The Diary of Mitch R. Singer

Marooned in an icy wasteland
The Arctic is a cruel mistress. We have lost another man to the wilderness. William took the dogs out at 1300 hours, and only a few of them have come limping back. The men argue and swear at each other, the stress of close-living draining their morale. But it is the pit we came for, and the pit will be our salvation. I see it in my sleep, the gleaming metal disc. Sunlight reflects off of it like a million suns. What is inside? How did it become trapped five kilometers below the ice? The expedition chief has his theories, each as inexplicable as the other. I don't care about theory anymore. The ice sings a song that I am beginning to understand.

Day Twenty
All attempts to breach the metal exterior have failed. It is composed of some unknown material, something similar in appearance to aluminum, but seemly impervious to damage. When I tried to melt through it with the plasma torch, I saw myself in its shiny mirror, distorted, my features huge and ugly, my eyes melting black pools of darkness. I think the others see different things, past, present, futures that never will be. Artemus says that it is a test from the gods. I tell him that I don't believe in god, but I don't know anymore. The words in the wind are growing stronger.

Day Thirty-three
It came in a dream, this thing of twisting tentacles and disconnected eyes. Its words are impossible to understand, yet I know them, in my sicked heart. It tells me how to open the disc. When I wake up, I am standing in front of it, casting no reflection. Later, they apprehend me and put me to question. "You went inside!" says the expedition leader, spittle flying from his mouth. I shrug my shoulders and say nothing. What is there to say? I can't remember anything but the dream.

Day Forty
I find myself outside my prison, walking down the ghostly halls, my former comrades asleep in their bunks. What will I had is subdued, shrunk down to the size of an atom. I sit down next to the expedition leader and watch him breath. His chest rises and falls like a gentle sea. I touch his face and his eyes open, alarmed, but he does not move, he cannot move, he is like me now, subdued, a passenger along for a ride. What he does is not my concern. None of it is my concern.

Day Fifty
The halls are empty now. I sit in a corner, my body wasting away. The disc has moved, vanished, risen to the skies. The absence of will has not left, unfortunately. I don't want to eat. There is nothing to eat. What am I to it? A plaything? A piece on the chessboard? I am discarded rubbish. The cold will come, oozing through the thin walls, and I will be no different. Why must this happen every time?

Black Box Free Promotion

 
It's that time again! My novel Black Box is free from the nineteenth to the twenty-third! Click here to get your copy.

The Duggars Will Inherit the Earth

It's too late. We've done what we could, but all of our efforts proved in vain. The Duggars have been fruitful and multiplied beyond our comprehension. Eighty-percent of the population of Arkansas is composed of Duggar-kind. Not since Genghis Khan has one man spread his genetic material to this degree. Jim Bob has a mission, and it is total domination of the world.

Resistance is futile, I'm afraid. With their tucked-in shirts, cherubic faces, and giant-sized teeth, the male progeny of Jim Bob and Michelle will be successful. You can't shake their hands and not feel compelled to perform whatever task they ask of you. They will own all the car dealerships. They will become Wal-Mart store managers. They will probably open their own tenement shacks. Normal women will be helpless at their podunk wisdom and Christian Fundamentalism. After a lengthy courtship with no handholding or eye contact, the male Duggars will reproduce. It is a horrible experience, I've heard. The female undergoes changes that science does not understand, but she will become extremely fruitful. Her womb will swell to gigantic proportions. She will probably have triplets. But her transformation is nothing compared to that of an actual Duggar female.

When a Duggar female undergoes the courtship ritual, bizarre changes occur in her body. At this point, Jim Bob supplies his minion drones which labor night and day to create a support structure suitable for the growing egg sac. An immense chamber must be found in order to house the hive. There, the female becomes rather helpless, a prisoner of her egg sac, cocooned to the ceiling. The average Duggar female can produce one-hundred eggs in an hour. Suitable hosts must then be found. That's where we enter the picture.

Beware of door-to-door Fundamentalist Baptists. They carry Duggar eggs, and once you've been infected, it's game over, man, game over. You'll find yourself shunning the sinfulness of modern life. No more will you venture out to strip clubs. Television has no meaning for you anymore. God becomes the most important thing in your life. You become less tolerant of homosexuals and fun.

At this point, it's best if you take the only reasonable course of action. Purchase a pistol and do the deed. We cannot let them spread anymore, unless we want to live in Duggar nation. There will be internment camps, my friend, for those precious few who are immune to the Duggar virus. There will be an apocalypse. A second coming.

Steel yourself. Keep guard. Don't watch TLC. They're coming for you.

They are coming...

Music: Wolf Like Me

A cover of the TV on the Radio song. Had fun recording this, it's a great song by one of my favorite bands.

