Ever-Persistant Solace

I stepped out of my house and took a breath of the fresh, clean air.

It was for this very reason I brought my journal AKA diary along with me on my stroll to Primatech. I wanted to write about everything I experience on the way to check on Sylar's corpse.

Nature was beautiful. The trees were all so tall and vibrant. Very tree-like. Blind squirrels were stashing away their nuts for safe keeping.

Then I came up to a little boy sitting on a bench, crying.

"What is wrong with you, son?" I inquired. "It's such a glorious day! There's no need for tears."

"My cat," the boy sobbed. "He's up in the tree!"

I looked up at the tall, vibrant, tree-like tree and saw the feline.

"He won't come down. I've tried everything. He just doesn't love me anymore!" The boy wept profusely.

Now, on any other day, I would have ignored the unfortunate brat. But today was special. Sylar's death gave me a renewed sense of my own life. And I plan to enjoy and make something of my life. I mean, I still have a good 30 years or so. I should enjoy it, spend it helping others. Maybe do a little less evil.

"Relax, young man," I said, opening the right side of my jacket. I reached into the holster and pulled out my awesome Primatech handgun (which I carry around at all time to prevent suprise attacks from cowards who would lurk in corners awaiting my arrival).

"What are you doing?!?!" the child yelled.

"Relax," I said, pointing the gun at him. "I'm a professional. My aim is excellent."

I lifted the gun up above the lad's head and fired, three shots.

The cat fell lifeless to the ground, with some forward momentum.

"Nooooooooooooooooo!" the boy screamed.

He screams like a loser, I thought to myself and then said, "Now what's wrong? He's down. I thought that's what you wanted."

"You hit him! I thought you had great aim? You were just supposed to scare him out of the tree."

"Hmm...I suppose that would have been a good idea too."

I left the boy to mourn the loss of his dead cat, so that I could continue on to Primatech, to enjoy the loss of my dead Sylar.

Alex opened the big door for me when I arrived. I decided to go in my office and check emails first. I had been away from my 'puter a while, and you never know when vital information could be waiting.

Unfortunately I had no vital information. But I didn't let that get me down. Dr. Hank was supposed to email me the death report so I could get all the paper work filed away. Unfortunately, he's quite a slacker.

I was about to leave when I decided to check up on Sylar's Blog. Knowing his last thoughts and feelings of despair would add to the enjoyableness of the day.

"Ha!" I exclaimed allowed. "Oh, that Hank!"

Continued Solace

I had to come back to my journal AKA diary to write some good news.

I was visiting the family in between Sylar-testings when I got a call from Hank.

"Yo, my man, this is Hank-dog, coming at ya!"

"What is it Hank?" I was annoyed at the call. It was family time, and he was interrupting.

"Well, you know that one dude with the brain-eating thing?"

"Sylar?"

"Yeah, foo, that's his name! Well, he, uh, died man."

I had mixed feelings. First, I was thrilled he was gone. Even as a weak little bed-ridden moron he posed a threat to my Claire Bear. But secondly, I wanted him to suffer. Suffer for what he did to Eden. Suffer like the 49ers fan he is.

"I'll be right there." I said.

Of course, I lied. I'm taking my time getting there. It's such a lovely day, I'd hate to just rush back to work. No, I had to write about this call. Afterall, Sylar's death only adds to the wonders of this day.

I'm taking my journal AKA diary along with me so I can write about every sweet sound and every wonderous smell along the way. This is truely a great day!

Solace

Today's going to be a good day. I just have that feeling. I woke up knowing everything is going to be okay.

I reached for my glasses, setting on my nightstand and gave them a nice cleaning. I put them on. As my world came into focus I thought about how everything is going great for me.

I got these awesome Star Wars Pez dispensers.

My Claire Bear is alive and well, and she doesn't remember anything about my shady going-ons.

Mike the Suit is still in Libya.

But the main reason for my extreme feeling of comfort and solace is Sylar. Yes, Gabriel Gray, behind bars, locked away in the bowels of Primatech. Nobody on the outside even aware of his captivity.

