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About Mr.BS

  • Rank
  • Birthday 05/31/1989

Personal Information

  • Biography
    Current candidate USMA class 2012 (all cadre notice I realize my non-cadet/new cadet and current candidate status), who's looking to work, write, invent, love, and surf till R-day.
  • Location
    Scourge of the South
  • Interests
    Snowboarding, reading, listening to Muse, movies, KARATE, weight lifting...
  • Occupation
    Ungainfully Self-Employed
  • Gender
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  1. Karina is on here but she hasn't been on in awhile i blame school :p

  2. Been real good. How about you? Is the rest of team stealth on here?

  3. =O

    duuuuuuuuuude havn't spoken to you in ages, how have you been?

  4. your mum too? haha, thats crazy. what an enjoyable birthday for her 19 years ago then!! ooh salsaing.. impressive!! well, have a good one! i'll try to remember to message you on the day! hah!

  5. hopefully I'll be surfing, or finally finishing my book, or perhaps salsaing?, I don't know. Just not at work please. Shame all your friends aren't near you, even worse some are off on foreign jaunts! In all honesty, besides my mom, you're the only person I've ever met born on the 31 of may.

  6. hehe, yeep!

    nah nothing much as yet, as the majority of my friends are either stuck at uni or travelling the world! :rolleyes:

    how about you?

  7. Gemini's unite! Yet another reason the 31 of May is excellent.


    You have any special plans for your 19th?

  8. just noticed we share exactly the same birthday/age :happy:

  9. Salutaions betty boop.

  10. Howdy Sonny Jim.

  11. Mr.BS

    The Writers Block

    In all honesty, I'm not really sure. Was just an odd little brain wave I had and I just went with it.
  12. Mr.BS

    The Writers Block

    Ok dokes, so this is a little blurb I wrote for a side story I've got going on. I guess it's kind of like American psycho, but that's just one point of reference. Haven't been writing too much lately unfortunately. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Well hey there darling, I saw yous was lookin' pretty cute over ther in the corner", and yes, she is really saying corner like coh-nah, "and I figured I'd come up and say hello." Technically, this is the part where I put out my hand and say "Hey there deliah, wanna bum?" Don't get me wrong, she's got those shrug whatevers on, and her rack's just bout popping out, and her eyes are big and blue, but there's nothing there. Full of sound but no fury or frequency. And I'm pissed. Silence. Pissed. Silence. Pissed. Soon enough she turns aways. Now 'Delilah' is by no means the only chick in the room, in fact she's every chick in the room. Each and every one of them. I see her move onto the next chap in line. Let's call him 'Dave.' 'Dave' too is every guy in the room. In fact, lacking boots and a James Bond five o'clock shadow, I'm the only non-'Dave ' in the room. You could say this isn't my normal hang out. Which is why I'm pissed off. It's my fault in part. I had gotten a little bit clumsy. One body here, another body there, and soon enough the shit hits the fan. BUT, and I stress that, IT WASN'T ALL ME. It wasn't just chicks, or parts of them that the fuzz started to find. They found ball sacks and male nipples and hairy backs. I don't swing that way. Someone else does. Anyway, the police started asking questions, and the flock started acting skittish: no more easy kills for this wolf. But it doesn't change the fact that someone else was poaching on my territory, and frankly, that's very upsetting. Psychologically damaging. Yeah, snort, right. But seriously though, those bodies weren't found until AFTER I had taken a slight break. Following LOGIC, either there was a FUCKING COPYCAT or... something. I don't know really. I wouldn't mind it if, say, locks of hair and the occasional finger with a long, cherry red fingernail popped up instead of SCROTUM and BEEFY PECS. I could look up on such evidence as friendly competition. He, I'm incapable of the leap of imagination that gay folk would leave BEARDS and BALLS in various dumpsters, they're all invariably of the Queer Eye for the Straight guy mold and have a hard time killing mosquitoes and all that shit. Anyway. This male, !!!, competitor would be no copycat. He is someone I could observe from afar, obviously he'd be new to the game, less experienced, and watch. He'd be no threat, but he'd be... entertaining to watch. His struggles would no doubt mirror my earlier ones, and maybe, just maybe, I could mentor him. But no. NO. There are MEN, or close approximations, dying and I know it's just some FUCKING WOMEN who's behind it. So not only am I in a room full of 'Delilah's, not one of which would offer any intellectual stimulation, no only am I off my fucking comfort zone and ideal target group, but I'm damn sure I've got some fucking femmo-nazi imitating me. For fucks sake. And I think that pretty accurately conveys my attitude right now. Fucks sake. Between 'Delilah' and 'Dave' and 'Dave' again, I'm about ready to call it a night. Go back home, get on the internet, and virtually sodomize some pretty young things. Almost sounds like a meaningful substitute, except I can't quite release emotionally like I can with the real live thing. And so another beer is in order. It isn't like the arrangement I had with the bartender at the club I USED to go to. I'd order a vodka and he'd just put water in it. It's all about looking the part really. But here I have no arrangement, so here I have to drink real beer. Yech. And so I saunter back over to my corner. With my real beer. Watching the real 'Delilahs's and 'Daves'. This sucks. I've got to get out of here. Then I'm gonna begin my own investigation. I'm gonna find out which BITCH is killing my fellow men, and I'm gonna find her, and I'm gonna... oh boy. Some people dream of crashing waves on lonely beaches, others dream about roaring fires and comfy blankets, but I on the other hand, dream of screams and yelps and things far too gruesome for metaphors. Be kind of sadistic I think to drag metaphors and other descriptions in with my dreams. I've always kind of liked them too much for that. I'm about to call it a night when the door opens, and in walks a black haired goddess. Probably volunteers for PETA or the ACLU on the weekends. That type. The anti-'Delilah'. And she's making a beeline straight for me. All revenges should be so sweet, all bars so polarized, all plans so malignant.
  13. Mr.BS