The Esteemed Critic Reviews Fifty Shades of Grey

 Look at him standing all sexy and stuff.

This is easy fare for the critic, he must admit. We have a movie adaptation of a poorly-written erotic novel based off of Twilight fan fiction. It's not going to be good. But the critic has certain social obligations, and he was forced against his will to attend a showing, so now everybody gets to hear what he thinks, and the world, my dear readers, is better for it.

The premise is laughable; a twenty-seven-year-old billionaire (There are no such things) is inexplicably taken with a pretty but otherwise unremarkable English student. Anastasia Steele (Jesus, what a ridiculous name) is special, and easily intimidated by Christian Grey, a skinny, well-dressed homosexual with the general demeanor of a serial killer. That's not a joke--Grey does serial killer things in this movie, and I'm not talking about light bondage or handcuffs. He immediately becomes obsessed with Anna and won't leave her alone, using his apparently infinite wealth to follow her to Georgia from Seattle when she tries to get away from him. There's also a scene where Anna has too much to drink and calls Christian, who acts like she's about to die, driving to her aid and aggressively throwing her seemly-nice friend out of the way like he was about to rape her. Christian then takes her to his hotel where she passes out and they sleep together, (at this point of the movie they have basically just met) and when when Anna awakes in the morning, she predictably thinks oh God, what happened? but Mr. Serial Killer assures her that he didn't rape her, scout's honor. You see, Anna trusts Christian because he's good-looking and rich as fuck. It doesn't matter that he's possessive, insanely jealous, emotionally stunted, and possibly a serial killer. He gives her helicopter rides and plane rides and new cars. What kind of goddamn message are you trying to tell us, Fifty Shades of Grey? The worst part is that Anna believe that Christian can change because he tells her so. "You're changing me," he says, after telling her that she belongs to him. But he doesn't do love stuff, just so she knows, like sleeping in the same bed as his partner or letting her touch him. Christ, if he weren't so goddamn rich, Anna would be running from this psycho like he was Ted Bundy. The problem with Christian isn't that he wants to sexually demean Anna. From what we are shown, that doesn't happen. The problem is he doesn't want to treat her like a person and she's okay with that. She finally leave his ass in the last scene of the movie because he spanks her kinda hard with a leather whip (with her consent, I might add) and not because he's stalking her, or telling her what to do and eat, or not letting her wipe her ass without his permission. Jesus, does any woman really want this? Is this a fantasy for someone? Hell, there are piece of shit abusive boyfriends a dime a dozen in this country. Sometimes they are even rich! God, the writer of this tripe must be a dumb fucking cow. Moo, E.L. James. Moo.

The supposed risque sexual content is about as wild as an obese forty-year-old Midwestern housewife. The critic does worse in his bedroom, he can assure you, and he is not exactly the Marquis de Sade. The average sex scene is as steamy as a softcore Cinemax skin-flick. Since most of the content of the film is composed of such stuff, we end up with a boring movie about an abusive boyfriend whose wealth is his only redeeming feature. Sounds very titillating, right? The critic wishes he could retrieve those two hours of his life he spent in the theater with preteen girls and obese mothers.

The critic does want to say something good about this movie, just because. The soundtrack is remarkable and much sexier than the film. Give it a listen instead.

Doom 3 Retrospective in List Format

LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU, ASSHOLE!

1. First thought: The graphics aren't as good as I remember. The textures are ugly and the game's dark as hell. I remember when Rage came out, I thought it didn't look much better than Doom 3. I was mistaken. Still, this game is ten years old. The lighting system is good; the monster animations are decent, and the overall art direction is excellent. Graphics have gotten better, but not that much. The jump from Quake 3 to Doom 3 was a hell of a lot larger than the jump from Doom 3 to Crysis.

2. The weapons are lame. Who nerfed the shotgun? In Doom, the shotgun was unstoppable. Here, it takes 3 or 4 shots to kill lesser enemies like imps and soldier zombies unless you're right next to them. There's not enough ammo for the good weapons. Also, the immediate disappearance of bodies really takes away from the satisfaction of killing enemies. I think this was done because of the limitations of the engine (computers at the time could barely handle the game).

3. Monster sound design is pretty good, but the weapons sound like pea-shooters, especially the assault rifle. The shotgun sucks, too.

4. This whole game is a goddamn labyrinth of corridors. I guess that's a throwback to the original Doom. But Doom opened up occasionally and gave you some room to blow away monsters. This never happens because, once again, the engine was too demanding. Hell was cool, I think, though I gave up on my replay before getting there.