And the glorious part is the pain he's in. He deserves so much more for what he did to Eden. I'm just happy he can wallow in his own filth coveting the life of his only cellmate, a lowly cockroach.

Ah, yes, a great day indeed!

Birds chirping.

A cool breeze blowing through the trees.

Blind squirrels finding nuts.

Jake struggling inside my duffel bag.

All signs that this day will be wonderful. I can hardly wait to get to work!

It has begun...

The fight against Hana is happening as we speak! Primatech is calling on all its agents to help in this. Employees should log in to find further instructions.

Hana won't survive this attack. I'm certain of it.

After my trip to China, it's frustrating having to deal with problems here as well. There's just so much going on right now, it's hard to find time to spend with the family, not that I'd want to do that. But having the time to spend with them could mean I could use that time to finish my novel or watch TV.

We brought Jake back from our trip. I'll probably throw him in with Sylar. We're out of anti-power rooms. Not that he'd need one I suppose. What can he do? Insult me in 600 languages? Ha!

Well, I don't really have time to even be writing a diary entry today. There's just so much work to be done. Hopefully the Primatech agents don't slack off with their assignment. Otherwise that will just add to my workload.

Unfortunate Cookie 2: Back in Action

The Haitian and I landed safely in a foresty area of China. That's more than can be said for the fat guy, our fellow parachutee.

We travelled for what seemed like days until we finally came to civilization. As we stepped out into the clearing, we were welcomed by looks of sheer confusion. It was as though they rarely have newcomers in their village.

I saw this poster on the wall of one of the buildings. "These people must be their monarchs," I said. The Haitian (We really ought to get him a name) nodded in approval. "Excuse me," I hollered at a young boy, "Where is your leader?"

He said something which I would have no possible way of understanding, let alone typing. But he wouldn't shut up. Strange syllables kept coming out of his mouth. Then, all of a sudden, he was speaking English, "...will kill you when she finds out! Those were her favorite flowers. Don't you have any manners? How would you like it if I came to your house and stomped all over your flower bed? I bet you'd be upset, too!" I looked over at The Haitian. He seemed to be hearing it too. I gave him a nod.

Just as The Haitian was about to knock the boy unconscious, a voice sounded "Hey, you there!" I turned. "You're Americans, right?"

I put my hand up to halt the The Haitians actions, then replied to the man walking toward me. "I am. He's a Haitian."

"I can help you," he said. As he spoke I could see his mouth didn't seem to be synching with his words. It was like watching a Kung Fu movie without the Kung Fu.

"How can you help us?"

"I have this," he paused and looked at the little boy. The boy stuck his tongue out at the man and ran off. "Ability," he finished.

Now, generally when people say they have an ability, I'm skeptical. Sure, I know the things evolved people can do. But any wacko can claim to have an ability, and often they do. If I could have my own reality show, it would be more painful to watch than American Idol. These days everyone thinks they can bend spoons with their minds.

"I can translate for you," he said.

Then I realized what had happened. Somehow his presence was making me hear Chinese in English.

"What is your name?" I asked him.

"Jake." That made me wonder if his actual name was Jake or the word he said had been translated. I looked over at The Haitian and gave him another nod.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

He repeated himself, but this time I had no clue what he said. Alright, so Jake was a translation. Good enough for me.

"Well, Jake. We need to talk to your leader."

Jake agreed to help us and we set off on our way. The leader was apparently in some fancy temple-like building. The Haitian grabbed my hand. At first I was jolted by the action, preparing to Judo Chop my companion. Then, I noticed the steps.

The Haitian has long had a fear of stairs. And the building we were about to enter had well over 100 steps to go up. He's been going to counseling about it. It's just difficult to make progress when the patient won't talk.

Holding his hand, we made our way up all the steps. The three of us entered past a large doorway.

And there he was. The leader of China, no doubt. He was sitting on a throne with two body guards on either side of him.

