Saturday, December 31, 2011

Hey! Happy New Year!

I wonder, what is the date over somewhere else It's January here and I wanted to see what was it else where.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

What!>? Who are you bronies?

Very recently, (a coupl'a weeks ago, maybe a month) my very good 'friends' have showed an alarming change. They were swept away by what was commonly known as, 'My Little Ponies'. Ugh. If there was any more a tasteless thing to get into, it would be this. I have no idea where this came from, but apparently, the effect is global, and affects male and female alike. I have compared symptoms between my companions, and they seem to show a sort of confounded misunderstanding that this 'garbage' is actually good.
So what I set out to do was to prove to them that this show was the garbage it is, not disdaining the guys and gals who made this show. One man's trash is another man's treasure, and this is my trash. Anyway, so I told them it was garbage. They told me to check out an episode. So I did.
I went home, and I saw one half of an episode. Needless to say, I didn't like it.
Seriously, the pacing was slow and it took a long time to get on it, it was very simple, and I could absolutely see nothing good in it. Except maybe as mild entertainment for my children. (Dagnabbit, I don't have any children.)

So, what is to be said? Bronies! Snap out of it! Just because everybody else likes it (or seem to) doesn't mean you have to! See the show for what it really is, which is... Um... I have little idea what it is, but it's not normal.
Anyway, as Pythagoras or Einstein said, 'Nothing unreal exists'.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Music in my EARS

Recently (a couple of months ago) I installed Ubuntu alongside my sluggish Vista. Recently (a couple of months ago) the Venerable Jan Morgenstern released the score for Sintel's "I Move On" to the public. Recently (a couple of months ago) I found these weird sticky bits, and I found out that they were not for stirring earwax mixtures as I have been told by a very reliable source. It is a coincidence that these events happened in a very close time frame (maybe a few weeks separating each event) and this caused me to take action.

I banged my fists on the old clav.

And this is the product:

It's not as good as the original, it's all crackly, there's too much noise, and the damper didn't work. And worst of all, who's playing the piano? He's darn handsome, but he can't play it at all.

Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Even if you didn't, please keep me at peace.

P.S. If media fire doesn't work, somehow or other, tell me, and I'll find something else.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Luke Newton has a name change

Well, as I said much earlier, Dymo gets a name change because Dymo doesn't cut it. So he gets a new name.
Also, I had feedback that there were not enough female characters (none) and even some male readers said a little bit of romance actually helps (I always found meaningless romance in stories that don't advance the plot to be quite distasteful) so I decided to take their advice. Oh, and the violence has been amped up (I'll still keep with the no blood, no dismemberment, and absolutely no obscenity rule. I hope.) because everyone loves a little bit of action.


Luke Newton felt the cold hard chair pressing against his back. Although he thought of himself as quite dim-witted, he was pretty sure that chairs weren't supposed to do that. On their own anyway. Then a flood of memories gushed into his head, like a giant dam that suddenly collapsed, and now that the water is free to wreck havoc, it started damaging the surrounding hillside. Or Luke could also say that it hurt.
Snippets of thoughts wafted in and out of his focus. Time machine, Scribbins, mahogany furniture, big burly men with semi-automatic rifles and rainbow coloured Afros, an interrogation, Gyro, sweet Miss Muffet, "Goodbye", fireworks. He had hardly any idea how they could all be strung into one coherent line of thought, but he did remember something, which was a great start.
"I see Mr Newton has come back." said a lucrative sounding voice of a man. He could have done voice overs for movie trailers, only he probably decided to do something quite different instead. Like shooting people.
"Wh-Who'reya'ndwh'd'yawant?" Luke groaned. Luke opened his eyes to look around. He was in a small gray room. He was tied down on a chair in front of a desk, which explained the willful chair. On it was a couple of blank pieces of paper, couple of not-very blank pieces of paper with messy hand writing on, a black and red HB pencil, and a mug that said 'Best Mum Field Ops in the World'. He could see that the voice was coming through a speaker that hung on a corner of the room.
The same smooth voice intoned, "I am quite sure you know what we want." There was an expectant, awkward silence afterwards of which Luke did not bother to fill. The voice coughed. He waited some more.
After about twenty seconds, the man on the speaker decided he can take it no longer. "The time machine, Mr Newton. We want it, and we want it now."
Luke brightened up a little. "Oh that!" He smiled weakly for a few seconds, creating another period of awkward silence.
Before the silence could take over again, the man behind the speaker decided he'd fill it himself.
"Yes. Where is it, and if you do this swiftly, we would not involve pain in this."
Luke started chewing his lips. "Well... I don't have it."
This time, it was the man who manufactured the silence, and only white noise from the speakers could be heard.
Luke went on. "Well see here, after the four of us came back from that wonderfully frivolous field trip, I accidently tripped on a mug, pushed Gyro over, who knocked down a vase, and.."
"You cannot be joking." The man intoned very slowly.
"Na, ah." Luke said happily.
Again, silence dominated the room, and stayed so for half a minute. Luke started humming the Harry Potter theme.
At last, the man said, "We will involve pain in this."

