Dante's Rant Archive

September 28, 2001

First I would like to start by quoting one of the greatest ranters of all time: George Carlin: "I don't have pet peeves, I have massive pychotic fucking hates."

That being said, I would like to take a few moments to inform you of a very serious problem that is even now rampaging across un-suspecting Day of Defeat servers everywhere. I am, of course, talking about spawn campers. Well, not all spawn campers, just the ones that are so un-godly ignorant as to attempt to defend their choice of tactic in any way whatsoever. I will always remember one such person. When an entire team of Allied players began to complain (with reason) about his sitting in their spawn area with a machine gun, he made the oh so intelligent observation that in a "real" war there aren't any rules. On a certain level I agreed with this, but I felt it neccessary to point out that in a "real" war, PEOPLE DO NOT COME BACK TO LIFE IN THE SAME PLACE YOU JUST KILLED THEM JACKASS!!

So, like anyone faced with what could turn into a deep debate about the parallels of gaming and reality, and the ramifications of attempting to rationally combine the two, he called me gay and continued spawn camping till he ran out of ammo. It's times like this that I realize I have no faith in the average of human intelligence in the online gaming community. Such is life.

On another more personal note, I have no intentions of naming my car. I've been told by several friends and relatives that I need to name my car. The car will not come if I call it. The car will not get lost and have to tell a police officer who it is. The car does not need a name.

So then I'm told that I should give it the name of a girlfriend. Two points, first, cars have a tendency to last much longer than most relationships. Second, I wouldn't want to name my car after anyone I like, because I spend a large amount of time everyday cursing every single one of the hell spawned pieces that make up my car. Well, not all the pieces, just the ones that fall off in Tristen's driveway when I drop him off. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to clarify in his next rant. I expect that inside of a month he will have more pieces of my car than I do. But I'll still be paying for the gas.

October 9, 2001

The more I think about it, the more I really, really hate being sick. But alas, Dear Readers, that can not carry the full depth of my message. Imagine it this way. Picture your healthy, functional immune system as a massive army of cells, ready to repell any invaders. They fight diligantly, never wavering from their eternal crusade, all for the soul purpose of keeping you feeling good.

Now imagine my immune system. Picture it more as a single burnt-out hippy on a week long bender of Coor's Natural Light. Now picture that same hippy taking malovolent joy in letting me get sick, simply for the kick of "fighting the man." Yep. Now picture him passed out. Perfect.

Thats not to say I have anything wrong with my immune system. It just sucks. It is the Commodore-fucking-64 of immue systems. I swear to God I've had just about every type of flu known to mankind. Whats more is that Tristen, that twisted hell-beast of a man, simply LOVES making fun of me for always getting sick. *Sympathy = Money, Wink Wink*

October 17, 2001

Alas dear readers! The comic is late! And it's all Scott's fault. I shall, however, refrain from bitching about that to attend a much more serious issue. I have received a large amount of feed-back from the Italian-speaking community. Imagine the woe of all those who could not read my witty, witty banter because of a crippiling language barrier. So in honor of all my Italian readers, the rest of the rant shall be written in Italian.

Adesso questo sarà migliore. Tutti i lettori italiani possono essere adesso felice. La cosa cattiva è che non abbiamo qualunque italiano che i parlando lettori. L'inferno, interrogo se abbiamo dei lettori a tutto.

Alcune persone potrebbero chiedere perché tentiamo anche. Io dice lei veramente, è perché noi piace essere e spreco il nostro , ed il di tutto di . Porterò adesso un minuto a ridere a tutte le persone abbastanza mute per sprecare il più tuo tempo leggere il nostro nastro. Adesso canterò poche linee di una canzone.

Nella città dove ero nato, ha vissuto un uomo che ha navigato al mare. E ci ha detti della sua vita, nella terra di sottomarini. Voi tutti non hanno indizio che questa cosa intera ha detto. Dio io sono malvagio.

Parlare di italiano, lei dovrebbe tutto il ha letto Dante la commedia divina L'Inferno. Era italiano. Mi chiamo Dante, parlo nell'italiano. Nota niente?

Amo il sesso. Amo il sesso con le donne.

Can you help me find my serendipity?

October 26, 2001

Behold dear readers, the sheer majesty and awe inspiring greatness that is The Bronco!

Before anyone even considers asking, the thing hanging from the rear-view mirror is a black leather glove. If you can't find the joke in that, well, then you too should be backed over.

Take a moment to laugh at the world. Now try to trip it and kick it while it's down. On a totally differnt note, anyone reading this should check out Cowboy Bebop and Trigun, two truly great series of Anime. I'd point out that you should also see Neon Genesis Evangelion, but that's more of a relgious experience than an Anime, and is deserving of its own seperate rant. Which it will probably get. Someday.

October 31, 2001

Happy Halloween folks! Ahh yes, the one holiday when everyone stops being so politically correct and civilized for the sake of getting back in touch with humanitys dark nature and disturbing inner psyche. The time of the year when demons and ghouls abound, and the little ghosts and goblins haunt the inky night, searching for candy the way thier either-worldly counterparts might search for the blood of the living or a tasty soul.

But a will back track for a moment. Halloween is always associated with ghosts and goblins. I've seen lots of ghosts, and no I will NOT mention seeing dead people. However, I have yet to see a single goblin. Thats right, not one. Where oh where can the goblins be, that they are not among the adorable Pagans grubbing for candy?

Well, dear readers, I shall shed the light of truth apon this issue once and for all. There are no goblins. Yes small children, your parents have been spreading the bastardic lies of Corporate America. The malovolent sadists in charge of marketing the grim guises of the dead to children have intentionally promised goblins to the masses, only to deny them in the most horriffic and bold fashion. But why, why do they hide the goblins from public light, while letting the ghosts run rampant through the night? Oh I have discovered this, but truly it is beyond all logical comprhension in this civilized world. Only read on if you dare to assault this epiphany of truth.

