguise, of course) only at night to forage for food and utilize the computer lab and toilet facilities. I'd be the Phantom of Floor Five, going in and out undetected. I could use the weight machines and the stationary bike every night to keep in shape, quietly slipping away if anyone else showed up to work out. Above all I'd be careful, but should someone realized I was a drop-in and the heat was suddenly on me, I'd simply dash out the rear stairwell and try to hoof it out to the nearby woods before the campus cops caught up with me.
When the towers fell "in a cloud of rubble and dust" as if gripped and crushed by some great "occult hand" (maybe that's what you can see in the smoke in that last shot, eh?), I didn't even know it was gone; I had to learn of it, in the alumni newsletter, months later. I felt betrayed, cheated, and just plain stuck. I decided it was just as well I hadn't tried to execute my big, romantic escape plan. The last two years of its life, I learned, Twin was a training area for the police. Even if I had managed to flee my crazy brother's abuse and made it to campus, I'd have immediately blundered right into a nest of cops, who would have arrested me on sight.
This issue was in production right around the tenth anniversary of the event, and it indicates the major shift that occurred in my thinking in the years between 2010 and now. This was a period that encapsulated the rise and fall of Hillary Clinton, the election of Donald Trump in 2016, and the grand national tantrum over that win that gave rise to a grand schism in America. It was #MeToo vs. #Pervatory; the trophy they fought for was the hearts and minds of the millennial voting base. It was no longer the days of John Belushi's Animal House. It was a kinder, gentler time now. College campuses had now become "chickified". The response? A sharp drop in male enrollment was soon seen on college campuses, as young men who had grown up on the fascinating stories by their fathers, uncles, big brothers and older chums who had gone to college "back in the day" began to become disenchanted and quit school in disgust. The common lounges and game rooms had now been designated as "safe spaces", which you might as well call "testosterone-free zones". It was phoning ahead to book time with a therapy pet instead of phoning up a hot, skanky coed for a little heavy petting. It was cookies and milk instead of burgers, nachos, and soda fountains. It was cute cat videos instead of porn playing on the TV. Play-Doh and coloring books have replaced pinball, pool, and the floating poker games that started late on Friday night and often went early into Sunday morning. Good God, it was a nightmare; it was like living in a giant nursery school with a bunch of adult babies. In short, college sucked now. And this is what they laughably call "progress".
I was depressed by all this, but then realized Arkansas State University was no longer the only game in town. I had been talking since 2004 or '05 about my idea for a "college-living apartment", only to have small-minded imbeciles simply dismiss it out of hand as a flophouse, "dorm-brothel", "Sweet's Pervo Palace", or a depressing, "tightly-controlled" environment, "like prison". Even the idea of mandating each resident spend three hours per week studying for a degree either on a campus or online didn't appease the naysayers any. To say nothing of a host of downsides: a brick-and-mortar structure would be prohibitively expensive to lease, renovate, furnish, staff, and maintain, it'd only be able to meet the needs of one small area, and it would never be seen as more than a nuisance or an eyesore by the community at large, making it a constant target for empty-headed protesters. Then it hit me: an a nline education was nothing new, mind, but in the eight years since I made this joke it's become a burgeoning, less expensive, and viable alternative to a traditional college experience, for a host of reasons. I had an idea for an Internet application that could simulate life on the ASU campus in the nineties, yet be a lot cheaper than renting or buying property, and reach a far wider customer base. The perks package wouldn't be hard to recreate, either: I'd just have to talk local restaurants into accepting printable student I.D. cards from "Online U" (just a placeholder name at this point) in lieu of cash-- there's your daily buffet, right there. Television and the Internet have come a long way since half-past 1997, and even since the early days of ObamaCable in 2009, so applicants probably already have pretty swell, fast-moving computers and decent-sized TV screens in their homes and apartments already. Sure, you sacriice the sense of camaraderie and the interesting characters you can meet that a communal lounge may bring, but you also avoid any arguments over limited space and equipment and and a lot of the bruised feelings and resentments that can build up, too. As for "play-dates" with beautiful random girls, there's a number of escort sites online I could probably arrange some sort of sponsorship with, even persuade them to waive any fees in exchange for... well, whatever ASU used to offer the Trumann girls to keep the fellas amused for a few months; I'll work all that out later, along with any other niggling details. All I needed was to secure the money, and I'd be in business.