"Your highness," I said to him, "We have travelled long and far to request reimbursement for a defective product made in your lovely country."

"You come from the west, no?" he asked.

"Well, yes, I suppose. Since the world is round, we're actually on both directions. I think our plane flew in from the east." I looked over at The Haitian for confirmation. He seemed still uneased by the steps.

"Round? You are mad!"

"Of course I'm mad. I want my $32.50 that is owed to me."

"We have none of your currency here."

"Well, could I get something worth $32.50?"

"How about this set of Star Wars pez dispensers?"



I couldn't resist. "I'll take it!" I yelled.

"Not so fast. These are worth $100. You are only owed $32.50. So you must pay $78.50."

He was right. And I wanted those so badly. In fact, I already had a Yoda Pez dispenser. It was in my pocket. His Pez dispensers would be a great addition to my collection of one. But I had no cash on me.

"Do you take Visa?" I wondered because I really didn't want to be here and I know they're accepted everywhere else.

"Of course!" he laughed. "What do you think we are? Some sort of primitive society of infedels like those Hippopelies who only take Discover?"

"Sorry about that translation," Jake said, "There's not really a word for Hippopelies."

"It's fine." I said. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. What was in it you ask? Well, I've seen the commercials and apparently should you have anything other than a Capital One card, a pack of crazed Mongols will chase you down. And since we were coming to China, I came prepared. I handed him my Primatech Paper Capital One Visa credit card.

He slid the card through his card-reader machine. After a few moments, it was accepted and I signed. He lifted my card high above his head and said, "Thank you, come again!"



Jake and I helped get The Haitian safely down the steps and then he took us to the nearest airport. This was not a good day for The Haitian and his fears, I thought.

He was determined not to get on another plane. "We have to get back home," I said. He shook his head.


I pulled out my Yoda Pez dispenser and held it up in his face. "Fear is the path to the Dark Side," I warned in my best Yoda voice. This seemed to calm him down. Still in my Yoda voice I added, "On this plane, an air marshal there will not be. Hrmm!"

Luckily the duffel bag holding Jake made it through security. All in all, I'd have to say it was an excellent mission. I had certainly made the most of my situation.

Unfortunate Cookie

I was eating at my favorite Chinese buffet, enjoying the scenery. My waiter (I call him Ninja Joe) returned for the fourth time to ask, "More drink?" I still had plenty of tea, so I declined. He sat down the check with fortune cookies on top. I quickly cracked the cookie in half and pulled out the secret message inside and read aloud, "You make the mast of everything situation". What could it mean?

As I was lost in the deepness of the profound revelation, my mind drifted. Feelings of resentment for the cookie came to me. I slammed my fist onto the two cookie halves. They shattered and it hurt.

But I wasn't thinking about the cookie. I was reminded that China owes me $32.50 and I had vowed to collect on the debt.

My family was staring at me.

"I need to go to work," I said, grabbing the check. "You should call a taxi. I'm taking the Nissan Armada."

The man behind the counter (I call him Ninja Tom), took my check and entered in some numbers on his cash register. "That'll be $32.50," Ninja Tom said.

I handed him a fifty dollar bill and said, "Keep the change." I didn't have time for change. I was on a mission. A mission to get what's owed to me.

The Haitian met me at the airport and we were on our way.

The Haitian was shaking. He always got nervous during a plane ride. "Look," I told him, "There's the air marshal. We'll be fine."

The marshal gave me the stank-eye. I had the feeling he suspected I was a terrorist. Perhaps it was a bad day to wear my turban. But my hair still hasn't recovered from my last make-over, so I'm a little self-conscious about it.

The Haitian continued to shake as we took our seats. The plane took off. At this point the Haitian had stopped shaking, but was clenching the armrests with his hands. His entire body was tense with fear.

He remained like that until we came over China. I could see that wall thing that they have from my window. Just as I was about to tell the Haitian to look at it, a man jumped up out of his seat and kicked the air marshal in the face. He was knocked out cold.