"Ahh! Help! I don't deserve this!"
Luke groaned, "Ahh! Help! I don't deserve this!"
The lady in the television continued screaming this at a poor man who was getting a variety of miscellaneous household items thrown at him.
"This is terrible!" Luke continued, as Grey's Anatomy continued playing on the TV which was recently set up in the room. Luke tried to turn away, but tipped the chair instead, and was left in the most uncomfortable position of being tied to a chair on its side.
"Ssh!" the speaker toned. "This is a good part. Lorrita admits that she..."
The show stopped playing, and instead showed Luke's house surrounded by many helicopters armed with menacing looking rocket launchers. The view was panning around the house, so it as probably taken from a helicopter as well. Luke slid on the floor so he was facing the television lying down.
"Ooh! Home, sweet home." Luke toned nonchalantly.
The faceless man snickered. "You wouldn't think so soon. See that? In the house?"
Luke squinted, then started back. "Oi! Gyro! Get out of the computer. When you mess up the government, it's me that gets arrested!"
The man continued to laugh. "Don't worry. Him and your house would be splintered very shortly..."
"I never consented to that!" Luke yelled.
"Unless..." Here, he paused for dramatic effect. It ended up being a silence that started conquering the atmosphere. He coughed.
"Unless you can hand over the machine."
Luke frowned. "You think they accept damage from firearms for insurance?"
The man behind the speaker breathed through his nose. "Very well. Fire away boys."
The multitude of helicopters fired their armed weapons at the little house, and the whole area exploded into a shower of lights. When the smoke cleared away, only some fake Indian carpet 'Made in China' and a grand piano was left.
The speaker blared out a maniacal laughter. "There you go!" the voice bawled. "And mind you, we'll find other things to destroy, like your wife."
Luke growled. "I think you've done enough. It took me three years to collect the whole Mario Bros. series. Anyway, I don't have a wife. Everyone hates me."
"No worries," said the man lightly. "We'll arrange a marriage just for the occasion."
Just then, a few of the hovering helicopters on screen collapsed, and started plummeting to the ground.
"What the... Air base! What the frickin' heck is happening out there."
Luke watched on and saw a gray blur hurtling towards the camera.
After the voice was done grumbling at some people, he said to Luke, "Well, it looks like Gyro was a bit hardier than we initial perceived."
"Ha. I don't need you to tell me. He's been on my back for as long as I can remember."
"Yes. We will punish you for the damage."
The speaker turned off, and the television played Coronation Street.