Now, ignoring for a moment the fact that I know jack dook about writing apps, I thought perhaps I'd fund my great ASU 2.0 app notion with the earnings I garnered from a few smaller, lesser apps. I had plenty of ideas. For example, shortly after I got Bear, I had an idea for an app that, when you put in a picture of your dog, it tells you what breed it is. Imagine how put out I felt when, a few years later, I found out some dipshit stole this hot idea right out from under me! I could have made a fortune off it, if only I knew how to write a lousy piece of webcode. This is why I regret being forced to leave school two decades ago, before the rise, pop, and residual fallout of the great .dot-com bubble spawned the next generation of Internet millionaires--a cottage industry of home-brewed kitchen-table code cracker nerds. If I'd been back living in the dorms in 2012, '13, when all this was on the rise, who knows-- I could have been chummy with the next Woz.
So anyway... my brother squared up, moved out, and got married. The old homestead started to look more and more empty, a big yawning white elephant, needing constant upkeep and expensive repairs, so my other brother talked Mom into moving out and into their place. She'd be closer to him and his growing family, and I'd have a room nearby, I was told, so I could pop over and check in on her now and again, feed and water and walk the pets... so, uncertain and a bit reluctant, I agreed to leave my home, my comfortable bedroom/office and the 23 years of memories I'd built all behind, and move there as well. It was no life in the dorms, sure, but I found it would suffice. Everybody's lives were improving.
I found the change of scenery also spurred my creativity. I was getting out and walking more, and finding brilliant new ideas absolutely everywhere. For example, up until a year ago I was supplementing my boys' kibble with canned food... half a can of wet for each, mixed with a bowl of the dry stuff. They liked it okay. But one of the things I noticed after I moved is that a lot of the stuff I bought was more expensive in the stores up here than back in our hometown Wal-Mart. I didn't wish to shell out extra money for a can of hog anuses and horse nipples that likely would end up half-eaten and spoiling under the hot sun. I then noticed how much food the store across the way tossed out every afternoon-- perfectly good ground beef, pork steaks, hot dogs, and tasty fried chicken, going to waste, just because it's ten minutes past its sell-by date! Imagine! So each day I'd go out to the store's dumpsters, rescue a few edible scraps, take them home, and mix the day's take with their dry food. A raw-meat diet is healthier for dogs than that canned muck, I read. Plus, hey, it was free, and a good way to stretch a bag of kibble a couple days longer. After a while I noticed how much healthier they looked on their new diet--shinier coats, strong muscles, a lot more energy. I've since become such a frequent visitor to the dumpster that the guy who wheels out the garbage-cart always holds back a package of bacon or some Li' Smokies sausages for Mooch, and even hand-feeds him the treats personally. Now that's service! I even got another cool new app idea from this-- the one that eventually became the impetus for the first story in this issue, "App Pupil"... as well as a few others I mention in the course of the story. All I need to do now is find some code-monkeys to help make them real (and remember not to call them "code-monkeys" to their faces ), and ASU 2.0 could be fully-funded and a reality in five years.
Sure, I still miss the real ASU sometimes, but I realize the poison of change had gone too deeply into the bone, and it sinks in a little deeper each year. I couldn't save it; all I ever loved was lost, or maybe it had never even existed to start with. It wasn't my home anymore. The past was past. And I am slowly learning to accept this.
But you're wondering about the picture, aren't you? So why the tear-down, you ask? Apparently, the toxic mold problem had become pretty severe and the building uninhabitable. One source at ASU claims the stuff growing in the air ducts had finally achieved sentience and was demanding a seat on the Board of Regents. (So does that mean anyone living in Twin between, say, 1996 and 2006 and whose house has suffered from mold damage could have plausible grounds for a lawsuit? Thousands of students could make the case that some virulent spores from Twin accidentally got into their luggage, and they brought it home, unawares, with them. See, progressives never stop to think it's their incompetence, neglect, and stupidity that negatively impacts people's lives. I smell a fat class-action settlement coming.)
--I guess we know now why Jon's dog died at seven years of age. He's been feeding them dumpster garbage. Also, Wow. All of his autistic fixations on full display here. The fantasy of hopping a freight train (lol), hoping the freight train ends up at ASU (lol) and sneaking into the dorm and living there (in disguise, of course) is amazing. There's confirmation he no longer lives with Momma Sweet, thank god. Also confirmation his brother wouldn't have him. His claim of having "a room nearby" combined with his repeated recent claims of having to share a computer makes me wonder if he's in a group home. I doubt he likes it much, probably why he's retreating further into his dorms-with-whores fantasy. All he needed was seed money, which he could've easily made with a few minor apps! Why no, he has no idea how to code. That's why he needed to be living in a dorm in 2012!
