My own self

They cancelled Easy Money. I watch TWELVE current TV shows every week, and they cancel the one I deem best of them after only having run for FOUR episodes.






Bloody. Bleeding. Bastard. Hell.

Today, Santa Claus gave a lecture on the American revolution and early government, referencing Luke Skywalker, Napoleon, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Superman, and then went on to state that "God wants greedy Americans" and "Sweeds are whimpy".


It was the best day ever.

So, I rarely play computer games, and since my old NES stopped working, even more rarely video-games.

Now a friend of mine suggested I download this demo and tried it out.

And curses upon him, I liked it. Nice blend of RPG, strategy and simple puzzle-game, thuogh I would have liked it to be a bit more heavy on the strategy-side, though I hope that might mayube change as you get deeper into the game.


So.


What do I do now? :\

On the first test, which was only rated as passed or failed, I passed. This should count for whether or not you were tipped up or down when calculating the final grade, which is found by finding the average on the three other tests.

On the second test, I got a B. And wow, did I ever not expect THAT.

On the third test - which was a hand-in - I got a C. And I'm miffed about that. Having worked on it for a while, at home, with a friend, I was kind of assuming I'd do as well as I did on a test with no books or help available and little time. But, oh, well.

On the fourth and last test, I don't know what I got yet. I hope I'll get to know on Friday. I think it went to hell, though.

Anyway, I felt pretty certain I at least passed on it, though, which makes for rather simple math - I had to get a C in the course. One B, one C, and one test where I knew I did badly... I could get an E or a D or maybe (I had a faint hope) a C on the last one, but it would all give me a C in total.

And that's what I got. 'Cause the grades of the course were just released.


I'm not sure if I'm to be happy of malcontent. After all, I don't need the subject for anything, it doesn't go into my degree, and I'm taking it on top of studying history full-time. My aim when I signed up for the course was just getting a passing grade. Of course, getting that B early on readjusted my aims a little, but still, I've had modest aims.

On the other hand, I now have a C in a course I'm not going to re-take, and that's a dent in a rather long line of exam-results I've been shocked (but very happy and proud) to get.

Then again, I'll probably not do too well in my history courses this term, either, so then it doesn't matter at all.



So, basically... YAAAAY, I GOT A C IN LATIN!

Several years ago, I wrote this little piece of crazy, and I stumbled over it when cleaning up some folders just now. I figured, some of those reading this weblog have already read it, but some have not, and maybe it's of interest. Anyway, keep in mind I was a great deal younger than I am now when I wrote it, so bear over with the poor quality.

Oh, and incidentally, this came about as someone on MSN - at the moment I seem to have forgotten whether it was RoadKill or Obdormio, whichever one may feel free to speak up in the comments to this post - said they were writing a story where that was the first sentence, or something like that. So I figured, why can't I do the same?

The curtains were on fire.

The curtains were on fire. He screamed, and ran for the door. It was on fire, too. Damned. He ran for the window, only to remember that that was where curtains usually hung. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out that if the curtains hung there, the fire would be there too. Damned. Bad luck. He should have listened to the carpenters and had more than the one window installed. If just glass hadn’t been so darn expensive. He looked over at his old mother. The hag was humping out towards the hallway, not knowing the door was on fire. He grinned sadistically. Let that teach her not to come visiting without telling him in advance.

The curtains were on fire! The gorgeous, beautiful curtains she had gotten from her dear old aunt before the bitch finally did the decent thing and died. Oh, woe! She ran for the door, knowing there was a hose with water outside. Her son had already been out there, but he came back, looking frenetic, without the hose. Incompetent little git. Bloody old legs, they went far too slowly. There. WHAT? The door was on fire, too. Suspiciously so. Two rooms away from the other fire. What were the odds of two fires breaking out at the same time? She didn’t know, but she suspected that not even that Will Bates-fellow would afford betting on them. There was only one logical conclusion. The bastard of a boy had set them on fire when he was out here before. Obviously, he wanted her dead. Not very surprising, but she felt a bit disappointed nevertheless – he could at least have had the decency to give her some painkillers before he burned her to death. Or served supper, at the very least.

