Here, I show off my SNES whoredom
Anakin jumps on Padme's bed, ready to use his "lightsabre"
Jango Fett receives some advice from the Director
Anakin trys to explain the Jedi policy on marriage
Yoda instructs the young padawans
Below are some of his less refined, more impulsive writings. They were written in the late FledgingSuite? when Alex was bored. Alex was rumored to type contiuously while writing these. This is also what happens when FreshMen ask Alex to write hum papers for them (something he is surprisingly willing to do).
Chapter I: The Beginnings
First there was nothing. Then there was... THE BANANA NEBULA!!! (boom boom boom boom)
Within the Banana Nebula, was the Snood Galaxy, which was in a state of turmoil. The treacherous otter alliance, striking from a hidden base, had been terrorizing the good civilian tax-paying people of the Snood Galaxy. Faced with increasing complaints about periodic otter raids, the corrupt and lazy governor of the Snood Galaxy, cowardly ran away, leaving the government leaderless and in a state of chaos. Enter, the great hero, Alex! (dun da da) Alex was a rich and famous fugitive from a parrallel universe, who had fled his homeworld after being faced with charges of copyright violation and failure to register his automobile.He was a powerful half-human, half-hamster, or so he had become in the process of warping over to the Snood Galaxy. Seeing the Snood Government on the verge of collapse,he altruistically assumed control of this dying system and addressed the citizens of the Snood Galaxy:
Chapter II: Establishing Authority
"Wait one bloody second!" cried a voice from the crowd. "What do you mean, 'fellow' snoodians?! You're not one of us! You're from some other dimension!"
"Details, details..." retorted Alex
"D-Wag" responded the Snoodian Mathematical Advisor, Micah.
"Thwak!" shouted the crowd in unison.
"Any way," continued Alex, "I am your new President-"
"You are not!" shouted another protester, "We're an autonomous democratic society! We must vote on a President!"
"Fair enough," Alex sighed, "I am your new tyranical dictator-"
"You scumbag!" announced yet another protester.
"OK," said Alex, "Here's the deal: I'm your leader. I realize you didn't ask for this, but this is a frikin fantasy novel so just accept the idea of an out-of-place hero coming in to save the day, because the cliched irony of it is really neat. By the way, the next person to interrupt me will be banished to Jupiter."
The crowd gasped. Jupiter was known for being the planet where only the worst criminals were sent. "Sir," whispered an advisor, "we have not sent anyone to Jupiter since Brian Wilson. The people will not welcome such harsh threats" Alex ignored the advisor and began his speach.
"Snoodians, you are at a great turning point in your Galaxy's history. The time has come for us to unite our forces and destroy the otter menace!" The people were suddenly turned. Never before had they heard such an obvious solution presented so plainly. "To accomplish us, since your own troops were obviously too incompetent to handle the otters, I have assembled a groups of 4 mage-fighters to take on the otters. They shall not fail! The otters will be driven out of the Snood Galaxy and their leaders will be sent to Jupiter!"
Chapter III: Preparing for Battle
The people cheered, and Alex retired to his inner sanctum where he conversed with his military advisors.
"Sir Alex," began General Admission, "I must take issue with your battle plan. We actually have a very powerful army, we've just had problems with the upper management."
"He's right, " agreed General Chemistry, "In fact, our troops were never deployed because of problems with the paperwork. We tried to send them out, but there was so much red tape and political interference."
"However, "chimed in General Mills, "now that you have assumed control as
a non-nonsense dictator with unrealistic power, you can simply order our troops out, and the otters will be defeated withing hours. Perhaps they may even surrender."
"Surrender?!" exclaimed Alex, "Why would these hoards surrender after so many years of successful raids?"
"Well, you see sir," explained Mills, "We've never actually asked the otters to surrender. Maybe if we asked nicely, they would just surrender."
"Or at least agree to a reasonable settlment," added Chemistry.
"That's preposterous!" roared Alex, "The otters must be destroyed! They will not surrender!"
"Actually, now that you mention it, sir. I have a transmission from the Otter Flagship."
"Burn it, you fool, it's a trap!"
"But Sir, I haven't read it yet!"
"Eat it then."
"Give me a second... hmmm.. it reads: 'Dear new leader: We, the otters have been wondering when you are going to ask us to surrender-'"
"Never. Tell them never."
"Just, let me finish, sir, 'We would be willing to surrender in exchange for one million barrels of shrimp. Yours truly, Trugo'"
There was a thoughtful pause as the room contemplated this new information.
"May I make a comment?" asked Economics advisor Nick, "One million barrels of shrimp is nothing to us. The planet Reality produces several billion barrels of shrimp every hour!"
Alex nodded thoughtfully, then spoke, "Send this transmission to the Otters: 'Mr. Trugo, We will never give you the shrimp. Neener Neener. Even though we produce SEVERAL BILLION barrels of MOUTH-WATERING SHIMP, on the UNDEFENDED planet of Reality, we still will not give you any shrimp. Neener Neener. Sincerely, Alex" There was a stunned look across the room.