5. This whole game is just monotonous. There's not a lot of break in mindlessly shooting enemies, which wouldn't be a problem if the shooting was any fun. Kinda weird that these guys designed Quake 3, the penultimate arena shooter, and one of the funnest multiplayer games of all time (FACT). The audio logs are an interesting touch (stolen from System Shock 2), but there's never anything interesting in them but codes to weapons lockers.

6. The flashlight switching mechanic isn't as bad as I remember. I understand why they did it from a gameplay prospective. It does provide some tension.

7. First-person-shooters need gore. They need blood. They need bodies flying across the room. GIVE ME MY GODDAMN MURDER SIMULATOR! I hope whoever is making Doom 4 keeps this in mind.

8. Who put that damn crane section in? You have to pick up toxic barrels with a cumbersome crane and put them in a disposal pit. I guess it shows off the state-of-the-art physics. The criticism that ID games are just glorified tech demos has some truth to it.

9. I started the game on hard, which is too frustrating, and I can't change the difficulty level. Poo.

10. Did you know that Trent Reznor was originally going to do the sound design? I guess they didn't give him enough money. Head like a hole, black as your soul. That's poetry, man. Replay Quake and tell me Doom 3 wouldn't have been a better game.

11. Is Half-Life 2 this bad? I might have to change my whole perspective on shit.

Squatting Every Day Part 2: 100 Days of Squatting

I posted about squatting every day back in the summer, with the intention of actually performing an every day squat workout and reporting back on the results. Unfortunately, my squat form sucked; I developed hip pain and my knees felt like shit, and like a puss, I abandoned my plan after less than two weeks. Since then, my squat form has improved drastically, and after hitting 380 at a weight of 195, I've decided to give every day squatting another run. My biggest mistake last time was tackling this type of training without perfect form; my second mistake was starting out too heavy while pushing volume too fast. Squatting to a max is actually squatting to an everyday max--that is, a weight you can perform with perfect form and no grinding. I've been squatting every day for fifteen days, and I have to say, it is already working. The key is to push on good days and back off on bad days. Mixing squats is a good idea, too. I alternate high bar squats with front squats, with an occasional low bar day in there as well. I've also been alternating pulling work with pushing work every day. Below is an example of what I've been doing weekly:

Sunday: High bar squat to a max, back off set of three. Bench Press using a pyramid scheme.

Monday: Front squat to a max, back off set if feeling good. Deadlift using a pyramid scheme to a heavy double or triple.

Tuesday: High bar squat to a max. Bench press or overhead press using whatever rep/set pattern I prefer.

Wednesday: Front squat to a max, back off sets. Do barbell rows for sets of 10, followed by dumbbell curls.

Thursday: Low bar squat to a heavy max. Bench press. Triceps extensions for sets of ten.

Friday: Front squat. Do more or less depending on feel. Power clean to a heavy single.

Saturday: High bar squat. Heavy triple with back off sets. Bench or press.

So that's a lot of volume, so suffice it to say this isn't something somebody with limited time could hope to do. I have the privilege to be getting eight hours of sleep a night as well. I have my own weights and equipment. Dragging your ass to the gym every day would suck. But I feel great right now. I deadlifted 415 for a triple the other day and it was easy as hell. 315 feels like a light weight. I'm going to cram two years worth of training into 100 days. I'll report back with my progress.

Addendum: So why would anyone want to do this? Obviously, you have to care a great deal out your strength. For me, it has something to do with being the best possible version of myself. It's about pushing the limits, something that I haven't always done. So it's a personal quest, of sorts. I don't expect it to make sense to many people.

One more thing: I've been doing an extensive warm up with 135 lbs or less for 6 sets of 10 or 8. This helps warm up the soft tissues and prepare the joints for heavy weights. It's key to not getting injured.

New Music: The Weirdo

The Consummate Politician Apologizes

Hello, constituents. It's that time again. Seems like this is happening more and more now. I guess I just can't keep my mouth shut. But that's why you love me, right? If you don't love me, you at least don't hate me enough to show up in significant numbers on election day to throw my ass out of office. So thanks, America, for your ambivalence. Thank you for not exercising your voting rights. So let's get this over with. Again.

My advisers tell me that my comments regarding vaccination have offended some people in the scientific community. Of course, there are many issues me and the scientists disagree about. The age of the planet, for one. You're telling me the planet is six-billion years old? How exactly do you know that? The science of geology is more like the science of guesswork, if you ask me. Plate tectonics, my ass. You know and I know that Jesus was riding around atop a Triceratops back in the day, and when the Rapture occurs, he will mount that beast again to initiate the chosen people into the kingdom of Heaven. The Bible says the world is only five-thousand years old. Who am I going to trust? The Word of God, or a bunch of pansy nerd scientists that have never seen what's beneath a woman's skirt?