“The curtains are on fire!” he screamed, mostly just to have that out in the open. No use keeping any secrets from himself in a situation this horrible. “The door’s on fire, too!” he continued, a bit less hysterical. Hm. This was working. He started trusting himself, he obviously knew what was going on here, and that was some comfort. People who knew what was going on usually knew how to fix… whatever was going on. His face beamed up in a great smile, as he added: “I’m going to burn to death” with great confidence. Then a shadow of doubt crossed his face. “Waaaaait a minute…”

The curtains are on fire, she thought again, scurrying back towards the living room. Good, one less thing for him to inherit. But none of that really mattered now, she had decided she would survive. Not because it was all that important to her, but because it would REALLY annoy him. She grinned maliciously. She had spotted the flaw in his evil plan. He was in the house, too. Now, her son might be stupid, in fact there was no “might” about it, but he would never put the house on fire while being inside it. Not without having a way out. So all she had to do was to cling to him, and follow him around until he exited. Piece of cake. She’d show the little brat.

“Your curtains seem to be on fire,” Copper Jones remarked from the road passing by the house. He could see this, because there was a great hole in the living room wall. He stuck his head into the room, not wanting to enter unless it was called for. The resident was a nasty type, Jones didn’t really want more to do with him than necessary. Copper Jones was the town policeman. The only one. And he’d done his job well, even taken in a rapist once, but he’d never met anyone as nasty as the resident of this house. He never did anything WRONG, but he was just plain nasty. He always smelled like omelets. Why would anyone want to walk around smelling like omelets? Jones didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know, either. All he wanted, was to be able to arrest the man on account of being nasty. That hope appeared futile, though Copper Jones kept sending very polite letters to the Minister of Justice about it, just in case.
The man hopped, startled by Jones’ voice. Then he looked angrily at the man staring in the three meters wide hole in his living room wall. “Well, OBVIOUSLY!” Then he returned to his staring at the floor, rubbing his temples, murmuring “What to do, what to do?!”
Copper Jones shrugged. Everything seemed to be in order, or as close to order as anything regarding this house ever was, so he continued his patrol, happily humming the latest Britney Spears-hit as he strolled on.

“The curtains are on fire!” he was thinking. That annoyed his brain. His brain knew that this was not very relevant to the present situation, what was relevant was that something was on fire. His brain knew he needed to go out, get the garden hose, go back in, and put out the fire before the house burned down. His brain knew this would be clever because the house was expensive, and losing expensive things was generally regarded as negative. His brain also knew that what was negative should be avoided.
His mother returned to the room, purposefully walking towards him. His brain didn’t like that, it made him even more stressed and the situation even more uncontrollable. His brain knew a lot of things. Problem was, it didn’t manage to draw any constructive conclusions.
For an instance, his brain was well aware of his cousin Ben driving a bulldozer into his living room wall yesterday. His brain was well aware of this causing his wall to have a huge hole in it. What his brain had not yet thought of, was the possibility of using this hole to walk through. His brain had firmly placed the hole under “nuisances”, rather well-used category, things seemed to go there automatically unless told otherwise, and “exits” lay on the other side of his entire mental furnishing. And such a stressed situation was not the ideal situation in which to draw revolutionary lines between rarely connected phenomena.

The curtains were still on fire, but her moron son seemed not to notice, staring at the floor and mumbling to himself. Probably some diabolically conceived diversion, trying to make her discard him as apathetic and try escaping the house on her own, through the giant hole in the wall. A hole which suspiciously enough had not been there the last time she visited. But she knew an obvious trap when she saw one. It was probably rigged to make the entire roof fall over her if she as much as stuck her toe through it. Oh, no, she was not going to fall for THAT one.

The curtains were on fire, but his stupid mother seemed not to care. She kept staring at him, eying his every move, as though he would have some magical solution to the problem. How typical. How bloody typical. He had to do everything. Hm. An axe would do the job, an axe would get him out of the stupid house. But he did not have an axe at hand. The next best thing would be the kitchen knife. He headed for the kitchen.

The curtains were on fire, the lovely, gorgeous curtains from her dear old auntie, but the blasted boy would obviously throw them away in a heartbeat if it rid him of her. He stopped staring at the floor, and gazed coldly upon her. Then suddenly took action, walking hurriedly towards the kitchen. “NOW you want to make supper?” she scolded, and followed him as fast as she could. She could not afford to let him out of her sight for as much as a second, the fire was spreading fast.

The curtains were not the only thing on fire anymore. The fire had spread along the walls into the kitchen, and the cabinet where he stored his food was already burning. He heard his mother say something about supper. Supper?! NOW?! He knew she was crazy, but there should be limits, even for her. Didn’t the blasted woman notice the flames engulfing his entire house?! He rushed over to the drawer and took out his biggest kitchen knife, turning towards the living room with stark determination in his eyes.