"Oh Jamie, I had to tell father about it."
"What!? No you couldn't've! I told you to keep it away from him at all cost!"
"Yes, but he was clever, and he tricked me... You do still love me?"
"Of course not. How could you? You not only betrayed me, but you've betrayed yourself."
"Oh no! I've shot her! I shot my only love Miranda! Oh, oh. How painful this is!"
The second bang was much louder, and was not accompanied with tasteless music. Jamie probably shot himself, which would explain the lack of dialogue.
Luke tried to move around, tied in his chair which was tipped awkwardly. At least the crime scene would be interesting.
As he turned towards the telly, he saw a leather boot, firmly standing on the ground.
Luke blinked.
The television too, was firmly on the ground in three detachable but barely attachable pieces, and there was a great big hole in the wall where it used to be.
Luke blinked again.
Yes, the hole was still there, and Luke wondered if that was actually a good thing. He decided that whatever terrible monstrosity that ble that hole must have left, so he tried to escape. Unfortunately, he was still tied to the chair.
"Aren't you going to ask for help?" a voice called out from no where. Luke tried to turn his head to where he though the voice came from, but, quite unfortunately, couldn't.
He felt the restraint around his shoulder, wrists, and legs loosen all at once, got up to stretch for a bit, yawned, and then turned around to see who had just released him.
A lady dressed in what could only be desribed as a "wha'd'ya'call that?" was flicking a knife in her carefully tended hands. Of course, if Luke did try to describe it, he would have called it something of a smart robe that doesn't get in your way. Her straight hair was done up neatly in a pony tail that reached down her back. Her face did not look like it had any make up on, but did not compromise its attractiveness. However, you always felt you were inferior to her, because she didn't look like she ever smiled, and had a semi-permanent disapporving look on her face.
She walked up to Luke. "Well, aren't you going to do something?" She was almost as tall as him, and Luke never liked woman like that because they never liked him. People always looked down at him, and if females started doing that, then he'd have no one to look down at except Gyro, who managed to stare back up with the sort of impertinence you could never manage with eyes.
After some silence, of which seemed to dominate his whole experience, Luke decided he was going to do something. He grabbed her knife and threw it at the speaker. The knife bounced back on to the floor. The speaker crackled a little bit, and it blared out, "Threat detected. Dispatch exterminators immediately." An alarm ent off near by.
The lady looked disapprovingly. Luke sheepishly retrieved the knife and handed it back to her.
"I think we should get going." she said, as if it was pretty obvious. Actually, it was.
Luke slowly made his way towards the hole in the wall.
"Where are you going?" the lady asked.
"Outside." Luke answered.
She grabbed him by his shoulders. "Not that way dummy! That's exactly where they would expect you to come out from."
Luke looked around the room. "Well? Where else are we getting out from?" Luke could see no passage, not even a small air vent that he could break. There wasn't even a door. Even worse, he could hear heavy footsteps from the hole.
However, the lady was already pointing a small gun with an unusually thick barrel at another wall. It was making an ominous whirring noise, and it was vibrating in her hands.
"I think you should cower behind that desk!" she called as the noise grew louder.
But too late. After a flash, bang, and some sort of crumbling, there was another hole in the room. Luke got hit in the head by a 'Best Mum Field Ops in the World' world mug that flew off the desk.
"This way!" she yelled, as she hopped outside of the room.
Luke shrugged, and followed her.
The two walked through a long and dank corridor that branched off multiple times. Occasionally, the ceiling had a few speakers hanging down. While she glided through the air gracefully, Luke was basically bouncing on the ground, huffing all the way.
"Uh..." Luke said, as his head lolled around while his legs had an argument with his heart and lungs. "Miss... Do you... actually... know where we're going?"
She replied just as swiftly as her legs. "No." She thought again, and said. "Don't call me 'Miss'. I'm not much older than you."
Luke looked up and down her, and decided she was not older than him at all. But he kept quiet for fear of disagreeing with her.
The familiar voice called out, "You can't escape. You will be punished."
The lady spat at the closest speaker. Luke winced. He felt woman shouldn't do anything as vulgar. He certainly didn't.
Just then, three very large men came out from one of the path from the side. Luke had to admit, they were one of the most frightening things he had ever seen, although he was always too skirmish to watch anything over R13. They were probably made to look frightening on purpose, what with the variety of armament they had on them, the very needlessly large mini-gun they carried, and their cold black shades.
While Luke imagined the worst of them, the lady threw some black powder at them. The men slumped on the floor.
"Argh! You killed them!" Luke was a pacifist. Actually, he was just a wimp, and he wished everyone else was a pacifist.
"No I didn't." she said calmly, and Luke decided that was enough, because now they were writhing on the floor in pain.
They ran further and further, while the voice chased after them, saying "That's a bad place to run to!".
Finally, the two came to a dead end. The happy voice said, "I told you so!" and the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard. The man started laughing wildly.
"Stay close." she said, and Luke was not a stupid man. She pointed her wall-breaking gun, at the floor and pulled the trigger.
Luke felt a moment of weightlessness, and that wild ecstasy that results when you think you're going to die, and your subconscious is unwilling to make your last moment a miserable one. Then he was taken out of his dreamland and realised he was going to die. Then came that thudding feeling like your thighs are going to pop out of your pelvis, after a thrilling escalator ride downwards.
After a while, he saw that he has descended about ten metres from where he was just a fraction of a second ago. The girl beside him was inhaling deeply.
"I'm alive!" Luke exclaimed in joyous jubilation.
"Ssh! Dummy!" she whispered. Sure enough, three small heads came round to peep in at the deep hole. Then they pulled out their portable mini-gun.
"Were stuck!" Luke panicked.
Then the ground beneath them failed, and they fell another two metres onto the concrete floor below.
As the hail of bullet rained on them, they scrambled to get out of the way.
Luke looked around. It was a very large room they were in, if it was a room. It was so large in fact, that he would have doubted there were any walls, had there was no ceiling. All the feature that were visible were some pipes that ran along the ceiling, occasionally some pillars that kept the gargantuan ceiling up, and a hole in the ceiling that continuously dropped bullets.
"I think we can walk slowly for now." the lady said calmly. It's going to take a while untill they manage to come down here, Luke."
He frowned. "How the heck do you know my name? I don't know yours."
She smiled gently. "We'll have to keep moving. We'll talk on the way."
She took out a compass without needles, determined a direction, and started walking that way. Luke followed slowly.
"So, who are you?" Luke asked.
"My name is Emily Byron," she replied. "I was sent to protect you."
Luke laughed. "You've done a great job so far. Why now?"
She smiled again. Luke noted that it was a nice thing to see, and it wasn't because she looked so pretty, but because it meant she didn't disapprove of you. "You have something that we want."
"I don't have it!" Luke protested. " I accidentally tripped on a mug, pushed Gyro over, who knocked down a vase, and..."
"Yes, yes. I heard that. But you are the one of only three people who actually know how the time machine worked."
"What about Archie? Or Trevor? They'd do well." A pipe fell on Luke's head and spilled its content on him.
"Yes, but Archie is too young to involve in our work, and Trevor, as you know, is very dead. He died quite long ago."
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Then Luke laughed hollowly.
"Death is no obstacle for Trevor." he said. "In fact, if I'm any judge..."
"I haven't seen you in a long time." said a voice behind a nearby pillar. The two turned towards it, and Emily pointed a much more menacing gun at it. Luke motioned for her to put it down. She didn't.
Luke said, "What took you so long?"
Trevor walked out from behind the pillar. And he was very much alive.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Being popular

I found out how to be popular! Call them 'good sirs', and they start liking you. Unless they are female, as I found out at my cost.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Ah ha ha.

I am embarassed to say that Ben had gone through a minor cranial injury. He has a hole in his head, which is what I really want to say.
So it's probably going to be a long time until Ben is back into action.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Some Blending

Because I'm bored, I thought's I'll update you people watching (none) of what I was up to.
First, Ben got some trousers, so he's decent enough to be shown in public:
And I've also been working on a weapon which is completely unrelated to Ben. I like to call it the Impromptu, but I don't know about everyone else.

I intend to put the Impromptu to a certain purpose, which will be shown later... Much later. Probably after a year.
Well, I hope I hear from someone.

Friday, September 2, 2011


I don't know if I've said this, but Jack Hester is not my real name. Neither is Dominique for some of you out there. I'm serious. Jack isn't my real name, but I'd appreciate it if you would call me that here, or anywhere else you see me online.
Also, I'm going to change Dymo's name. Dymo doesn't cut it. He was going to be something much different, but he's developed a character of his own. I'm calling him Frederick Newton from now on. If you are against that, then come speak to me off line.

Thanks for staying here this long!

Saturday, August 6, 2011

I am a Commercial Idiot

I never liked sites that are clogged with ads. Turns out my site is turning into one.
So I'm going to slowly add some ads to my site, and if ever they get into the way of your enjoyment of browsing, then just alert me, and I'll just get to it.

P.S. I actually individually source my ads, so they can be trusted. I think.

P.P.S. Because I don't want my ads in the way of my precious viewers, I've put them way at the bottom. Hope that helps.