If dinosaurs are extinct, where did they get a triceratops for Jurassic Park? Answer me that one, scientists.

So I'm sorry if my comments offended anybody's delicate sensibilities. I just want everyone to know that I am for the rights of the individual. If parents don't want to vaccinate their kids, who are we to tell them to? I don't believe in societal obligation. Nobody in the Republican party does. That's no secret. So what's the big deal? If Joe the Plumber wants his kid to get polio, then so what? Commie in disguise FDR had polio, and the Democrats consider him to be one of their greatest presidents. What's the big deal about the Measles and the Mumps? I mean, I vaccinated my kids. But don't do as I do. Do whatever you feel is right.

The important thing is that everybody has the right to do whatever the hell they want. That's what America is about. It's about CEOs spending millions of dollars on jets and palaces while building factories in Mexico and China. It's about burning tires and buying Iphones and shitting wherever you like. It's about watching horrible people on television. I like my grass green, America, so don't tell me what I can and can't put on it. I like my guns, too. Guns don't kill people. People do. That's why we should have armed patrolmen in every school, bank, restaurant, and public building. To protect our civil liberties. Praise Jesus.

Just remember, vote for America. Vote for me. Don't vote for the scientists. They don't know what the hell they're talking about. 

Greetings, Random Internet Person, I Have Great Faith in Your Soul

Hello, random internet stranger. I have great faith in the purity of your soul. I can tell this about you just by looking at some of the pictures you have posted. You are meant to do great things. Providence has provided a special plan for you, and it is up to you to discover it. People tell me I have a gift. Those people are correct.

I see that you are fond of posting humorous pictures of yourself with other people who I assume are your friends. That's great, you know. The gift of friendship. It has been eons since I had a friend. I used to be able to walk like you, but now I am forced to flail about, my limbs having become vestigial. You see, I have taken on a superior form, one akin to the sandworm of Arrakis. One day I will writhe through the sands, burrowing deep, utilizing the power of my enormous body. The Fremen will worship me with fear. Only the brave will be able to ride upon my vast enormity. All others will perish.

Please, don't let my ramblings scare you. I don't think they will, for as I mentioned, you have a pure and immortal soul. Your eyes are like windows to it. Your flaxen hair shines like a million suns. Balthazar, my cat, agrees. He is a fine judge of character, you know.

I have one request, beautiful internet person. I would like to exchange addresses. If you come to my home and take me to the desert seas where I can start the spice cycle, I will repay you by explaining your golden path. You are the chosen one, you see. You will save mankind from extinction, Maud'Dib. The choice is yours.

Please take Balthazar with you to serve as your confidant and adviser. He is wise beyond human understanding, and has lived many cat lifetimes. I have left extensive documentation detailing his supplement regimen as well as fifty-two cans of Fancy Feast. It is unfortunate that he cannot join me in the sands. But it is the path I have chosen.

Also, could you mail all of my Brony porn to 622 Horse Lover's Lane? There is a stallion there that will care for it. I have left sufficient funds.

And maybe bring us something to eat, too. A burger or three would be fine. My last meal as a human should be one to savor.

I will be eagerly awaiting your answer, beautiful internet person. Remember the beauty of your pure soul. Great things... great things... great things...

Scenes Guaranteed to Be in the New Star Wars Movie

1. Han Solo has an opportunity to shoot first and he takes it.

2. Mark Hamill pops out of a closet dressed as the Joker. "Why so serious?" he pantomimes, and then spends fifteen minutes cackling in his Joker laugh.

3. Carrie Fisher kills the rumors that she's a hermaphrodite by appearing naked and showing full bush. The scene is done classy and tastefully, but is included only on the director's cut in order to keep a PG-13 rating.

4. An ewok bearing an uncanny resemblance to George Lucas is sodomized and cannibalized by a race of diminutive, child-like beings called Trekkies.

5. Chewbacca is revealed to be a girl. Second twist! He's pregnant. But with whose baby?

6. Newcomer John Boyega spends twenty minutes needlessly explaining why it is possible to have black stormtroopers.

7. There will be lens flair. Lots of it.

8. The movie will end in controversy as the main villain is revealed to be a gigantic Mickey Mouse. He will devour stars and will be immune to the effects of endless franchising.

9. Someone will cut their dick off with a lightsaber. This scene is shocking and is not played for laughs.

10. James Earl Jones will reveal himself as Luke's real father.

11. There will be a crossover scene with Iron Man, Rocket Racoon, and R2D2. They will be playing space chess, and Rocket will lose and throw a fit. Robert Downey Jr. will smirk at the camera and talk real fast. There will be a lot of unintelligible beeping.