June 21:
The Return of All Jon's Obsessions
Truly the end of an era... the implosion of the Seminole Twin Towers at Arkansas State University. Screenshots taken from this video , filmed May 25th, 2008.
At the time I was in a very bad domestic situation, and I had come up with what, at the time, I thought was a genius scheme to get out of it. My plan was to pack up a few things and a little cash and simply leave home, telling no one, and arrange somehow to get to Jonesboro. Deducing cabs and public transportation were far too costly for me, I had my eye on the trainyards near my house. All I needed, I figured, was an unguarded boxcar, a pair of strong legs to make the jump aboard, and enough luck to insure this freight-car was going my way. When the train rolled past A-State at Nettleton Avenue, I'd hop off and run. I would wait 'til night, sneak onto campus, make for Twin, and move lock, stock, and Sweetchuck into an old dorm room I remembered from my days there. It was on the fifth floor, between the weight room and the door leading to the back stairs. It was small, dirty, dark, and above all, vacant and unnoticed-- perfect for my needs. I'd hide there during much of the day, leaving (in disguise, of course) only at night to forage for food and utilize the computer lab and toilet facilities. I'd be the Phantom of Floor Five, going in and out undetected. I could use the weight machines and the stationary bike every night to keep in shape, quietly slipping away if anyone else showed up to work out. Above all I'd be careful, but should someone realized I was a drop-in and the heat was suddenly on me, I'd simply dash out the rear stairwell and try to hoof it out to the nearby woods before the campus cops caught up with me.
When the towers fell "in a cloud of rubble and dust" as if gripped and crushed by some great "occult hand" (maybe that's what you can see in the smoke in that last shot, eh?), I didn't even know it was gone; I had to learn of it, in the alumni newsletter, months later. I felt betrayed, cheated, and just plain stuck. I decided it was just as well I hadn't tried to execute my big, romantic escape plan. The last two years of its life, I learned, Twin was a training area for the police. Even if I had managed to flee my crazy brother's abuse and made it to campus, I'd have immediately blundered right into a nest of cops, who would have arrested me on sight.
This issue was in production right around the tenth anniversary of the event, and it indicates the major shift that occurred in my thinking in the years between 2010 and now. This was a period that encapsulated the rise and fall of Hillary Clinton, the election of Donald Trump in 2016, and the grand national tantrum over that win that gave rise to a grand schism in America. It was #MeToo vs. #Pervatory; the trophy they fought for was the hearts and minds of the millennial voting base. It was no longer the days of John Belushi's Animal House. It was a kinder, gentler time now. College campuses had now become "chickified". The response? A sharp drop in male enrollment was soon seen on college campuses, as young men who had grown up on the fascinating stories by their fathers, uncles, big brothers and older chums who had gone to college "back in the day" began to become disenchanted and quit school in disgust. The common lounges and game rooms had now been designated as "safe spaces", which you might as well call "testosterone-free zones". It was phoning ahead to book time with a therapy pet instead of phoning up a hot, skanky coed for a little heavy petting. It was cookies and milk instead of burgers, nachos, and soda fountains. It was cute cat videos instead of porn playing on the TV. Play-Doh and coloring books have replaced pinball, pool, and the floating poker games that started late on Friday night and often went early into Sunday morning. Good God, it was a nightmare; it was like living in a giant nursery school with a bunch of adult babies. In short, college sucked now. And this is what they laughably call "progress".