P.P.P.S. I don't get paid for clicks, so you don't have to go click 'em out of your way. I only get paid when I get people joining these sites.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

How to write ADVENTURE

Yeah, I'm hardly qualified to write such an article, but so what? I'm entitled to my opinnions.
Anyway, I found this site called Triond, and it pays me for writing stuff. I thought some of you might want to check out my first real article.
I am somewhat miffed as to why nobody would comment, and I have 10 views. Wait, those are my views. Damn.

Monday, July 18, 2011


myLot User Profile
Please ignore.

Well, Ain't That Fancy? Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe is a marvellous writer who came to write in the 1800's.
Why am I suddenly talking about him? Because his poems are great. The two I'm talking about is 'Annabel Lee' and 'The Bells'.
Poe had touched me with his choice of subject and his sense of rhythm. Of life, joy, death, and love, Poe has done a magnificent work on his poems. American poetry at its best I must say. Or even in the whole world.
Then the rhythm. See 'The Bells' written on the page, and you just have to read/sing/whisper it out aloud. Have a go. It gets you talking in a sort of hurried, hushed tone that is so fitting for the subject.
I suggest everyone should go have a read. Please!


You may see something new on your left, which is a link to my myLot account. I'm just tryiung to fund myself a bit here.
If you decide that you want to join and is asked for a referrer, please tell them Dymo75. It would be appreciated!

Friday, July 15, 2011

The Dymo Finale!

Finally! I've finished. I'm not guaranteeing quiality though.

To the bitterest cynic, every tragedy is a solemn comedy. But even for an extreme cynic like Dymo, this was depressing.
Dymo stopped trying to find a way out of the desert 15 minutes ago. He tried for 30 seconds.
Dymo wouldn't talk. His lips were moist, only because the lazy sun beat at Dymo to sweat. He could almost feel his innards shrinking into something the size of a pea.
The vast area of orange was cackling at his feet. Or so it felt like it. It was darn hot.
Dymo dropped on to his back, as there was no point in standing anyway. He gazed at the sky. The sky was moving. No, he was moving.
He imagined little scorpions carrying him to his death, just like in movies made 15 years back when CG wasn't so common and you could see the scorpions were actually a puppet. But Dymo didn't get such a treatment. He was just getting swept by the wind.

Gyro loved where he ended up. He was a god.
The Mayans called him the Sky Boulder, because he fell out of the sky. Pretty quickly. And he accidentally gave the village elder a concussion.
While the elder got some treatment, Gyro had to presume his role. Despite his muteness, Gyro was dishing out great advice like hot cakes. None of the Mayans knew how he was doing it, but ideas started popping into their minds as soon as they neared him.
For example, they invented the calendar. Gyro taught them how to plan ahead, and anticipate the growing of the crops.
Gyro taught them about ceramics, and how to hold things together. He told them how to hold more than two things at once by using bowls, and still have one hand free.
Gyro loved his life.

Trevor found no reason to talk. He wasn't one to talk to himself. He wasn't one to talk at all really. But this was just amazing.
It was like something straight out of a movie. Or a book. Or a game. Or any type of media actually. It was great.
The view that invaded his eyes was a cityscape completely composed of what looked like steampunk. Lots of bronze, joints, pipes, moving bits, lights, lasers, robots, suits, oddly shaped buildings, and just everything. It was fantastic.
Trevor, being the sort of predictable type, decided he'd like to visit a hardware store.

'Hup hup hup hup' went the marauding Vikings. They tied Archie to a very long stake, and carried the stake like it was something to be proud of.
Archie thought there were about 50, maybe 60 Vikings, just hungry for flesh, any flesh. They were moving quickly across the icy plains, with occasional grass poking here and there.
'Um, good sirs?' Archie asked the Viking carrying him. Or at least, he was carrying the stake. Archie himself got hit into things multiple times, while the stake incurred no damage.
'Hey, can I get off? I'm getting uncomfortable.' Archie declared.
The Viking glared and barked some incomprehensible words.
'Oh, sorry,' Archibald continued. 'Can I at least readjust my right arm? It's getting squished against my ribs and...'
The Viking barked some more. This was going to be a long trip.

'Hey!' Dymo exclaimed, and fell in with a splash.
Water! he thought. Water!
The wind had swept him into an oasis! Turbulent jubilation exploded in his chest. Water!
The sense of the cool water touching his skin was too much for him, and he started swimming despite him not liking the sport.
Dymo crawled out of the oasis to get dry, and readied himself for a drink, when he saw that the oasis was small. Just as small as about four inflatable swimming pools for babies.
'Yuk', Dymo said. 'I swam in that? I ain't drinking anything from that.'
Dymo continued to lie on his back.

Trevor walked into a building that vaguely resembled a hardware shop. It was hard to know, because everything looked quite bronze.
A steam pump went on and made a strange noise as the door shut behind Trevor. He saw a man wearing an odd 'armour' with lots of moving part and none of them self-serviceable.
'Gosir, what will you desant today?' the man asked.
Trevor was puzzled. 'Ah, a fine day to you too. Sir?'
The man answered, 'Ah! Findal! We possove many Findals. Which would you desant gosir?'
The language must have changed, Trevor thought. Uh oh.
'Um, what are Findals?' Trevor asked.
'Yes! We possove many Watar Findals. What quantumber dostu desant?'
'Thanci. That would be thirty-ban goncer and sidat-wou mokes. Cats or chuk?'

The Mayans were learning quickly. Very quickly. They got electricity working, and now they're trying to go wireless.
Gyro instructed them to do almost anything. The village walls were protected by automatic rocket turrets, crops were grown by a complicated, biological clockwork attached to one farmer, and animals were hunted down by mechanical snipers shooting bullets made of bio solute. The Mayans were currently the most advanced civilisation of past, present, and future.