I turned back to the Haitain. "Do something!" I told him. "Zap his mind or whatever." But he didn't move, didn't let up on his grasp of the seat. I knew I'd have to save the day.

The man now had a gun in his hand and was yelling at some passengers. It was hard to make out what exactly was going on because everyone was panicking.

I got up and started walking to him. He poked the gun into my chest and said, "Where are you going, glasses?"

"To the lavatory," I replied. Now, granted, it wasn't my original plan. But when he stuck his gun into my chest I had the sudden urge to urinate.

I went in and did my business. When I came out, I saw the terrorist had gone inside the cockpit. He had his gun to the pilot.



Okay, that's actually a picture from Con-Air. But it's pretty accurate with regards to my situation.

I asked myself, What would Ninja Joe do?

*Judo Chop*

I missed and knocked the pilot unconscious. The evil-doer turned at me. As he was about to shoot, the plane took a quick dive. He ended up firing into the floor of the cockpit.

I quickly head-butted him and he fell to the ground.

But now a flame was emerging from where the bullet hit. Sparks were running through the control panel and the plane continued to dive. I tossed the pilot's unconscious body to the side and took command of the plane. Just then, the entire cockpit burst into flames.

I immediately ran out screaming "We're all going to die!" I noticed three parachutes on the wall leaving the cockpit. I grabbed two and ran back to the Haitian.

It was difficult, but I was able to fasten his onto him. I had mine on as the plane started to rip apart. "There's one more chute left if anyone wants it!" I yelled.

Then the Haitian and I jumped.

As the plane exploded and we floated down to Chinatown, I could only stop and wonder if this was what my cookie had tried to warn me about.

The Straw that Baked the Mammal's Sack

Usually, I'm a very by-the-books type guy. I like things done right and I do whatever it takes to get them done. In fact, I even put work above my family. Yes, I know. I'm a true American.

So, you can see that I'm a little ashamed of myself for what I did. But I don't regret it. I'm happy about it. It was rather enjoyable.

What did I do?

I was in my office examining some code. All of a sudden my door flies open and Mike the Suit comes in.

MIKE THE SUIT: Hey, MB! You parked in my spot.

ME: Oh, yeah...about that...I...

MIKE THE SUIT: It's MY spot!

ME: I know. I didn't think I'd be here this long. I just needed to check my email, one thing led to another, and now hours have passed and I'm knee-deep into this code...

MIKE THE SUIT: Well, I hate to say this, but I think I'm going to need to report this to the big man. I know he's been annoyed by your behavior lately. I sincerely hope this isn't the straw that bakes the mammal's sack.

ME: Breaks the camel's back.

MIKE THE SUIT: What?

So, I snapped. He was threatening to report me because I parked in his spot. How dare he! If he only knew the important things I do for this company...

ME: It's 'breaks the camel's back', you moron! Not 'bakes the mammal's sack'. That doesn't even make sense. You'd know that if you weren't just a complete idiot in a fancy suit!

MIKE THE SUIT: Oh, is that how it's going to be then? Alright, MB.

He left.

My friend followed.

That night I turned on the TV news and saw this:



Yes. That's Mike the Suit. My friend made him think he's supposed to entertain the troops. The Libyan troops that is. Let's hope he doesn't become collateral damage.

Oh, and I parked in his spot on purpose. But he won't remember that.

Mano a Womano

It's definately Hana.

She's the only person that could be 1337 enough to break into our site. Luckily, she's underestimated my own leetness.

As she hacks away at our computer code, I've been hacking away at her own genetic code. I believe I've isolated her "wireless" gene.

We've been running tests on Gabriel. He has weakened as a result. The drugs are also to blame. And so far we still have no answers.

I have to know how he altered his DNA. With that information, I could reverse Hana's ability. Cure her. Stop her. I will be continuing my tests and interrogation of Gabriel. This may require help.

She may get through the website. But when she comes for me, I'll be ready. Mano a Womano.

Operation: Heroes 361

Well, I just received some complex orders from the big man. He's very worked-up over this. Operation: Heroes 361, that's the mission's code name.