I was depressed by all this, but then realized Arkansas State University was no longer the only game in town. I had been talking since 2004 or '05 about my idea for a "college-living apartment", only to have small-minded imbeciles simply dismiss it out of hand as a flophouse, "dorm-brothel", "Sweet's Pervo Palace", or a depressing, "tightly-controlled" environment, "like prison". Even the idea of mandating each resident spend three hours per week studying for a degree either on a campus or online didn't appease the naysayers any. To say nothing of a host of downsides: a brick-and-mortar structure would be prohibitively expensive to lease, renovate, furnish, staff, and maintain, it'd only be able to meet the needs of one small area, and it would never be seen as more than a nuisance or an eyesore by the community at large, making it a constant target for empty-headed protesters. Then it hit me: an a nline education was nothing new, mind, but in the eight years since I made this joke it's become a burgeoning, less expensive, and viable alternative to a traditional college experience, for a host of reasons. I had an idea for an Internet application that could simulate life on the ASU campus in the nineties, yet be a lot cheaper than renting or buying property, and reach a far wider customer base. The perks package wouldn't be hard to recreate, either: I'd just have to talk local restaurants into accepting printable student I.D. cards from "Online U" (just a placeholder name at this point) in lieu of cash-- there's your daily buffet, right there. Television and the Internet have come a long way since half-past 1997, and even since the early days of ObamaCable in 2009, so applicants probably already have pretty swell, fast-moving computers and decent-sized TV screens in their homes and apartments already. Sure, you sacriice the sense of camaraderie and the interesting characters you can meet that a communal lounge may bring, but you also avoid any arguments over limited space and equipment and and a lot of the bruised feelings and resentments that can build up, too. As for "play-dates" with beautiful random girls, there's a number of escort sites online I could probably arrange some sort of sponsorship with, even persuade them to waive any fees in exchange for... well, whatever ASU used to offer the Trumann girls to keep the fellas amused for a few months; I'll work all that out later, along with any other niggling details. All I needed was to secure the money, and I'd be in business.
Now, ignoring for a moment the fact that I know jack dook about writing apps, I thought perhaps I'd fund my great ASU 2.0 app notion with the earnings I garnered from a few smaller, lesser apps. I had plenty of ideas. For example, shortly after I got Bear, I had an idea for an app that, when you put in a picture of your dog, it tells you what breed it is. Imagine how put out I felt when, a few years later, I found out some dipshit stole this hot idea right out from under me! I could have made a fortune off it, if only I knew how to write a lousy piece of webcode. This is why I regret being forced to leave school two decades ago, before the rise, pop, and residual fallout of the great .dot-com bubble spawned the next generation of Internet millionaires--a cottage industry of home-brewed kitchen-table code cracker nerds. If I'd been back living in the dorms in 2012, '13, when all this was on the rise, who knows-- I could have been chummy with the next Woz.
So anyway... my brother squared up, moved out, and got married. The old homestead started to look more and more empty, a big yawning white elephant, needing constant upkeep and expensive repairs, so my other brother talked Mom into moving out and into their place. She'd be closer to him and his growing family, and I'd have a room nearby, I was told, so I could pop over and check in on her now and again, feed and water and walk the pets... so, uncertain and a bit reluctant, I agreed to leave my home, my comfortable bedroom/office and the 23 years of memories I'd built all behind, and move there as well. It was no life in the dorms, sure, but I found it would suffice. Everybody's lives were improving.
I found the change of scenery also spurred my creativity. I was getting out and walking more, and finding brilliant new ideas absolutely everywhere. For example, up until a year ago I was supplementing my boys' kibble with canned food... half a can of wet for each, mixed with a bowl of the dry stuff. They liked it okay. But one of the things I noticed after I moved is that a lot of the stuff I bought was more expensive in the stores up here than back in our hometown Wal-Mart. I didn't wish to shell out extra money for a can of hog anuses and horse nipples that likely would end up half-eaten and spoiling under the hot sun. I then noticed how much food the store across the way tossed out every afternoon-- perfectly good ground beef, pork steaks, hot dogs, and tasty fried chicken, going to waste, just because it's ten minutes past its sell-by date! Imagine! So each day I'd go out to the store's dumpsters, rescue a few edible scraps, take them home, and mix the day's take with their dry food. A raw-meat diet is healthier for dogs than that canned muck, I read. Plus, hey, it was free, and a good way to stretch a bag of kibble a couple days longer. After a while I noticed how much healthier they looked on their new diet--shinier coats, strong muscles, a lot more energy. I've since become such a frequent visitor to the dumpster that the guy who wheels out the garbage-cart always holds back a package of bacon or some Li' Smokies sausages for Mooch, and even hand-feeds him the treats personally. Now that's service! I even got another cool new app idea from this-- the one that eventually became the impetus for the first story in this issue, "App Pupil"... as well as a few others I mention in the course of the story. All I need to do now is find some code-monkeys to help make them real (and remember not to call them "code-monkeys" to their faces ), and ASU 2.0 could be fully-funded and a reality in five years.