The Vikings stopped. Archibald was let down. Or dropped. Something was in the air. Even Archie felt it. It was frightening, that sense of presence, only you can't grasp what it might be.
Something rustled in the snow. A Viking went and plunged his sword into it. He pulled the sword out.
A mechanical bird was pierced on the end. Change.

Dymo was in a city. A steampunk city by the looks of it. Very... cool.
Dymo didn't feel anything. It didn't feel weird at all. It was like being in a dream, and now Dymo readily accepted anything.
Dymo sat up. An oddly looking pipe with lots of smaller pipes sticking to it flashed some lights. Then it moved. It faced this way, and announced 'Target Identity: Intruder - Prepare to Combat'
That was never good.

When Trevor finally got it to the shop assistant that he couldn't pay, he started yelling wildly. Trevor hated it when foreigners were angry at you, because he didn't know what they were yelling about. But in this case, it was worse.
The shop assistant was yelling loads of strange words, but it was also yelling some words Trevor knew to be 'bad words', the one taught by his mother to never say in public.
Then the assistant stopped. He looked around. Trevor too, felt something going on, and it wasn't nice.

Panic spread like fire in the village. It was as if the whole village was covered in oil for panic and rumours. Sky Boulder is gone! He's disappeared! Where did He go?
Mayans were texting each other on the beautifully paved road, asking frantic questions about their newly acquired god. Then something happened.

It was like a dream. Things kept on happening without Dymo really understanding anything. He dreamt he was back in the old terminator factory again. The familiar wires still dangled downwards from the ceiling, and the musty, cold, metal walls of the factory invited Dymo home, just like a cat would do to a small sparrow. Dymo looked around and saw everyone else looking befuddled.
'What happened?' Archie asked. 'I was caught by some Vikings. What happened to you guys?'
'I was in this awesome steampunk city,' Trevor said. 'They had a completely new language and the technology was... different.'
'Hey! I was in a steampunk city as well. Only I was in a desert first.'
Gyro transmitted the general idea of what happened to him.
'Ah!' Trevor started.
'Hey,' Dymo said. 'Whatever you're going to say, I'm going to say that I knew it. You're going to say something about Gyro creating the city from the past forward aren't you? And now because Gyro changed the world so much, that certain sections of time-space that concerned the four of us was segregated from the rest of time-space, and the for time to stop contradicting itself, it went on to a time before it started to contradict itself, which is now. Right?'
The rest of them dropped their jaws, except for Gyro who didn't have a jaw.
Archibald said, 'I didn't know you were so...'
'I was just going to say that I was a bit hungry, but yeah, I agree with you.' Trevor butted in.
'So now what?' Archie asked.
'Easy,' Trevor said. 'All we have to do is cause another explosion. See? The can is still there. What we have to do is to nominate someone to go around time, and if they're lucky, they'll eventually get somewhere where there's a time machine. If they don't, they can just cause another paradox; they'll come back, and try all over again. Only...'
Dymo knew there was a catch. 'Only what?'
'Only we can only have one person going at once, or else we'll be scattered across time again, and then if we get a machine, we won't know where we are. And the person who goes would be suffering extreme repetitiveness and boredom without growing old, which would be terrible. It's like being immortal without a purpose.'
Everyone was silent except Gyro. He was jumping up and down wildly.
‘Gyro, you don’t mind being bored for, I don’t know, a coupl’a million years do ya?’ Dymo asked. Gyro nodded affirmative.
‘Great, then it’s settled.’ Trevor said. ‘As Gyro goes off to start an explosion, we run off wildly very quickly. Great.’
The others weren’t listening, because they were already running off wildly very quickly.

The three gazed at the fantastic explosion from miles and miles away.
‘Now what?’ Archie asked.
‘We wait, Arch.’ Trevor asked.
Dymo said, ‘How long?’
Trevor shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Depends on whether Gyro actually got where a time machine is, and how accurate he is with the controls.’
They waited for another 3 minutes, and sure enough, a blue motorbike came into view.
‘So,’ Archie started. ‘I guess I’m stuck with you ay?’
‘Nope.’ Dymo answered. ‘I can hardly support myself on my income. I’m sorry you’ll have to go to Trevor’s.’
‘Hey! I never agreed to that.’ Trevor exclaimed. ‘Anyway, I’m dead.’
Dymo smirked. ‘We always have your machine.’


Sorry 'bout the absence, but I was... Busy.
Well  now that I have some time off and nothing to do, I can get back to writing that Dymo I started, and get started on a movie project I was planning instead of doing some documents.
Oh, and did I mention that Jack Hester isn't a real name. It's just a name I made to protect myself from identity theft. Now some say paranoid, some say weird, but I don't care. Just putting it out there.
I was also going to say that I am going to change Dymo's name after this. He was supposed to be a cute little thing, but I think he's grown to something mildly unlikeable, and that's not what I planned him to be. So I'm going to change his name to something better.
Oh, and for some reason, I concluded that people who put ads want money, and that they get ads when I click on them. So I, being a mildly considerate citizen, decided that's I'll click on ads. Well the trustworthy ones anyway. It's kind of my hobby now.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Long time no see

I haven't posted in a while, but am just going to say I've run out of ideas. Blank. Zompla. Donk. Empty.
So... I guess you can't except a Dymo out of me for a while. I thought the Vikings was great though...
I've got a new idea for a game running. I havn't firmed up on gameplay yet, but it's a racer of sorts. Futuristic. Just playing with the idea's all.
Oh, and let me tell you folks, I am sometime's wondering why I keep this blog. Am I doing this for my own satisfaction? Do I want to contribute to the world? Or do I want to not dissapoint my reader(s)? Hm. Don't blame me if the blog goes kaputs.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Dymo After a Long Time

Finally! I finished a continuation, only it isn't finished.