It is because the ghosts are white, and the goblins are not. Yes, while we claim to be an equal and color-less society, this blatant bigotry has penetrated us to the very core, hiding amidst a day for the fun of children. Repent I say to ye, Repent that thou might know the glory of a world where ghost and goblin live together in harmony forever!!

Or maybe dressing up as a goblin is really lame and thats why no one does it. I dunno, it's been a few years sense I've gone Trick-or-Treating.

Hi Oblivion, how's the wife and kids?

November 6, 2001

Ok, well, to the less culturally enriched among you, this strip makes a good deal more sense, and is much more comical and worthy of your hard earned laughter, if you've seen the old dime-a-dozen-Bruce-Lee-punching-people-in-the-face-with-very-bad-voice-acting type Kung-Fu movies. If you haven't.... What are you waiting for?

This little gem of a strip was a true group effort. The concept was mine, the writing and haikus are from Tristen, and some fine tunning ideas (not to mention artwork) came from Scott. And to all of my harsher critics, I can too use gradiants!

And.... damn there's very little to rant about today. I...uhh.... I really like pasta. It's yum yum, super tasty. Ohh, and it occured to me that I look frightingly similar to Wolfwood, the gun-toting priest from Trigun.

In the land of the deaf, my singing is king.

November 13, 2001

Picture if you will a terrifing world. For a few golden weeks of un-precedented joy and prosperity, the comic was on schedule. Every Tuesday and Thursday night, a brand new strip would appear from the chaos of the internet. Around this nearly holy bi-weekly event, the children smiled, the people laughed, and the sun shone just a little bit brighter.

But then came the great fall. No sooner had we celebrated the majesty of Haiku poetry then our sheltered little world collapsed around us. The days rolled by as if suspended in a thick air of repetition. The cries of the children were swallowed among the roar of the riots, the cackle of the fires and the boom of the explosions of those who had been cast out of their Xanadu of Malice.

The cry for salvation became constant. A leader was needed to raise society from it's crumbled Hell, to breath life back into the structure that so many people had clung to. A Hero was needed to save the few remaining fragments of civilization. That Hero would led the New Order, He would pick up the pieces, He would save us all from a fate worse than death, boredom.

Yes, dear readers, that Hero was me. I would show the world something it had never seen before, something so bright, so vivid, so powerful, it could only be called High Concept. This was to be my sacred quest. Alone I set out to breath life into this un-fathomable greatness. Bit by bit, cut by cut, paste by paste did it take form. From the chaos of the world was the strip again born. All things are in readiness, now I release it upon you.......

And may the light shine down again.

Why can't we all just get a thong?

November 15, 2001

Well damn. This is certainly a change of pace. As our more faithfull readers should recognize, this is the work of Tristen. Well, I don't think it's quite as likely to be a sort of web-comic Messiah, unlike certain works of mine. But it's still funny. As for the style, think Film Noir, kid.

Don't even think of using MY Wesson Oil.

November 20, 2001

You know folks, I honestly caught myself thinking that we'd have a real update today. Scott came up to me with his rarely seen sketchbook. He seemed very excited and told me that he's been drawing. After shaking off what seemed to be years of mold and cobwebs, he showed me what exactely it was.

Was it our new (oh intrigue) character? No. Was it part of our Thanksgiving special? No. Was it even something we could use for a strip? If you guessed no, give yourself a cookie, shut up and let me finish. No dear readers, it was something much, much different.

It was a snowman carrying a Tommy-Gun. Now, we've made it very clear to Scott that we haven't actually had new art in our strips for what is rapidly approaching 2 weeks. So he finally draws something, and what is it? A DAMN SNOWMAN WITH A TOMMY-GUN!

But thats cool, I mean each to his own. If on the off chance he's actually reading this: Keep it up. If we have to make another filler strip, Tristen will be drawing it.

Do you think Native Americans are still celebrating Thanksgiving with their new-found Pilgrim brothers?

November 27, 2001

I am sorry that I have to disapoint everyone reading this who had hoped for a funny rant. Well, no more than Tristen disapoints normally, but anyway... I have a very important Public Service Annoucement. Kids, I know you're going to be tempted by the world, and I won't always be there for you, but just remember one thing: Don't slide knee-first into concrete walls.

I remember it like it was 3 days ago. I was hanging with a bad crowd, and I just wanted to fit in. So there I was, hunched behind a 4 foot tall bunker, my trusty Automag in one hand, the precious flag held tightly in my other. "Slide! Slide" My friends yelled, what was I supposed to do? My parents had always warned me, but what did they know? Last thing I remember I was skidding over the paint covered floor and the wall was getting closer, and closer, and then....... blackness.

I recovered later that night, slumped against the wall, my knee in terrible pain. Limping away, I realized that I had faced the darkness, and been lucky to walk away. Never again, I promised myself, I wasn't sliding anymore. I was so sure of myself, back on top I was!!

Then I did it again in the next game. But kids, remember, slidding into concrete walls is a Gate-Way accident. It leads to bigger things, like walking into sliding glass doors, stubbing toes against furniture, and even, God forbid, driving into telelphone poles. Don't make the same mistakes I did, don't let friends talk you into slidding. Or, as it's known as on the street, Skidding, Slipping, China White, Doing the Sled, or Hitting the 'Crete.

Just remember, only you can say no to slidding into conrete walls. Good night, and God bless.

I did it!! I wrote it with a straight face!!

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