Sure, I still miss the real ASU sometimes, but I realize the poison of change had gone too deeply into the bone, and it sinks in a little deeper each year. I couldn't save it; all I ever loved was lost, or maybe it had never even existed to start with. It wasn't my home anymore. The past was past. And I am slowly learning to accept this.
But you're wondering about the picture, aren't you? So why the tear-down, you ask? Apparently, the toxic mold problem had become pretty severe and the building uninhabitable. One source at ASU claims the stuff growing in the air ducts had finally achieved sentience and was demanding a seat on the Board of Regents. (So does that mean anyone living in Twin between, say, 1996 and 2006 and whose house has suffered from mold damage could have plausible grounds for a lawsuit? Thousands of students could make the case that some virulent spores from Twin accidentally got into their luggage, and they brought it home, unawares, with them. See, progressives never stop to think it's their incompetence, neglect, and stupidity that negatively impacts people's lives. I smell a fat class-action settlement coming.)
--I guess we know now why Jon's dog died at seven years of age. He's been feeding them dumpster garbage. Also, Wow. All of his autistic fixations on full display here. The fantasy of hopping a freight train (lol), hoping the freight train ends up at ASU (lol) and sneaking into the dorm and living there (in disguise, of course) is amazing. There's confirmation he no longer lives with Momma Sweet, thank god. Also confirmation his brother wouldn't have him. His claim of having "a room nearby" combined with his repeated recent claims of having to share a computer makes me wonder if he's in a group home. I doubt he likes it much, probably why he's retreating further into his dorms-with-whores fantasy. All he needed was seed money, which he could've easily made with a few minor apps! Why no, he has no idea how to code. That's why he needed to be living in a dorm in 2012!
- Joined
- Jun 29, 2013
We all thought of that idea, Jon.
Dr. Merkwurdichliebe
Kiwiminister für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2015
So Jon's had a few updates since his dog died, nothing very memorable or worth putting up. Until now.
June 21:
The Return of All Jon's Obsessions
View attachment 824505
Truly the end of an era... the implosion of the Seminole Twin Towers at Arkansas State University. Screenshots taken from this video , filmed May 25th, 2008.
At the time I was in a very bad domestic situation, and I had come up with what, at the time, I thought was a genius scheme to get out of it. My plan was to pack up a few things and a little cash and simply leave home, telling no one, and arrange somehow to get to Jonesboro. Deducing cabs and public transportation were far too costly for me, I had my eye on the trainyards near my house. All I needed, I figured, was an unguarded boxcar, a pair of strong legs to make the jump aboard, and enough luck to insure this freight-car was going my way. When the train rolled past A-State at Nettleton Avenue, I'd hop off and run. I would wait 'til night, sneak onto campus, make for Twin, and move lock, stock, and Sweetchuck into an old dorm room I remembered from my days there. It was on the fifth floor, between the weight room and the door leading to the back stairs. It was small, dirty, dark, and above all, vacant and unnoticed-- perfect for my needs. I'd hide there during much of the day, leaving (in disguise, of course) only at night to forage for food and utilize the computer lab and toilet facilities. I'd be the Phantom of Floor Five, going in and out undetected. I could use the weight machines and the stationary bike every night to keep in shape, quietly slipping away if anyone else showed up to work out. Above all I'd be careful, but should someone realized I was a drop-in and the heat was suddenly on me, I'd simply dash out the rear stairwell and try to hoof it out to the nearby woods before the campus cops caught up with me.
When the towers fell "in a cloud of rubble and dust" as if gripped and crushed by some great "occult hand" (maybe that's what you can see in the smoke in that last shot, eh?), I didn't even know it was gone; I had to learn of it, in the alumni newsletter, months later. I felt betrayed, cheated, and just plain stuck. I decided it was just as well I hadn't tried to execute my big, romantic escape plan. The last two years of its life, I learned, Twin was a training area for the police. Even if I had managed to flee my crazy brother's abuse and made it to campus, I'd have immediately blundered right into a nest of cops, who would have arrested me on sight.