Dymo Part II

The two Dymos immediately chorused, "It wasn't my fault at all. It was all Archies fault. He'll tell ya."

"Right," said Trevor, quite unimpressed about all this unnecessary chatter. "Knowing who's fault it is won't solve anything."

"Yes it does." Frank said in his ever nonchalant way. "It means we know where we can direct our wild angst towards, and who to pour our concentrated bullying on."

"But it doesn't solve anything." Trevor said quite normally. "There's only two time machines here."

"Where?" asked Archibald. "I only see one."

A Dymo continued, "Yes, and I go on one of them becuse I've been here before."

"You?" another Dymo asked.

"No, you." Dymo said. "I stay here. You go off. And..."

"What happens, happened, or happening is inevitable." Trevor said.

"Oh, so this means I'll just go off on the time machine now should I?" A Dymo said.

His companion Gyro looked at him sternly.

"What do you mean I should wait to see if any of the others want the machine?"

"Selfish brute." Trevor muttered.

"I can hear that." the other Dymo said.

"Well, I'll just go off." the Dymo said. "See you in the future. The three-months-from-now future."

Dymo slowly slugged off into the time machine, and Gyro trotted quickly after him. With a flourish of light and quantum dimension enstrangulation interpolated particle entanglement, the garage disappeared into the 7th spacial dimension, taking a shortcut to the past.

"How nice." Frank said. "I hate sunsets. Well not really. But it's getting dark."

As the sunset became darker, Gyro started to glow a soft blue.

"I can see things." Dymo said. "Thanks Gyro."

Gyro huffed at his natural talent.

"So are you going to invent the terminator?" Archie asked.

"Yes I am." Trevor answered resolutely.

"Even though you know what's going to happen? You're going to die! It might... hurt!"

"Yeah, but I can't help it can I? I have to. It's inevitable."

"But you can't invent it if you can't get back."

"Well," Trevor started. Dymo understood the voice as now-I-am-going-togive-a-very-long-piece-of-information-full-of-unnecessary-proportions-and-you-do-not-even-want-to-hear-it-but-you-just-have-to-see-it-go-down. "By quantum spacial fluctuation in extra dimensions, I figure that to see to the it the timeflow shall not back bend into the..."

"Right." Frank and Dymo said, while Gyro sat listening eagerly. "Be simple."

"This motorbike is a time machine."

"Great!" Frank said. "Get me home."

"Sorry." He answered. "It only allows one sentient being at a time or else it will all merge into an organic mush."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Frank said. He gracefully hopped off Archibald's shoulders, landed softly on the bike, and pressed a few switches.

"Goodbye." and the monkey and the bike was gone.

"Darn, that was our last hope. I was hoping to get back home, build my own machine, and come get you then."

"So were stuck?" Dymo asked. "Were good as dead?"

"No." Archie said. "We can wait for a rift in space to carry us over to..."

"THAT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY 3 MILLION YEARS!!" Dymo yelled. Gyro looked sadly at the ground.

"Don't be so sad." Trevor said to the matallic thing. "We still have each other."

"I barely know you people." Dymo muttered.

"We can all live our lives here. And there's a factory out there, maybe I can build a machine there."

"I'll help." Archie said. "I know a little bit about machinery."

Gyro bounced in excitement.

"I'm stuck out here with a bunch of techjunkies!" Dymo wailed. But no one can hear you in a time rift.

Wires dangled from the ceiling like cobwebs, and pieces of metal flew around the factory.

"There's nothing here!" Trevor cried. "How were they meant to build more terminators?"

"Aargh! We're really stuck!" Dymo wailed. "Where's food? Where's water?"

"Look! There's water!" Archie yelled.

"Where?" The other two aked.

"There's a tap."


Silence fell on the atomosphere. Nothing happened, and so Trevor started humming.

"Well, we need to get back right?" Archie asked.

"So what? We make a micro black hole, stand carefully on the edge, hope the velocity would be enough to..."

"Yeah!" Trevor said. "We're gonna cause a super explosion!"

"Oh, no." Dymo groaned.

Gyro dragged over a large transparent drum that contained some luminous green fluid.

"Oh, no." Dymo said again.

"I knew he needed an energy source..." Trevor said.

Archie readied some naked wires, and dropped it into the drum.

"Oh..." but Dymo didn't have time.

An almighty bang filled the room, a large fireball rose into the skies, and the four blew in the four winds.

"That was dumb." Dymo said after picking himself up. "If I've learnt anything from primary school, it's that you don't have anything to do with liquids you can't name."

He looked around a bit. He didn't see anything. It was all sand, sand, cactus, and sand. Absolutely sandy.

"Hey!" Dymo called, but not even echoes would answer him.

Archie saw light. He saw soft grass. He saw the kind sun warming his face.

He also saw marauding, barbarian vikings.

Oh, boy.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Just Talking

I've read somewhere that people become uninterested in your blog if you don't do anything for a while. I say, people are already not interested in my blog, but I'm not ready to lose any visitors! Just so happens that readers want to know if their favourite writer is alive or not.
So first, I'm going to say, I'M ALIVE.
I'm also going to say I have more visits from the States than from New Zealand. I've also got 8 views from China as well. This means that Dymo Palace is (slowly) going global! Whoopee! Let's spread the word!

Friday, May 6, 2011

Cory and Rory Solution

How unresponsible for me to post this and not the conclusion of the last Dymo episode. Oh well. I'm working on it at the moment.