The curtains afire behind her, her eyes went wide when her son turned towards her with a huge kitchen knife in hand, his eyes hard and determined. So, the fire was not doing the job quickly enough, was it? Her plan had been turned towards her, he had obviously somehow in his slow mind figured out he could not exit without her following him, and had decided to take action towards this.
But she had not escaped a death-sentence and moved to the USA and assumed a new identity forty years ago just to die this easily! Her hand flashed into her purse, trying to get her gun out.

The fiery curtains encircling the devilish old woman in front of him with an aura of evil, he stopped abruptly as he noticed her hand going towards her purse. He knew she kept a gun there, the paranoid witch. She always had, even before she had started getting delusions of having been a professional assassin in Europe in her youth. Why would she draw it now?! OF COURSE! SHE set this fire! The hag had wanted him dead for years, ever since his father died and she had no one else to wish death upon. Quick as a leopard his hand flashed down to stop her in withdrawing the gun. He forgot all about that hand holding the kitchen knife. His brain was still struggling with the opening of the sealed box of “nuisances” in his head, after all.

The curtains crackling with the increasingly hot fire made a fitting background to her son stabbing her right arm with the kitchen knife. Damned! She KNEW she should have tried to tackle him instead, the gun took too long time. Mentally telling the pain to go to hell and take her son with it, she used her left hand to wrench the knife out of his grip. Sadly, her blood had made it slippery and she dropped it on his foot before she could stab him back.

The curtains would soon not be on fire anymore, the brain thought happily as it finally remembered how to unlock the “nuisances”-box. Then it dropped the key as a jolt of pain in his leg took precedence over mere survival, and the brain aborted every assigned mission in order to give the compulsory scream its full attention.

The crackling curtains was deafened by a unproportionally loud whine as the sorry excuse for a son noticed the knife standing blade down in his right foot. She was about to use the opening to hit him right on the nose, but remembered just in time that he might pass out, leaving her with no way out. Curse him! So, instead, she used the raised hand to slap him on the right cheek. “Get a grip! You shouldn’t have dropped the knife like that. Now, how are we going to get out?”
“YOU MURDEROUS LITTLE HAG! YOU’VE DESTROYED MY FOOT!” he bellowed, and drove his fist into her stomach.

The entire house was on fire, but that did not make the satisfaction of her surprised grunt any less. Well, it did, but not by much. Parts of the roof fell down. He stared annoyed at a cat sitting outside the living room hole, studying the situation. He bent down over his seemingly passed-out mother, and took the gun from her purse. “What the HELL are you looking at?!” he screamed, and started shooting at it.

The roof above her was on fire, she thought through the dizziness and nausea the violent bastard had caused her. She noticed him taking something from her purse. SO! He would shoot her with her OWN GUN! Not bloody likely! She kicked out towards where she guessed the knife was just as the shot went off.

The entire house was on fire, and the silly man chose to shoot... and at her. The cat was genuinely puzzled. It didn’t move, though, because the man stumbled and screamed as he pulled the trigger, causing the bullet to go through the burning roof. Instead, it licked its tail as the roof in the living room collapsed in front of the two people rolling around in the door opening going into kitchen.

The curtains were no more, his brain conceded. He should have installed another window, and damned be the cost. As it made his hands rip the knife out of his mother’s hands, it was annoyed that his clothes were starting to burn, it was hot enough already.
His hair caught fire as the brain with great irritation realized he would not live to sue cousin Ben for the hole he had made in the lovely living room wall.

I don't even know WHAT that title is.




Be that as it (dis)may, I've been appointed trustee and optional-writer-to-be with no responsibilities over at WWW.OBDORMIO.COM. Now that's just plain awesome.


Also? *enters triumphantly smug and annoyingly high-pitch'd voice* QUO-TEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEED! *exits triumphantly smug and annoyingly high-pitch'd voice* Yes, that's right, the dude didn't only shower me with new and easily abusable powers, he also quoted me on his secrety moderator-menu-pages on his webpage. That's right. I'm now semi-quasi-almost-kinda-in-a-way-officially the guy who wrote "People, in general, like screaming"!


Who am I? I'm SIMPLY THE BEST.

BETTER THAN ALL THE REST.

BETTER THAN! ... businessman see, roots in the community!


Sorry, digression into some kind of messed up mix of popular culture, there. I'm deeply sorry.


No, not really, I'm just slightly random, is all.