This issue was in production right around the tenth anniversary of the event, and it indicates the major shift that occurred in my thinking in the years between 2010 and now. This was a period that encapsulated the rise and fall of Hillary Clinton, the election of Donald Trump in 2016, and the grand national tantrum over that win that gave rise to a grand schism in America. It was #MeToo vs. #Pervatory; the trophy they fought for was the hearts and minds of the millennial voting base. It was no longer the days of John Belushi's Animal House. It was a kinder, gentler time now. College campuses had now become "chickified". The response? A sharp drop in male enrollment was soon seen on college campuses, as young men who had grown up on the fascinating stories by their fathers, uncles, big brothers and older chums who had gone to college "back in the day" began to become disenchanted and quit school in disgust. The common lounges and game rooms had now been designated as "safe spaces", which you might as well call "testosterone-free zones". It was phoning ahead to book time with a therapy pet instead of phoning up a hot, skanky coed for a little heavy petting. It was cookies and tard cum instead of burgers, nachos, and soda fountains. It was cute cat videos instead of porn playing on the TV. Play-Doh and coloring books have replaced pinball, pool, and the floating poker games that started late on Friday night and often went early into Sunday morning. Good God, it was a nightmare; it was like living in a giant nursery school with a bunch of adult babies. In short, college sucked now. And this is what they laughably call "progress".
I was depressed by all this, but then realized Arkansas State University was no longer the only game in town. I had been talking since 2004 or '05 about my idea for a "college-living apartment", only to have small-minded imbeciles simply dismiss it out of hand as a flophouse, "dorm-brothel", "Sweet's Pervo Palace", or a depressing, "tightly-controlled" environment, "like prison". Even the idea of mandating each resident spend three hours per week studying for a degree either on a campus or online didn't appease the naysayers any. To say nothing of a host of downsides: a brick-and-mortar structure would be prohibitively expensive to lease, renovate, furnish, staff, and maintain, it'd only be able to meet the needs of one small area, and it would never be seen as more than a nuisance or an eyesore by the community at large, making it a constant target for empty-headed protesters. Then it hit me: an a nline education was nothing new, mind, but in the eight years since I made this joke it's become a burgeoning, less expensive, and viable alternative to a traditional college experience, for a host of reasons. I had an idea for an Internet application that could simulate life on the ASU campus in the nineties, yet be a lot cheaper than renting or buying property, and reach a far wider customer base. The perks package wouldn't be hard to recreate, either: I'd just have to talk local restaurants into accepting printable student I.D. cards from "Online U" (just a placeholder name at this point) in lieu of cash-- there's your daily buffet, right there. Television and the Internet have come a long way since half-past 1997, and even since the early days of ObamaCable in 2009, so applicants probably already have pretty swell, fast-moving computers and decent-sized TV screens in their homes and apartments already. Sure, you sacriice the sense of camaraderie and the interesting characters you can meet that a communal lounge may bring, but you also avoid any arguments over limited space and equipment and and a lot of the bruised feelings and resentments that can build up, too. As for "play-dates" with beautiful random girls, there's a number of escort sites online I could probably arrange some sort of sponsorship with, even persuade them to waive any fees in exchange for... well, whatever ASU used to offer the Trumann girls to keep the fellas amused for a few months; I'll work all that out later, along with any other niggling details. All I needed was to secure the money, and I'd be in business.
Now, ignoring for a moment the fact that I know jack dook about writing apps, I thought perhaps I'd fund my great ASU 2.0 app notion with the earnings I garnered from a few smaller, lesser apps. I had plenty of ideas. For example, shortly after I got Bear, I had an idea for an app that, when you put in a picture of your dog, it tells you what breed it is. Imagine how put out I felt when, a few years later, I found out some dipshit stole this hot idea right out from under me! I could have made a fortune off it, if only I knew how to write a lousy piece of webcode. This is why I regret being forced to leave school two decades ago, before the rise, pop, and residual fallout of the great .dot-com bubble spawned the next generation of Internet millionaires--a cottage industry of home-brewed kitchen-table code cracker nerds. If I'd been back living in the dorms in 2012, '13, when all this was on the rise, who knows-- I could have been chummy with the next Woz.
So anyway... my brother squared up, moved out, and got married. The old homestead started to look more and more empty, a big yawning white elephant, needing constant upkeep and expensive repairs, so my other brother talked Mom into moving out and into their place. She'd be closer to him and his growing family, and I'd have a room nearby, I was told, so I could pop over and check in on her now and again, feed and water and walk the pets... so, uncertain and a bit reluctant, I agreed to leave my home, my comfortable bedroom/office and the 23 years of memories I'd built all behind, and move there as well. It was no life in the dorms, sure, but I found it would suffice. Everybody's lives were improving.