I'm going to be needing all our top agents on this one. So, stay in touch. I should have more detailed orders for you all in a week or so.

Also, now would be a good time to prove yourself. Are you 1337 enough?

Those of you that can't wait for more orders can help out with something else.

Paper. It's our way of life. And that way of life is being threatened by the so-called "environmentalists" and global-warming advocates.

We need to send them a message.

To help, save the image below onto your computer, print it onto a sheet of paper, centered, with the text, "Long Live Paper!" underneath.



Then, mail the document to:

NBC News
30 Rockefeller Plaza
New York, N.Y. 10112

The Effects of Music

Have you seen Ghostbusters II? It's a great movie. You should definately check it out.

But I only mention it because it gave me a scientific idea.

We've been studying Sylar for a while now, without learning much of anything. I gave him a laptop to monitor his activity online. And all he does is download New Kids on the Block music. I don't like their music. I won't listen to it. I don't care how new they are or what block they're on.

So, on Ghostbusters II, there's this gooey stuff. It holds a ton of evil energy inside it. It's basically an amorpheous glob of negative energy. The Ghostbusters II run some tests on it.

One of the tests is the effects of music. They played a song and the ooze went all crazy, splattering everywhere.

Then, at the end [*SPOILER ALERT*], they made some kind of anti-goo and sprayed it all around the Statue of Liberty. And they played Higher and Higher. The anti-goo liked it. It absorbed the positive energy from the uplifting song, and the cheers from the people in the streets and was able to counteract a big shell of non-anti-goo.

How's that relate to Sylar? Well, I know he's not exactly goo, but he's evil. 98% evil to be exact. And that got me thinking. If non-anti-goo can be turned to anti-goo with the right positive energy through music, then couldn't a non-anti-Sylar be turned into an anti-Sylar?

So, I had the idea. I just needed to trick Gabriel into being tested, like we did with the laptop. So, I told him "Tell you what, since you've been so good, with the exception of killing Eden and eating some child's brain, I've decided to let you do whatever you want. Your fun day. And we'll help out with whatever it is you want to do."

Of course he was going to want to put on a musical. I just knew it!

"I want to be Maria," he said. "And feel pretty and witty and gay!"

We'll see how the musical goes. Rufus and The Haitian signed up too. I'm playing some cop or something. I think it's a minor part, so hopefully during most of the play I can be in the audience taking notes on my experiment.

Gabriel is so excited about it. He told me afterwards he's going to blog about it so that all his friends, that still have brains, can "feel the essence of my happy musical," as he put it. We're planning the plays reception afterwards to be held at the Burnt Toast Diner. Another experiment: Test the effects of waffles on evil.

The play's about to start. If you're into that kind of thing, I suppose you could check out theBurnt Toast Diner's blog. It should be an enjoyable reception.

I'm sure the critics will linger around during the after-party, spouting their comments on the performance. Hopefully they won't be too harsh.

From Blah to Wow!

Yesterday, my fam was hounding me over my looks. I didn't know what they were talking about. I happen to like the way I look.

But just to humor them, I decided to change things up a bit.

The rims were the first to go.

I bought a nice, snazzy suit.

I put my rims back on for sentimental reasons.

Claire styled my hair. "You could use a little color, Dad." After she finished painting my hair, she shook up a bottle of hair spray and said, "Don't breath this in."

"Is it poisonous?" I asked.

"No, but you'll have painfully stylish nose hairs."

She sprayed a cloud of it onto my head region.

Next, I took off my rims again, this time with a wonderous ceremony and placed them upon a purple silk pillow with golden tassles.

Did some facial hair grooming.

Yeah, I was definately getting away from my conservative style. Without my horned rims, I already look like a new person. But Mr. Bennet with facial hair? That's a rare sight indeed. But it was an experiment, so I went with it. Don't expect me to keep this look longer than a day.

I went down to Carol's Photography and chose a hip island backdrop. Cool and casual, yet irresitable, perfect fit for the new look.