Anyway, say goodbye to the nice Psychophant!






"Goodbye to the nice Psychophant!"

(The title is totally irrelevant for this post, I just felt like singing on that song)

So, Obdormio's extremely supportive comment on my last post (which I am aware may very well have been a sarcastic and evil attempt to hurt my feelings, but I conveniently choose not to seriously consider that possibility) made me want to post something more! Yay!

I'm possibly going to show my first draft here sometime this weekend, we'll see, but for now, I have a question, and I'd appreciate it if everybody who read this and have an interest in it would give their view:

Should I minimize or exploit the amount of cross-breeding between the pantheons?



This is a difficult issue, you see, now that I've decided to use 'em all in one single "continuity", if you'd like. It seems... awkward... to have only two or three non-Nordic names on the chart (which is the case right now, apart from Sigyn's parents the only inclusion of a non-Nordic entity is the mother of Syn, for whom I'm considering mostly Artemis and Athena. (Olympians mainly because I see them as the non-Northern-European-pantheon most likely to have close relations with the Aasgardians, and also because, heck, I don't have to look up everything when I'm dealing with them, cause I already, like, know stuff. ) I'm leaning towards Artemis - I feel like the qualities she would inherit from Athena is already represented by my letting Odin or Ve (not sure which one yet, and I'm also considering Tyr, but I have this gut-instinct he shouldn't be a father) be her father, and I also feel like Artemis is more likely to have had a child with some barbaric northerner and then just send it away to him than Athena is. (Yeah, my justification for this is that Artemis is more of a feministic entity than Athena. Those of you who don't see the reasoning here are probably women. Those of you that do, and hate me, are probably too. Luckily, none of you know my name, or where I live, so I can continue my small-time-bigot'y ways undisturbed-like. Mwhahahaa.)

Also, another, more simple thing, that I'd like opinions on: how, if at all, should Honir (Norwegian "Høne") be related to Odin? I'm playing with three scenarios - half-brother to Odin, nephew (making Honir the son of Vili or Ve) or half-brother to Frigg (and thus half-cousin to Odin, as well). But any other suggestion will be recieved with thanks. (For those possible-yet-unlikely Norse-religion-geeks reading this, I'm identifying Lóðurr with Loki, as I like to think there's a chance he might have had a hand (a subtle hand, but a hand) in creation, without stating it outright. By giving him a pseudonym which in one version of the tale of creation of Man is said to have aided Odin, I think I'm opening that possibility. (Incidentally, this is also a theme I'm going to use on my Loki-inspired divinity in my book-thingie, if I ever get around to writing more on it))

And lastly, I'm struggling somewhat with Angerboda, mother of Loki's three monstrosities. I'm unsure if I should identify her with someone (Gullveig or Sigyn, probably), if I should let her be some important Jotnir's relative (if so, who?) or if I should just let her be some random Jotnir girl Loki got the hots for. I kind of feel that would be odd, though, as this girl's genes are supposedly half of what made Jormungand...

Dixi.

I've just finished "King of Foxes", meaning I've got only one book left to be up-to-speed on Raymond E. Feist's complete writings of the worlds of Midkemia and Kelewan.

For those uninitiated, I decided this would be an excellent opportunity to sum up his series. There are no spoilers of importance ins this go-through, though things such as the span of time a book will cover and the type of book it will be (i.e. "war stories", "romance", etc) and some information of setting and general plotline ("boy grows up and becomes a rather successful chimney-sweep") will occur.

Feist has a very interesting angle on the fantasy-series-phenomenon, instead of writing series in new worlds when the first one is finished, or instead of writing one, long massive series focusing on a certain set of characters, he writes individual series with no relation between each other apart from all taking place in the same universe. Of course, this causes them to relate to each other, and opens for a reading of his entire works as one long saga, but it also allows for each and every of his series (or stand-alone-books) to be read without any knowledge of the author's previous work.

I will here go through the different series and books of his which are set in this universe, and I'll do so in a chronological order set by when the stories takes place in relation to each other, not in the order in which they were written and published, as that would be far more confusing.

The Riftwar Saga
Feist started of this series with the book Magician, sometimes divided into two volumes, titled "Magician: Apprentice" and "Magician: Master". The book is arch-typical fantasy, following two children on their way from childhood to adulthood and eventually the status of powerful heroes, one as a mage, the other as a warrior. The book makes no effort to hide its heavy loaning from known RPG-scenarios, a tendency that's very clear later in this series as well, though maybe not quite to the extent of the first book. But this is not very problematic, the story is interesting and the characters fun, so you look past the somewhat stereotyped situations. After all, Feist has never tried to hide that the world, Midkemia, is a world originally created by him and his roleplaying friends for role-playing in.