I found the change of scenery also spurred my creativity. I was getting out and walking more, and finding brilliant new ideas absolutely everywhere. For example, up until a year ago I was supplementing my boys' kibble with canned food... half a can of wet for each, mixed with a bowl of the dry stuff. They liked it okay. But one of the things I noticed after I moved is that a lot of the stuff I bought was more expensive in the stores up here than back in our hometown Wal-Mart. I didn't wish to shell out extra money for a can of hog anuses and horse nipples that likely would end up half-eaten and spoiling under the hot sun. I then noticed how much food the store across the way tossed out every afternoon-- perfectly good ground beef, pork steaks, hot dogs, and tasty fried chicken, going to waste, just because it's ten minutes past its sell-by date! Imagine! So each day I'd go out to the store's dumpsters, rescue a few edible scraps, take them home, and mix the day's take with their dry food. A raw-meat diet is healthier for dogs than that canned muck, I read. Plus, hey, it was free, and a good way to stretch a bag of kibble a couple days longer. After a while I noticed how much healthier they looked on their new diet--shinier coats, strong muscles, a lot more energy. I've since become such a frequent visitor to the dumpster that the guy who wheels out the garbage-cart always holds back a package of bacon or some Li' Smokies sausages for Mooch, and even hand-feeds him the treats personally. Now that's service! I even got another cool new app idea from this-- the one that eventually became the impetus for the first story in this issue, "App Pupil"... as well as a few others I mention in the course of the story. All I need to do now is find some code-monkeys to help make them real (and remember not to call them "code-monkeys" to their faces ), and ASU 2.0 could be fully-funded and a reality in five years.
Sure, I still miss the real ASU sometimes, but I realize the poison of change had gone too deeply into the bone, and it sinks in a little deeper each year. I couldn't save it; all I ever loved was lost, or maybe it had never even existed to start with. It wasn't my home anymore. The past was past. And I am slowly learning to accept this.
But you're wondering about the picture, aren't you? So why the tear-down, you ask? Apparently, the toxic mold problem had become pretty severe and the building uninhabitable. One source at ASU claims the stuff growing in the air ducts had finally achieved sentience and was demanding a seat on the Board of Regents. (So does that mean anyone living in Twin between, say, 1996 and 2006 and whose house has suffered from mold damage could have plausible grounds for a lawsuit? Thousands of students could make the case that some virulent spores from Twin accidentally got into their luggage, and they brought it home, unawares, with them. See, progressives never stop to think it's their incompetence, neglect, and stupidity that negatively impacts people's lives. I smell a fat class-action settlement coming.)
--I guess we know now why Jon's dog died at seven years of age. He's been feeding them dumpster garbage. Also, Wow. All of his autistic fixations on full display here. The fantasy of hopping a freight train (lol), hoping the freight train ends up at ASU (lol) and sneaking into the dorm and living there (in disguise, of course) is amazing. There's confirmation he no longer lives with Momma Sweet, thank god. Also confirmation his brother wouldn't have him. His claim of having "a room nearby" combined with his repeated recent claims of having to share a computer makes me wonder if he's in a group home. I doubt he likes it much, probably why he's retreating further into his dorms-with-whores fantasy. All he needed was seed money, which he could've easily made with a few minor apps! Why no, he has no idea how to code. That's why he needed to be living in a dorm in 2012!
Wow. Still crazy after all these years.
A few comments:
I don't think The Giant Brain is in a group home. He wouldn't be allowed to have dogs there. And he certainly wouldn't be allowed to bring in the fruits of his dumpster-diving expeditions.
There is zero chance that Sweet is getting food out of restaurant dumpsters without eating some of it himself. It's got to taste a lot better than the scrumptious buffets served up at ASU.
He's probably in a Section 8 apartment, with the government paying 75 percent of the rent for the unemployable lunatic's efficiency unit.
If he's having to share a computer, it's probably one in the complex's commons area or a nearby library. (And by "share a computer" he certainly means "hog all day and fuck everybody else.") It's almost a certainty that no one in the family will pay for him to have Internet access. That way danger lies.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2017
But he doesn't have his dogs with him. They're at his brother's house. Though you're probably right about Sweet being in a Section 8 efficiency. If he was in an actual group home he'd be screaming to the heavens about government bureaucrats trying to run his life. I do have trouble believing he'll manage any sort of independent living in the long term, so no one should be shocked when the inevitable happens and he fucks it all up. One day he'll just stop updating his Deviantart blog and we won't know why. Arrested, homeless, dies suddenly, banned from the library, we won't know. What a wasted life.