So, remember Cory and his short temper?

To recap, let me remind you of the question, which was:

What should he have said to Rory instead of making that tantrum?

The answer was, "You were wrong!"

Let's see how the conversation would have went:

..."NEITHER IS TRUE!" Cory roared with so much force that it started raining on Rory.
"Then I am important and not an idiot."
"So you were wrong."
"I am never wrong!" Cory mumbled indignantly, although a little hesitantly.
"Then you're an idiot. Because if you are not wrong, then my theory was right, which makes your inputed information false. Furthermore, you have stated that you were never wrong, which was wrong, which enforces my point that you are an idiot." Rory was starting to have fun.
"But, but, so you're not important." Taking one last attempt at insulting Rory.
"You are right. I am not. I am only a small bit of ink on the celestial blueprint of ..."
"You're wrong." Cory said stately. "You are wrong."
"excuse me?" Rory whispered quietly. He stopped walking, but didn't turn to face his acquaintance.
"You're wrong. There is no celestial blueprint of whatever you were going to say. Blueprints don't suddenly fly into the sky for no reason at all. And you are no ink. You are a man... um, boy.... er, certainly human, I think.... something alive."
"You imply, that my argument that 'only an idiot brings anything special' is wrong?"
"Yes I am. Took this long to realise?" Cory was starting to get the upper hand. Which made him feel smug. Oh, and it always shows on his face, which didn't help his reputation. "'cause ye see, either you're right or wrong. You can argue it to be right, but I can argue it to be wrong. All I have to say is that I am not an idiot and I my iPod is important. Then you can't argue against that because you were wrong."
"But that's not fair." said Rory who started walking again. "You're just inventing your own rules to play with."
"That's what you did first. You can't argue with that."
"True." Rory said, and entered Greek philosophy 4 minutes late, which was the earliest they have ever attended a class.

This one has actually been stewing in my drive for a long time now...

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Lip Sync

The reason you haven't heard from me all this time was because I've been working on this:

Round Ob Lip Sync from Jack Hester on Vimeo.

Although the animation, texturing, modeling,  lighting, and cameras probably needed a bit of work, I'm kind of proud of my lip syncing...

I just want to say that the only reason I never tell what I'm doing in advance is because usually, my ideas enter developmental hell and never escapes. Luckily, this one was in hell for a few months, but it got there eventually. And I might say that the title of my next idea is 'Leaves'. This one might take off.

Hope I get to work on it soon!

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Philosophy and Logic

Something a little different...

Once upon a time, two students, Cory and Rory, were strolling casually, (and slowly) to their next class, which happened to be Greek Philosophy. (Which CAN'T have made them walk slowly.)

As Cory started rummaging in his emptied, decapitated sheep that he calls a school bag, he said, "Darn. I think someone stole my iPod. Again."
"Hur Hur." snickers Rory, who was not a particularly nice person. "Only idiots bring anything important to this desease infested, thief ridden, bug crawling place you know."
"Ha!" snorts Cory, who wasn't very nice either. "You've admitted it! You're not important! Or you're an idiot. Which way? I've proved it!"
"Why?" Rory asked a little angrily. He was a proud boy.
"You brought yourself." he said in a matter-of-factly-and-you-can't-blimmin'-well-change-this-matter-of-fact way.
"Oh yeah?" Rory snarled. He was a better logician than his acquaintance. Then said in a cool voice, "So you're and idiot because you brought your iPod. Right?"
"What? Of course I'm not..."
"Then the iPod isn't important?"
"So you're an idiot."
"NEITHER IS TRUE!" Cory roared with so much force that it started raining on Rory.
"Then I am important and not an idiot."
"So you were wrong."
"I am never wrong!" Cory mumbled indignantly, although a little hesitantly.
"Then you're an idiot. Because if you are not wrng, then my theory was right, which makes your inputed information false. Furthermore, you have stated that you were never wrong, which was wrong, which enforces my point that you are an idiot." Rory was starting to have fun.
"But, but, so you're not important." Taking one last attempt at insulting Rory.
"You are right. I am not. I am only a small bit of ink on the celestial blueprint of ..."
Cory shouted and swore ran off to Greek Philosophy in a huff and failed the pop quiz after that.

Question: What should have Cory said to Rory instead of shouting "I am never wrong!"?

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Another Video

I am sorry for the inconsistency, but anyway, this is my first render:

Cube Dude go Boom from Jack Hester on Vimeo.

In this one, I wanted to experiment with particles and explosions. It didn't turn out right, but oh well.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Whoopee! Round Ob flies!

Here's something I've worked on for 5 hours. Mostly waiting for the computer to react. I made it on Blender with Suicidator City Generator by Piichan. You should check it out. Anyway, here it is:

City Flight with Round Ob from Jack Hester on Vimeo.

If you find it interesting, then spread the word.

And don't talk about the jerky movements. Critique it. I'm tough enough.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Social Experiment

By the way, I have decided to conduct a social experiment. I will send a poem by e-mail to a select few people. They will send it to as many people as they can think of. Then hopefully, they will send it to as many people as they can think of.
Hopefully, after many rounds of that, it will all go nice and end up to Barack Obama, or Her Majesty, or even back to me!
Anyway, if the e-mail goes to you, you know what to do.

Mysterious Visits

Okay, so here I am again.
Last time I checked, I had 667 visits. Then I had 690 visits. This probably means I'm upto 693-5. But really, where did I get the 23 views?
Natron, do you know anything about that? I certainly don't.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Dymo Returns

It's been a long while since we last saw Dymo...

Archibald Scribbins knocked on the door five times.