The book covers a war between to nations, with a twist - the nations are located on different planets, the route between them opened by means of magically produced "rifts". One is highly inspired by Japanese and general Oriental imperialism, and is located on a planet called "Kelewan". The other, where most of the story takes place, is located on the planet "Midkemia", and the nation in question is a large, medieval European-type civilization. Of the two, Midkemia is the world on which most future books take place.

Book two, Silverthorn, is a typical "quest"-story, following secondary characters from the first book (though the main-characters from it do play important roles as well) as they uncover a great, dark threat on Midkemia, which also turns out to be of importance for the people on Kelewan.

The third book, A Darkness at Sethanon, is by far the weakest of the trilogy, which often tends to be the case in such series when things get very large and important and godlike creatures and the universe's very existance is in peril. Still, it's not bad, and it neatly ties book one and two together and ends the Riftwar-saga neatly. Though not his best series, I'm a big fan of chronology, and seeing as these books take place first and are the ones first written, I'd recommend everybody planning on reading Feist to begin with them.

Legends of the Riftwar
I'll also mention a short-story here, which is not technically part of this series - The Wooden Boy, Feist's contribution to the first "Legends"-anthology. Like the books of "Legends of the Riftwar" - Honoured Enemy and Murder in LaMut - it takes place during the Riftwar (that is, during "Magician" - and they're all quality war-stories, though nothing extraordinary by any means), and on Midkemia. A third book, Jimmy the Hand", was scheduled to be written, but I've heard nothing more about it. That doesn't mean it won't come out eventually, though, Feist seems to juggle his series around, writing more than one at a time.

These stories are all good entertainment, and I'll recommend them to anyone liking Feist and wanting to broaden their perspectives on his world and on the Riftwar.

The Empire-trilogy
Co-written with Janny Wurts, these books are Feist's attempt on almost pure political intrigue-stories, and are, in my opinion, highly successful an attempt. They follow a young girl from an old noble family on Kelewan (this is the only series this far exclusively taking place on that planet) as she suddenly inherits the responsibility of her House and needs to grow up very quickly to stay alive in the deadly nest of politics that rules her world. The books takes place parallell to the Riftwar-trilogy, and could easily be read both before and afterwards. Maybe Feist's best work ever, I highly recommend this trilogy to anyone liking stories of political intrigue and survival - and they are, due to taking place on Kelewan and not Midkemia - the series of Feist that has little gained quality by having previous knowledge with the universe, and thus is even more accessible to an unfamiliar reader of Feist than his other series. The books are Daughter of the Empire, Servant of the Empire and Mistress of the Empire, and do, of course, give it all away while really giving nothing at all away.

The Riftwar Legacy
As his books grew popular, computer-games set in Midkemia were made. Feist co-operated with the making of the stories for these games, and when realizing how often he was asked by fans how the games fit in the continuity solved the issue by writing books based on the games. The man's a workaholic, but as a continuity freak, this thrilled me personally.
The books bear clear marks of being based on computer games - you can almost feel the lines "quest solved!" and "new quest gained!" added to some chapters... but it works, as it did with the RPG-elements in "Riftwar". I've not played the games, but as far as I can gather, the first book, Krondor: The Betrayal covers the first game, and the third book, Krondor: Tear of the Gods cover the events of the second, while the second book, Krondor: The Asassins, bridges the two. They're okay reading, taking place shortly after the Riftwar-saga, following mostly central characters from Silverthorn. As far as I've been able to gather, a fourth book was planned, but again, it just never seemed to show up.

Prince of the Blood
A stand-alone-book that in many ways is an epilogue to the original Riftwar Saga, this book centres around the two oldest sons of a central character in the original trilogy as they twenty years later go on a diplomatic mission south in Midkemia, to the great Empire of Kesh, a seemingly Middle-Easternly inspired culture. It's highly enjoyable, containing phrases like the Ghuda the mercenary's "I care so little for you that if you were on fire, I wouldn't bother to cross the street to piss on you." Also, it was the first book I ever read in English. (The Riftwar Trilogy exists in Norwegian translation)

The King's Buccaneer
Another stand-alone-book, this one is both a continuation to "Prince of the Blood" and a prologue to the next major series. It takes place another ten years or so into the future from the events taking place in "Prince of the Blood", and follows the younger brother of the two main characters in the last book. Though an independent story, it beautifully sets up the coming series, and I strongly suggest to anyone thinking of reading "the Serpentwar Saga" to consider this as "book zero" and read it before starting on the series itself.