Well, here's the photo:



Actually, I don't know if I want to show you...



I mean, it doesn't even look anything like me...



But I still look good, of course...



It's just not my style...



Alright, here it is...



Don't laugh...


Well, be honest. Let me know what you think...



But don't laugh...

The Essence of Style

I consider myself a fashionable young man. But my little Claire Bear doesn't agree.

When I got home from work, she met me with a smile and arms extended, like usual, but then her body drooped, and she made a face of disgust.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"You look so..."

"So what?"

"You look so...blah"

"Blah?" I asked, shocked. I've seen VH1, I know what it means to be stylin' and I found it hard to believe my daughter thought I looked blah. "How so, honey?"

"Like, I don't know. You're just blah. It's like you spilled a carton of blah on your blah clothes and then blahly ate them."

"Could you stop saying blah?"

"Sure. You should come up to my room tonight and I can give you a makeover."

"No, thanks. I think Daddy can handle it on his own."

She just stared at me.

"Well, I think I'm going to call it a night," I said, breaking the silence. "Time to watch The Colbert Report and catch some Z's"

I walked into my bedroom and my wife was lying in bed, petting Mr. Muggles. "Do you think I'm stylish?" I asked.

"Um, well, not really. You're more of a..."

"A what?"

"Well, you look...yadda"

"Yadda? As in yadda, yadda, yadda?"

"Oh, no, not that one. The other one."

"Blah?"

"Yes! That's it. You look blah. Blah, blah, blah."

Nailed

After my interrogation with Gabriel, I went to the Burnt Toast Diner. When I got back, The Haitian told me that Gabriel had been complaining recently about needing to have his nails done. I went over to see him in his cell. The nagging was constant. So, finally, just to shut him up, I took him to a nail salon.

"No funny business," I told him.

"Is brain-eating humorous?" he replied.

"Do you want to be sitting back in your cell with chipped nails?"

"Fine!" He said and slumped down in the backseat of my Nissan Armada.

As soon as we left the Primatech Paper Company parking lot, Gabriel started with, "Are we there yet?" and "Can I have a puppy?"

He's worse than my son, whatever his name is. Lyle?

Finally, we arrived. I sat and read People Magazine while waiting. Half way through learning about how Martin Lawrence only sleeps 20 minutes a day, my cell phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Bennet, I have an important assignment for you."

It was the big man. He had seemed in a rush. This assignment will be good, I thought.

"Anything, sir."

"I was supposed to meet with the Karger Elementry School honor students for dinner. They have been learning about corporate America and I promised to give them a glimpse of how things work in business. But I didn't realize my in-laws are coming over for dinner, so I need you to take my place."

"Sure, no problem."

"Alright, be at Thanasi's in 12 minutes."

"Twelve minutes? Uh, I..."

"That's the spirit, Bennet!" and he hung up.

"All done. Aren't they just wonderfully magnificent?" Gabriel flaunted his fingernails at me.

"Listen, Gabriel. We need to make another stop."

"Ooh! Please tell me we're going shopping for halter tops."

"No. We have to do a publicity stunt for my boss. Eat with some local school kids."

"Eat local school kids?"

"With local school kids," I corrected.

Luckily, I had an extra suit and it fit Gabriel perfectly. I couldn't show up with a drag queen. We were representing corporate America, not GLAAD.

Surprisingly, the dinner was going well. Gabriel was behaving. I had to promise him a Versace handbag, but it'd be worth it. This was important to the image of Primatech. I had to keep it under control.

And it was under control. The press were taking flattering photos. The kids were asking ideal questions. And I was answering them perfectly.

Then, a scream.

I rose and looked over at Gabriel. "Gabriel! What do you think you're doing?"

"He started it!"

---

Awarded by Sarah

China Owes Me

Yes. That's right. The big, ol' commie nation owes me $32.50.

I bought a PEZ Dispenser. And it said, "Made in China." I was cool with that, until I got home and the instructions were all screwed up.