No answer.
"Is anybody in there?" he called.
"No there isn't!" someone called. "Go away! I feel sulky."
"There's nobody in there." Archie told Frank, the marmoset hanging on his shoulder. "I guess he should know whether there are anybody in there. He's in there, he should know best."
Frank slapped him in the face for such faulty logic. "He's in there you monkey!" (Yes. Frank talks. He came from somewhere foreign and foreigners do strange things to marmosets.)
"Ah, right." Archie sighed. Animals. They wouldn't know anything about logic would they?
"I'm coming in!" He barked. "I will open the door."
And he did. It creaked. It creaked the way a door of a house of a person of a sad disposition should.
"Arrgh!" the person in the middle yelled. "No respect for PRIVACY!!!"
"I'm sorry!" Archie babbled. "I didn't mean to!" Frank slapped him again forbeing so pathetic.
"Well don't do that again!" Dymo said. "Who're you?"
"I I I I'm Archibald. Scribbins. Scribbins. Yes Scribbins."
"And I'm Frank." Frank said quite nonchalantly.
"Well Scribbins." Dymo said. "What a stupid name your parents gave you for your first name. I mean, Scribbins will work for a last name, but a first name? That's cruelty. Bet you've been teased in school. 'Scribby! Scribby! He's all Scribbly!' I pity you Scribbins. I'm sure my sister married a Scribbins."
"Um, Scribbins is my last name."
"Well! Knock my hat off. Scribbins is not my last name. What a coincidence!"
"Is it?" Archie asked, getting a little suspicious of Dymo.
"Why are you here?" Dymo demanded suddenly.
"I I've got a note. From my mum. Um, your sister." He handed the letter.
Dymo read very quickly:

Dear Dymo

I'm sure you will ---- in -- ------ well. I ----- --- worked -- - ---------- at -------- Electrical Robots. ------ is ---- interested in -------- and ----- like to learn ---- ---.
- ---- -- leave him at your place ----- - ---- -- surgery on my kidney. - will be in hospital for - ------.


What it really said was:

Dear Dymo

I'm sure you will take in my Archie well. I heard you worked as a technition at Harvey's Electrical Robots. Archie is very interested in robotics and would like to learn from you.
I have to leave him at your place while I have my surgery on my kidney. I will be in hospital for 6 months.



"Ah" Dymo said after reading it properly the second time. "You've come to the wrong place."
"Why?" Archibald asked. "You're Dymo aren't you?"
"Sure am. But I don't work at Harvey's. Trevor does. I empty the long drops at tramping grounds. I probably get more pay than Trevor though."
"What! So I'm supposed to get to Trevor's? But I don't have transport!"
"And I hate busses." Frank joined in.
Gyro nodded sympathetically.
"I could send you to Trevor." Dymo said. "Only..."
"Only what?".
"Trevor had a terrible accident."
"What happened?"
"He invented the Terminator. The Terminator killed him, went into the future where the factories are better, started multiplying, then went off to stop a Revolution that was supposed to happen in the farther future."
"Supposed to?"
"Yeah, only Trevor invented a time machine before and knew this was going to happen. So before he died, he went to the middle future, ran over Termy on his Harley Davidson, stopped the factory, and came back to the present, which is our past, and then after a year or so, he died after he invented the Terminator, which went to the future, and started a factory..."
"I get it. So he's dead. But do you have the time machine?"
"Yeah, only I don't use it for winning the lottery. So don't expect that."
"NO!" Archibald exclaimed. "We could tell Trevor not to go back, and instead go to our time!"
"That won't work." Dymo said. "The times and events aree set. Whatever we do, it will not change what has, is, or will happned, happening, or happen. It's no use. I've tried before."
"We can try again." Archie said.
"No we can't." Frank said. "I hate travelling. I even hate walking."
"Exactly!" Dymo said. "It'll be a long trip. Trip to the past."
Gyro liked the sound of that. He liked long trips because sooner or later, Dymo got bored of his music and put on Gyro's music.
Archibald dashed off to the garage. Everyone followed.
"Where's the machine?"
Dymo pointed at the controls. Which kind of looked like the garage door control. "The whole garage is the time machine."
Gyro started fiddling with the controls. Loud noises started booming from the walls. The lights startred flickering. Some pieces from a large Ming Dynasty vase Archie didn't notice before started assembling itself. The radio started playing songs that were "so yesterday".
Then everything went still.
Everything went black.
The lights came back on.
There was another Dymo and another Gyro.
"Who're you?" A Dymo asked.
"I'm you only I'm three months older." another Dymo said nonchalantly.
"So I'm coming back here three months from now?" the first one said.
"Yup. Your nephew's gonna visit as well. It's his fault".
"Ah, I see you have visitors".
"He made me."
"It's my job to say that."
"Not yet."
And so the conversation between two Dymos went.
Archie stepped outside the garage.
It was all red and grey. Cyborgs trooped everywhere. Birds were replaced by spy crows. Grass was covered by concrete.
Everything was industrialised. And a man was riding a bike.
A Terminator yelled from the top of a building, "Stop him!".
The present Dymo came out. "Ooh, then he remembers all Terminators are still in production."
"Wait!" the robot yelled. He jumped down from the building, stepped in front of the biker, then got blown into lots and lots of little, sharp, evil, cunning pieces. Well, it wasn't so cunning now, but evil is set in substance.
The biker braked. He gazed at the garage.
"Oh..." he said.

To Be Continued

This is Dymo

About Me

My photo
New Zealand
He has many ambitions, some of which include art, while others include food. The common feature of all his ambitions is that they involve him staying at home. This comic is one of them.

Total Pageviews