    The Writers Block

    I can definitely see the beautiful mind influences... having only seen the movie I can't speak for the book, but there are parallels there. And yeah, it is fairly wide open where you can go with it... practically anywhere. I know you aren't ending yet, but I'm guessing you like wide open endings? Let the reader answer the questions instead of answering them yourselves?
  14. Mr.BS

    The Writers Block

    That's the kind of honest feedback I've been looking for. Thanks. And yeah, that's strictly a first draft so have yet to do any revision whatsoever. And thanks for the bit on the sig... Einstein is one of my favorite people to quote in all honesty.
  15. Mr.BS

    The Writers Block

    Ok, so here's a part of the book I'm writing. Part of a chapter, blatantly, and I'm curious to see how other people like it. That and I'm in a rut and hopefully some constructive criticism will push me out. “Interestingly enough,” Richard began, “before anything else the pawn and gun shops were hit up first. Grocery stores would take around a week to empty, malls another week to get trashed, and hell, the libraries haven’t had so much a ransacking as a cherry picking, but anything involving bullets and guns was hit up real clean like that very first night. Typical man, I tell you, typical.” He swilled the warm, stale beer in his can beer before continuing on. “Though everyone did in fact do a damn fine job. As a general rule of thumb, everyone started out at the general sports warehouses and shotguns, the brave ones moving onto the gun stores, then on and on till even the local militias were in a state of chaos, and let me tell you, that was hairy.” I don’t like Richard. In my humble opinion; he is one of those perpetual college sorts never mature enough to set out on his own even though he’s still a freshmen. Was a freshman. Whatever. I don’t like him, but he is Relena’s friend – was, dammit, whatever – and did save our lives this afternoon. I’m impatient though. Pissed off really that I have to listen to this puissant brag about his exploits while my daughter is still out there. Somewhere. But he did save my life. And Relena’s. “See the Militia were just as much in the dark as we were that first night. Some actually showed up, hell knows why, maybe as a putsch or a counter putsch? Whatever. Anyway, there weren’t any officers there at least, thank god, but things still got mighty interesting. Most everyone from the mindless hordes went up from the main entrance, which is where all the returned amateur soldiers were waiting. Idiots.” He snorted in derision just to let it sink just how dumb the now dead hordes were. Are. I should mention that although Relena had sauntered off with some of the girls into another room, I was here with Richard and about eleven other guys; boys really, but they’re too arrogant to realize it. Hurry up now Richard time is a wasting. “Me and my guys came from one of the unlit corners and over the barbed wire, just bout opposite from the floodlit main gate. Idiots were running them from portable generators: great for visibility but absolutely terrible for maintaining a low profile.” And a laugh, just like the low vicious rumble of electrical generators, shuddered around the circle. “Could hear those monsters from blocks around.” At this a scrawny teen of I’d say sixteen piped up and mentioned, “You ain’t kidding man. That’s how I met up with y’all in the first place. Man, everyone –” “Shut up Mikey. We aren’t talking to you or about you. As I was saying…” It’s pretty weird being in the King’s court when the session is held in your honor. Especially when the King is a few brain cells short of a legitimate nut case. “It was just me and these five original lads, well we all snuck in over the barbed wire and in through a back window. By now the assorted mob up front was chanting something; happily enough they were chanting so loud that no one heard – whoop se daisy – the tinkling of a glass window. And we were in.” Clearly, he would still be telling his sordid claim to fame if I was asleep so long as I appeared to be paying attention. I imagine there is a small circle in hell for dictators and other pissants who incessantly tell each other stories about what great things they once did, just to impress themselves. Here Stalin would brag, “Oh yeah? Well once I killed twenty million of my own citizens! Top that”, and the Grand Inquisitor would reply, “Please, you don’t want me to tell you how many heretics I have had burned”, and Richard here would reply, “Come off it you all! Did I tell you about the time…”. On second though, this might actually be a pretty large section of hell. Sigh. Tick. Tick. Tick. “Unfortunately, I had this slight hunch that stealing all those deliciously sinister matte black rifles and grenades and machine guns oh my! might be a little more difficult than I had hoped. Even with an almost thousand strong mob chanting the amateur soldier couldn’t possibly not notice our ransacking their armory, so I decided to tilt the playing field. Creeping up I had heard one of the Sergeants yelling over the microphone, ‘We are going to fire a volley over your head! If you do not turn back after that volley, you will be fired upon!’ Perfect, I though, as a plan began to slowly swirl in my head. Why not help things along? Make life a lot… easier for everyone involved.” And he smiled. It would have been a handsome smile except for how it twisted his face. His smile could have won photo spreads all on its own, except for the way it stretched taut against his face; mutilated everything else. HE smile and his eyes shrunk back in his skull while his nose became miniscule in comparison. He looked human enough when sullen, but when he smiled that terrible smile he became a gargoyle. A gargoyle banished forever to guard the outpost between flames and earth: sometimes helping and sometimes barring souls from one or the other. “It couldn’t have been a better set up if I had dreamed it. Grabbing a handful of grenades, and instructing the others to do the same, we sauntered off real quiet like to where the generators were on the side of the building. Purring with the last fuel I would ever see. And we waited for our maestro, our sergeant with the bullhorn.” And they laughed a morbid laugh all as one, a thing of wonder considering the occasion and setting. Beauty, the terrible. “‘FIVE…FOUR…’ ‘All right boys’, I said, ‘pull the pins on the grenades and throw ‘em under the generators now!’ Now of course I had already briefed them on what to do so when the sarge said four we just pulled the pins, checked them and left. And waited. ‘THREE…TWO…ONE… ALL RIGHT BOYS, FIRE!’ No, perhaps I haven’t described the scene fully, so allow me this sidebar.” And he smiled again. That sinister, perfect smile. “It was a thing of beauty really. Us six are each two to agenerator and I’m peeking around the corner, and I finally see. See those two rows of twelve soldiers; some in uniform , some in bathrobes, and some in silent tears. Different strokes for different folks you know? Ha. Anyway I could see the hastily erected barricade that not even all twelve could fit behind, and I almost feel sorry for the lot of them.” Oh, so now he grows wistful. “Man, even those boys at the Alamo had proper defenses, but anyways… looking up at that garrison sized flag and at the men in uniform… damn. But looking down past that madly pacing sergeant I looked and saw the tide I was about to set free. Of course by then it was too late to do anything but watch that view… “Anyway, our city so proud right?, all at once the lights went out over that arrogant sandstone walkway just after that sergeant called volley. Before the soldier could each pull twenty four triggers in unison thirty degrees above the horizon, before the crowd could flinch and scatter at the sounds of gunfire, before anything really all of those lights cut out. Tell you what man I got all five senses overloaded at once. At once. I saw the flash of gunshots and the electrically infused explosions of the generators; I heard the bullets supersonically tearing the air and the screams and groans of those shot and those about to be; I smelled both gunpowder and fear from upwind. Fear is the one smell I’ll never forget. Can’t tell you any comparisons, but I’d recognize that smell of hundreds of cramped bodies all trying to run away and run closer. I’d recognize that smell anywhere.” I always wondered how my old college professors were able to lecture me while still trying their abject best to ignore me at the same time. He wasn’t rambling; Richard was just as much venting as bragging to himself I was just the target he was aiming at. It happens. “Obviously I couldn’t see anyone actually dying, but I could feel it. I could feel all those bodies hitting the ground, and hearts beating wildly as fear overtook the dying crowd. Between the bullets and the bum rush, and the bum rush did manage to flank the blind firing soldiers, I don’t think, “drawing his finger across his throat he continued on with a smirk; compromise from sober humanity and gleeful insanity, “anyone could possibly have made it. I felt death walking the ground around, but far, far more importantly, I felt power.” As someone once caught in the frenzy of a rushing crowd, I couldn’t do much more than nod and shake my head at the same time. Brilliant tactics; demonic results. But dammit, time is wasting and I’m tired of not having any control. “So Richard, your plan worked then? Got all the guns and now you’re set for life?” He snorted in revulsion, “You could say that. We’ve got all the homeland defense we’ll ever need, the finest strategic position in the city, and plenty of grog to last us a while yet. Look around you man, what else could we need?” And at his ‘suggestion’ I did look around the dimly lit room. What a shit hole, but that’s just my opinion. It was the sort of dark room with the overlapping graffiti that any respectable interior designer would have shied away from instantly. The overall motif was black, but the secondary and background were pure ego. It was the sort of room that started out measuring twenty by twenty, but when the paint and the graffiti and over confidence was painted on the walls it shrinks by half. [end] And that's all I've got for right now. Feedback?
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