They said, "To have candy in digest take it through neck into machine lift pan clockwise with medicine."

Well, after a few hours of trying to do that, I gave up. I called their help number "0599358838443" and figured it out after about three hours on the phone with Kwang, or Kwong, or maybe Quon. No, wait. It was Wayne.

Everything was fine, until I got a bill for $32.50 from the phone company. I told them I wasn't going to pay and that China was responsible because in it the PEZ dispenser was made. But so far I haven't gotten anything out of the country. I paid the phone bill, to keep my service running. But I expect reimbursement!

China, I'm talking to you, punk!

My Beef with Suits

Now, I'm talking metaphorical suits here. I happen to love wearing a nice jacket and tie. It portrays a sense of importance, and important I am.

But the suits with whom I have beef are the corporate flunkies. Maybe they have power, maybe they have pseudo-power. But their attitude is uncool.

I ran into Michael Hester in the hall the other day. I like to refer to him as "Mike the Suit" behind his back; yes, witty, I know. The truth is I have several totally awesome monikers for people.

MIKE THE SUIT: "Hey, my man, MB! How's things stackin?"

ME: "Uh, hey Michael. What brings you here?"

MIKE THE SUIT: "Well, you know. Ever since they made me VP of PP and PD..." (That's Paper Production and Paper Distribution for you outside the biz) "...I got the big man breathing down my neck about the monthly quality reports."

Quality reports! They're the most annoying piece of bogusness since the Star Wars Holiday Special. I have yet to interface with a humanoid that appreciates quality reports.

MIKE THE SUIT: "So, MB...if you could just get those to me by Tuesday, that would be great."

Looks like I better score myself a cup of java. It's going to be a long night. I think I'll head down to the Burnt Toast Cafe, or I may go ballistic on the next suit I see.

---

Don't forget the 1337ness insults. Come up with witty insults, but nerd it up. "You could use your odor as a pop-up blocker" or "If you were any uglier, you'd be a color-loss gif!"

Am I Good or Evil?

Yes.

People are always asking that question of me, so I felt I should clear it up once and for all.

Am I evil? Sure. I park in handicap spots, even though my legs work fine. I have even undertipped a waitress before.

But the condition is only temporary. I rarely commit evil acts while sleeping. Sometimes I take a shower without even having a single evil thought.

Am I good? Of course. I always pay my taxes on time. I also use my blinker when changing lanes.

My life is full of choices. Choices only I can make. And every time I choose what is best. Not what is good. Not what is evil. But what is best.

1337ness

I was chatting in the Hacker Lounge. It's one of my daily habits. Usually, it's refreshing. I verbally harass a few n00bs, give some morons advice on fixing their 'puter and hack some losers that keep asking "sum1 teach me how to hack, plz".

But this particular chat session went awry. This new big shot came to the room. At first I hounded him for not being a regular. But he seemed to quickly gain the respect of the others by repeatedly claiming to have "pwned" me. He also threw in a few "your mama" jokes and called me a "DOS Monkey".

It annoyed me.

It annoyed me more than you could possibly imagine.

I once had to call Dell tech support, and even that wasn't as annoying as this.

Once he had the support of the room, there was nothing I could do. He was deflecting everything I threw at him. I made an insinuation that his Apple was a fruit. I even likened his intellect to the stability of Windows 98.

Nothing worked.

It was getting late. I had to log off and take The Haitian to DQ (That's what I like about Texas). I promised I'd buy him ice cream if he finished all his homework.

In the meantime, I'll come up with the bestest insults ever. I could use your help. It's not just about my personal dignity. Okay, maybe it is, but you should still help out. Just comment the best 1337 insults you can come up with.

Believe you me, I'm not finished with h4x0r_gene86!

Secrecy of the Diary

As I'm sure you are aware, it's important to me that certain aspects of my career don't become public knowledge. So, you're probably wondering, "Aren't you afraid that people reading your diary might say something?"

The answer is, "Nope".