The Serpentwar Saga
While they're all good, all the series and books above cover relatively unimportant events. Political shifts, sure. Wars, by all means. Life and death of characters both good and bad, oh, very much so. But not since the Riftwar Saga (and somewhat in the Riftwar Legacy) has the really major issues been touched upon. It has been almost half a century since the Riftwar Saga ended, and in a medieval world, even one with healing priests and mages, that's a long, long time. A new major conflict emerges, and these four books are my favourites of Feist's work, once again following two young men in their journies towards greatness - though, of course, these journies differ greatly fro the journies of the two characters in the Riftwar Saga. The story is set in Midkemia, but much of it is in parts we've not yet visited. The boooks, Shadow of a Dark Queen, Rise of a Merchant Prince, Rage of a Demon King, and Shards of a Broken Crown, can easily be read without prior knowledge to the 'verse, though I strongly recommend reading "King's Buccaneer" first. They end conclusively, but with at the same time with a clear "to be continued"-feeling, which is done in the next series, the present one:

Conclave of Shadows
Thirty years or so after the Serpentwar Saga, the Conclave of Shadows is manipulating and manouvering to keep evil at bay, and we follow one of their prime agents in books reminding me of a cross between the "Count of Monte Cristo" and James Bond, set in Midkemia, though great portions of it in parts we've not seen yet, Feist ever expanding our knowledge of this world. The original kingdom of the Riftwar Saga is still somewhat of an anchor, though, from which the reader easily can orientate him- or herself. Showing that he masters the secret agent-stories as well as the warstories and the political intrigue, Feist once again makes me happy to read his books with Talon of the Silver Hawk and King of Foxes. A third book, The Exile, which I've not read yet, seems to continue on the story begun in these two books, but I'm not sure whether or not it counts as a part of the series due to what I know of the plot and character-focus being somewhat unrelated to the Conclave of Shadows (though greatly related to the main character of the two previous books).

Well, that was that. I'm eagerly awaiting more from this chap. Any questions? ;D

Four times today - my "since-I-got-up-until-now"-day - I've sat down to play games. Four times today, I've gotten back up afterwards. It is the last day of 2005. "Since midnight-and-onwards"-day, that is. It is the last day of Norway's first century of independence from the sodding imperialists in blue-and-yellow. It is the last day of my twenty-first-year (allright, technically that was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, and the Norway-thingie isn't completely on-the-date either, but for Janus' sake, I'm trying to build a number-theme here!), and thereby the last day of my last year as not one hundred per cent adult in the eyes of my country if not in the eys of anyone else, and it is the first day in an entire year where I'll be eagerly anticipating cool, flashing sky-lights at midnight.

Our chief and central point, for those who missed it: Quadruple? Big theme.

U-huh. Four is big, you say, you got it, so what am I going to do about it? The post isn't quite there yet, I'll admit that. I'm doing fine, though, I've got two paragraphs already, this is the third, all I need is a new one to hit the mark. I'll have to try and make it seem natural, and of course, that will pose a challenge. But it is not the only one. I need other stuff, too. I already pulled one with Janus, but I have a feeling it might be just a tad or four (whee, did it again) too obscure. Hmmmm (did I use four letters on purpose, or was it a coincidence.... YOU SHALL NEVER KNOW! (Wow. Four words in capital letters. This is getting out of control!)) this theme-thing is tricky. What else could I do? Well, I've used the word "theme" four times, that's nice enough I suppose. And there's always the sly bastard among you who actually went ahead and counted the number of parentheses in this post, they're probably satisfied by now. But not me. Oh no. I need to do a big, flashy ending. And then there's that blasted fourth paragraph that is proving to be quite the troublemaker. Also, there should be some kind of hidden, cheesy message. Sigh. I think I'll just give up. Really, I don't know what I was thinking. Even the "use-only-four-question-marks" and see if they notice was stupid! This semi-spooky subliminal stuff? Like putting four words beginning with "s" in a row, that was so obviously not my thing, I even had to use a hyphon. And that sad transit to the fourth paragraph is growing increasingly more awkward. Sigh. Maybe I'll do better on "five".

Right, then. Sleep. Now.