"Sir, this is a mad scheme. You will only enrage the otters and provoke more attacks! And if they attack Reality, we will lose our shrimp production and never be able to pay their ransom, " shouted Mills.
Alex responded calmly, "Clearly you are not familiar with risky fantasy tactics. When the otters get this message, they will hastily attack Reality and we will be ready for them!"
"Hmmm... I see... Well, with tactic, I suppose this may be a good plan. Our army will position themselves around Reality and engage their cloaking shields immediately!"
"Objection. The army will stay behind. My team of 4 warrior-mages will handle the otters." Without a word, Alex left the room.
Chapter IV: Showdown at Reality
At 07:00 hours, the otter fleet descended upon the planet Reality, completely unopposed. The otters, smelling the mouth-watering shrimp, began charging toward the nearest shrimp storage towers. For purposes of creating a feel-good story, there were no civilians to be harmed. As Trugo lead his platoon onward, they were came across a lone stranger.
"Halt!" yelled Alex, "I oppose thee, Trugo. You shall not have any shrimp!"
"Yes I will," responded Trugo, "Were you planning on there being only one shrimp storage tower where we would all converge so you could fight us? Really, now, that is just silly! One storage tower on an entire planet?! Think about it."
"I have not time for your stalling, Trugo. The time has come for you to meet your doom!"
"Well, the point I'm trying to make is that my other otter forces have already stolen all the shrimp from other parts of the planet Reality, and we already have enough shrimp for the next century of our existence."
"Oh. Well... That certainly puts a new spin on things... But my plan has still suceeded, as you are now here, and I am with you. By the way, where are you?"
"I'm an invisible otter. You can't see me."
"An invisible otter? Oh crud. That certainly puts a damper on my plan."
"I'm sure it does. I guess we otters will be leaving now..."
"But, even if you are an invisible otter, I'll bet one of my warrior-mages can cast a spell."
"That is a distinct possibility. Speaking of which, where are your warrior mages?"
Alex looked around him. "Crud. I forgot to find warrior-mages to aid me. I guess the details of my ingenius plan needed ironing out."
"Obviously. Now, who are you, anyway?"
"I am Alex, the ridiculously powerful reckless self-appointed leader of the Snoodians."
"Oh. And I suppose you aren't here to make peace."
Alex glanced arround nervously. "Actually, I have. I want to make peace."
"Then what was all that talk about warrior-mages?"
"Standard protocol. Here, have a grapefruit."
"Why, thank you."
Trugo ate the peeled grapefruit and died. Suddenly, all the otters returned the shrimp they had stolen and surrendered. How's that for an anti-climax?
Formerly titled: Mono Lake: A Case Study
February 7, 2001
Damn it, another HUM paper?! Really, now, you silly frosh, at the rate you guys are giving me HUM papers to write I'm going to have to kick the Diablo habit (or is it hobbit? I'm never quite sure, but it would be fun to kick a hobbit) Anyway, right now I'm noticing that the time is 9:36 pm, meaning that, given the Heisenberg Uncertainty principle, Valentine Edition Furbish (i.e. uncertain death... probably to me) will come in approximately 3 fortnights, 2 candlesticks, and a chocolate-covered llama. Don't ask me to convert that to metric- I will. While we're on this subject, Valentine Edition Furbish reminds me of a very important holiday that's coming up very soon. That's right President's Day. This is a very important symbolic holiday that marks the date that corporate America, wishing to suck the life out of the Proletariut at a faster rate, consolidated Lincoln's Birthday and Washington's birthday into one nebulous holiday called "President's Day", thus avoiding having to give the working classes an extra 3-day weekend. That part makes sense. What doesn't make sense is the name. "President's Day"?! Really, president of what? When they could have picked spiffy names like "Lincoln-Washington Day", or "Washington-Lincoln Day", or "Snow-Cone Appreciation Day", they had to choose a confusing and inappropriate title like "President's Day". Are they implying that every President deserves a day, but since a few sucked they all have to share one day? Huh? Is that it? Hmmm actually, that makes sense to me, so I'll withdraw my complaint.
But amid the hustle and bustle and annoying internet add banners for Presidents Day, we must not forget the important things in life. Specifically, that as long as there are poor, over-worked frosh given Hum papers to write, there will be much rejoicing and taunting among the leagues of profs and upperclassmen. Which leads me to an important point: Jupiter is by far the stupidest planet in the galaxy. Besides the fact that "Jupiter" rhymes with "stupider" (I can hear a dozen slow-witted people yelling, "Oh, now I get it!" in reference to my previous essay right now), Jupiter is also the cause, effect, and square root of Mono Lake. What's that, never heard of Mono Lake? Well, gather round child and listen to the ignorant ramblings of a wise old man who doesn't know much about the lake but went there when he was six. Mono Lake has a lot of bugs. No, you silly disconnected CS Majors, not hugs... BUGS! That's right, loads of bugs. Lots and lots of bugs. Gallons and gallons of bugs. Many, many bugs among the redundant sentences. There were so many bugs that it was like "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom". Err except without the guy who pulls people's hearts out. Speaking of which, I think I've figured out how that dude lived after his heart was pulled out (well, actually, he died, but I think the whole getting-dumped-into-a-big-ass-steamy-pit-of-lava issue was involved with that). Obviously, since the heart was not dripping in any bodily fluids and WASN'T CONNECTED TO ANY ARTERIES, it was a decoy heart. Ha, take that, guy-who-pulls-out-hearts! Suck it! Suck it now! Suck it 80's style! Ewww...
But anyway, Mono Lake. Yeah Does anyone care about Mono Lake? Oh wait, I remember! When I was but a little boy, my Mommy said to me that I would never be rich nor pretty, and that Mono Lake has been mostly drained in a very short period of time. Hey, I'll bet Vrable's in that "Water" class! That is a real Hum class, isn't it? OK, so here's my take on the whole issue: California has sucked Mono Lake dry, turning a once glorious lake into a pitiful, bug-infested puddle. Well, California, what have you to say for yourself eh? Suck that puddle COMPLETELY DRY, you slobs! Maybe then the bugs will go away. Damn bugs.
That said, I think we can all agree that the banner adds for President's Day are really annoying (and really, what's up with the pink? Are these advertisers color-blind?) and they should be fed to the bugs surrounding Mono Lake, which would bring utility to this glorious natural resource. Another day, another Hum Paper, another disgrace upon humanity.
February 6, 2001
This is a HUM paper by Rachel. There is absolutely nothing to suggest that a really bored sophomore may have decided to destroy a young frosh's future by writing a HUM paper so unbelievably crappy that the prof would be obligated under penalty of death to fail the frosh in question and ban her from attending Harvey Mudd or any other college with the possible exception of stupid Mickey Mouse schools such as Stanford. While I'm on that subject, isn't Stanford's whole "grade inflation" thing really stupid? I mean, something is wrong when the "bad" students get B's. I'm glad to be at Mudd where I can get my well-earned D's. But, I digress...
Anyway, this is a HUM paper (by Rachel, of course) about culture. No, not vultures, you sick-minded freak, you pervert you... cultures. Culture is a very loaded term, sort of like a loaded gun except without the bananas. Also, you never need to check to see if the safety on the culture is on. But, anyway, culture is a loaded term because it means so many things. For example, I could have a culture of bacteria, and they could have their own culture, and they could also be very cultured bacteria. But I'm really stalling here...
What this paper is really about is the culture of Chessers Suite. Now, if you are a prof, or a Northie, or basically any member of the ignorant masses that populate Western civilization, you probably have no idea what Chessers Suite is. Well, since you've obviously been on Jupiter for the last 10 years, I will have to explain. Speaking of that, isn't Jupiter a really really stupid planet? I mean, everyone who goes there goes there to get more stupider, or so they told me in elementary school. They were probably wrong when they told me that, but the point is, Chessers Suite is a cool place in East that is plotting a secret take-over of East Dorm and the rest of the world (not that anything else is really worth conquering). So you may as well surrender now. Form RX-172, Certificate of Surrender, is attached to this beautiful HUM paper. Oh, wait, this is a HUM paper? Oh, that's right. Sometimes I get side-tracked. Anyway, as I was saying, Jupiter is a really stupid planet and should be banished to the far realms of Florida.
For lack of better transitions, I'm going to talk about the language of Chessers Suite, with a battle axe. See, that's one example of Chesserian talk. "With a battle axe" is a handy travel phrase used to place emphasis on the 3rd person subjunctive object of a particular transitive verb. We felt the archaic English language needed this improvement. Another commonly used term is "Zort", spelled "Xort" in some odd and perverted dialects, which translates most directly into the English phrase "Go to Bed!". In fact, primitive Chesserians once used the English variant. Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.
The lifestyles of Chesserians are varied and silly. They spend most of their time writing pointless papers for slave drivers called "Hum Profs". The term "Hum Prof" which translates most directly into the English word, "Satan", is actually an older Anglo-Muddian term, FYI. BTW, Appendix B of this paper is a donation form for the liberation army that needs to be formed to throw off these tyrannical oppressors. In the rest of their time, the Chesserians are a barbaric people, waging war against worms and the trinity of hell nearly every day. When not killing things, they are usually practicing their war skills with many games of strategy. For such primitive people, their games are quite advanced. Chesserians are known for their odd demeanor. They laugh a lot, hit each other on the back of the head, and walk with a strange crippled manner that may be mistaken for skipping. But that's OK. You seem pretty silly to them too.
In conclusion, Jupiter is a really stupid planet and Stanford can suck it. Give me my A or I'll punch you