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.
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.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.
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.
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.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...
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.
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.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?
So Jon's had a few updates since his dog died, nothing very memorable or worth putting up. Until now.
The Return of All Jon's Obsessions
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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!