You see, I have a security precaution. When you read my diary, a small tracking code is uploaded onto your computer. Within seconds, Primatech Paper Company has a readout of you, your family, your work and, most importantly, your location. We even have GPS technology!



An emergency mind technician is sent out to take care of the problem. You may have seen him before, but you wouldn't remember if you have.

So, go right ahead. Read my diary. It only takes about a minute to undo it.

The Big Man

I like to think of myself as number one around Primatech Paper Company. But the truth is, even I have to answer to higher-ups. When there's a conflict of interests, things can get pretty uncool real quick.

I got a call from the Chairman today.

CHAIRMAN (V.O.): Listen, Bennet. This Sunday I was watching NBC, the only station worth watching these days, and I saw him.

ME: Saw who, sir?

CHAIRMAN: Trump.

ME: Go on...

CHAIRMAN: He's clearly one of them! I want you and your friend to take care of him. Do whatever it is you do, but see to it he'll be out of show biz.

ME: Sir, I don't think he is one of them.

CHAIRMAN: Nobody can get that rich, and that hot of a wife, by looking like that, or being that stupid! He has powers. Find out what they are!

And with that he hung up.

Now, I realize that Trump doesn't actually have any powers. It's not the first time the Chairman's made the claim. The Haitian checked him out several times. Unless that hair of his serves as a mental shield, there's nothing more than "You're Fired!" and "It's gonna be huge!" going on inside that man's brain.

I suspect the Chairman is jealous. You see, he used to be richer than Trump. But Trump got his own hit show on NBC (owned by GE, in which the Chairman has stock). The Chairman was furious. Trump's net worth rose above his for the first time in history.

I also believe that the whole Martha Stewart Apprentice was a plot by the Chairman to ruin Trump's TV career and send The Apprentice off the air for good. It nearly worked.

But it's back. And this time bigger, better and with tents.

To be honest, I watched it Sunday too. I enjoyed it. I plan to watch it every week with my wife, Mr. Muggles and Claire Bear. (My son only watchs BET.) So, you can see how I'm torn over this. Mr. Muggles absolutely adores the show. Perhaps it's the pompous lifestyle of Trump. Or maybe he just wants to sniff his hair's butt. Either way, I couldn't bring myself to take that away from Mr. Muggles and my family.

I suppose I could send The Haitian out to give him another exam, just to appease the big man. But I think it's a waste of our time. I've only got one Haitian, and he's needed elsewhere.

Oh, well. What can you do? The Chairman's in charge.

Married with Children

You know, when I scored myself a wife I thought things would be mega cool. But it turns out they're giga not!

I'm actually the only one of my friends to start a family. They didn't think I could do it, but I managed.

Back in the day, my wife was gold. But now, the only thing still gold about her is her family's wealth. It's like buying a 'puter in the 90's with a 60 GB hard drive, 500 MB of RAM and a 17" inch monitor. You're left with a small monitor that burns your eyes out if you look at it too long and a nice, heavy paperweight. But you can always take the hard drive out and put a couple of files on it.

That got me thinking. Perhaps I could purloin a body and insert my wife's hard drive into it? That would solve the eye-burning problem, but she's still a paperweight. So maybe I could find a non-moron and stick their brain into my wife's body. No more paperweight, but I'd still torch my opticals.

I guess the best I can do is buy her some peripherals.

Checkmate

My wife has a prize Pomeranian. She's been training it for a long time. The funny thing is, she thinks all that training has paid off.

Mr. Muggles has won a lot of dog shows. He's a very talented and special creature. But it's not because of her training.

In my spare time, I've been training Mr. Muggles as well. I've also been tweaking his genetics.

My research has benefited greatly from the experiments. But my ego may have suffered. It's always disappointing to lose a game of chess to a telekinetic dog.

"How about best two out of three?"

Motivation

I'm not all science and technology. I'm also business savvy. It comes in handy fake-running a paper company.

My favorite part of business is having employees. It's rather enjoyable having people do your bidding. Humans make excellent resources. And it's not that tough to handle employees. You just have to find a way to inspire people. I like using this poster: