blog full of win

So as I was saying, I have Mondragon staying at my place here, which means SC coaching :D

At the end of day 1 my stats was 4-1 and on day 2 I'm 6-3, which means a total of 10-4, with 2 losses against Koreans (you just don't fuck with them), 1 loss against a higher rank (what a faggot) and a loss against which I know what I did wrong (macro, macro, macro!). if you believe these stats are not that good, keep in mind that i'm a losing player and my winning percentage didn't go over 40% in general.

I also made a little pack with days 1 and 2 reps in case you wanna see how I evolved (for some reason I couldn't upload them to Repdepot - can anyone help?)

http://rapidshare.com/files/210822068/vhallee_reps_day1_2.rar.html

Bonus:

+ Show Spoiler +

ToT)Strafe( and ToT)Mondragon(


Me trying something with my colleague's ear

So yeah, Mondragon will be living with me for a month or so, cause he's doing his internship at PokerStrategy here in Gibraltar.
Since I have him here, I decided to try and get some skill running, so I played a few games under his guidance in exchange for shelter and sexual favors. First impressions? I'm 4-1 and that loss was from a higher rank. Fuck yeah! He's not a fantastic player for nothing - it shows in his coachings. This means that in about 1month I will fucking rape you all with my newly discovered Zerg skills. I will update this and eventually post some replay packs to show my evolution. Live for the Swarm!

Poll: Rick Astley would never:
(Vote): give you up
(Vote): let you down
(Vote): run around and desert you
(Vote): make you cry
(Vote): say goodbye
(Vote): tell you a lie and hurt you


so what do you ppl think?

so basically im fucked. my final project is called "cross-cultural and intercultural communication in journalism" which i definitely want it to be related to starcraft (i actually kinda managed to do this, as i will comment on some sc articles, news, interviews etc).

the thing is that i cant fuckin find some good (and long) work about what is cross cultural communication, intercultural communication and how they are implemented in journalism world wide to save my life -_-. since many of you guys are native english speakers, maybe you could help me, as this is no ordinary project but my final one (dunno what's it called, i think its maybe B.A. project).

i humbly turn to you, hoping that some of you might help me. im basically looking for something about this but written in a rather simple, friendly way, so as not to be considered as shamelessly copied from a book. if you don't really understand my request but want to help, please say so. i kinda have 1 week left to come up with about 60 pages

I posted this as an anniversary column (#50) over at MYM - http://www.mymym.com/en/article/715.html - but since it's not a SC column, i didn't add it in my column thread.

From the “there are 2 kinds of people: people who like me and people who can go fuck themselves” series, Crocodildo Productions proudly presents: vhallee’s first trip abroad!
By the way, I dedicate this to ToT)Mondragon(, whom I would sexually please 3 times a week if given the chance. He knows why.

So I went to Germany a few days ago cause I had some sort of business and this trip lasted for 3 days. How was it? I’ll let you be the judge of that. Keep in mind that this is the first time I get in touch with a fucking airplane.

It all started on Wednesday, when I had to take a minibus to arrive at the airport (!) where I was gonna take the plane (!) to Berlin. From that point on, I was supposed to take the train to Hamburg and then a taxi to the hotel. This whole experience can be considered like a peasant’s trip to the big cities; at least that’s how embarrassing I felt.

The day started pretty good, meaning that I forgot to take my phone charger (I had to call my sister – and I don’t really do this unless I really REALLY have no other option – to make her come to the bus station asap… I couldn’t risk losing the bus wtf?!); next best thing was that I was accompanied by some dark-skinned Romanians also known as gypsies: they were pretty jolly, smelling pretty bad, talking pretty loud and spitting sunflower seeds pretty often out the bus window throughout the ride. I FELT EMBARRASSED.

I arrive at the airport and I felt like such a peasant: the sheer technology that surrounded me was more than a young Romanian could take. Of course I got lost, so I had to do that annoying thing: ask people for directions. I eventually got to the check-in zone and I had some time to kill. That’s when I noticed the best part of spending time in an airport: the girls. Thank god for airport chicks! Anyways, so I got to that X-Ray device and this was the point where luggage stuff started disappearing: that juice bottle has got to go, the shaving cream tube is too big, that wallet is too thin, the shampoo is also too much. I’m kidding: they let me keep the shampoo. I FELT ROBBED.

Then I got into that duty-free zone, where you can buy stuff that doesn’t have tax on it. What-ever! Like I care… they had TV! And this one was called – hold on to your breasts – Airport TV, where they kinda aired the most grotesque shows ever since The Flinstones and their futuristic counterparts, The Jetsons:
- “Gags just for laughs” – search it, but only if you have mastered all the steps in the “Anger Management” book: it’s basically about making fun of the poor victims that happen to pass by the prank zone. I don’t understand how some Canadian producers got a hold of some cash and decided to make something funny are not in jail for the murder of humor as we know it. Not a single muscle on my face expressed anything even remotely related to a smile. I was in pain there. The torture that they submitted us all to is something guaranteed to get them a reservation to the fiery pits of hell.
- “Just kidding!” – when you thought that “Gags just for laughs” is the worst possible idea for a comedy show, they take it to a level below. Same shit, no different ideas, but even worse pranks. May god have mercy on your souls.
- Various 30-second clips from the “did you know that…” kind: did you know that a cockroach can live 7 days without its head? Well, there’s a reason I didn’t know that, you sick fucks!

Finally, my torment came to an end when they announced that the boarding procedure has just started, and yes, I had some gypsy companions too. Now, since it was my first flight, I put on a diaper – just in case – because thanks to some childhood drama (I broke my left arm twice on two different occasions cause of falling from heights… nvm) I kinda got scared like shit from being anywhere high except the 1st or 2nd floor at most. 10.000 meters are a lot of 1st floors put together. I fasten my seatbelt, I listen to all the preaching, including how to buckle a seatbelt and shit like that. Wow, thank you for removing any shadow of doubt regarding those god damn things; now I am one level closer to universal understanding. After this whole educational session, the captain starts telling us (in a nice Engrish dialect) that we’ve got about 1000 km to go and we’ll go up about 13.000 m in the air, traveling at about 860km/h. Holy shit, I got into the wrong flight! They changed my ticket with the physicist convention flight -_- Anyways, the flight itself was annoyingly safe, well as long as we ignore the possibility of a good old gang-bang, whose stars would be the flight attendants. I FELT NAUGHTY.

Before we were about to actually land, the captain (who probably thought it would be nice to let us know about this) started using some nice and jolly Engrish, which could only make me daydream about those nice communism-filled days that came as a gift from Russia to Romania. When the plane landed, I started hearing a good portion of the passengers applauding. Yes, they were Romanians… but I kept wondering: why are they clapping? Does this thing only happen often enough to worth applauses? I FELT FEAR.

I got to see and feel the German air (which is much more evolved than that shit we had in Romania, I could feel it) and I enjoyed it. We then headed to the passport control booths and I just couldn’t wait to get to the city. However, the control dudes had something else in mind: so it’s my turn to show my ID, I go there, the German cop keeps looking at the ID, at me, at the ID, at me, at the ID, at me (it’s 9 years old and it looks like I’m trying to get by them using my kid’s ID), in which time I looked at him normal, then a bit confused, then awkward, then worried. Then this guy says “Please step aside”, and starts checking everyone else EXCEPT ME. OK, now I’m scared like shit.

Did they find the snakes I put on the plane?Did they discover my massive dildo smuggling activities? Did they find out I spit in a principal’s soup while I was chef for the high school summer camp? I was only thinking about the worst. Then this guy walks with my ID to the next booth, they start talking in German, but mein Deutsch ist fuckin schlecht, so yes, I got more worried. After that he tells me that he will be back soon. Tension was building up faster than those Jerry Springer shows (when is he gonna punch her? Now? Now? Now?!), but he eventually came back and told me that my particular ID type (since is old as shit) has been involved in many not-so-legal stuff and that’s why they were treating me like that. This incident proved to me what I secretly knew but didn’t accept it as true: most Romanians born in 1985 were involved in criminal acts throughout the German territory. No need to mention that those 20 minutes or so seemed like 4 and a half human lives…

I lost the first train from Berlin to Hamburg but that was no reason for me to be worried: I had the chance to explore the train station and its surroundings! It wasn’t as exciting as I hoped, mainly because – and I repeat – mein Deutsch ist fuckin schlecht. I didn’t know which is the track I was supposed to go to, I didn’t know where to buy a ticket (using my German skills I later managed to convince someone that I’m not asking for crack and I needed help in operating that ticket ATM), I didn’t know exactly how many stops I had to go (but there were many people in the train, so I obviously went to ask the prettiest girl – beautiful people tend to get out more, so she HAD to know the places, well at least according to my iron-like philosophy that I just explained. Ah, that and because, well, you know… gay people trust pretty girls more). I FELT PANIC.

But I eventually made it to Hamburg, where I took a taxi, a Mercedes Benz, I might add. (What? I told you I felt like a peasant in the city). When I reached the hotel room, I knew I would feel even better. I was tired as hell, but everything was just pointing towards the words “hell yeah!”. The next day I finally understood why I had that good feeling: because the conditions were just like in any man’s dream. I mean a clean and tasteful room, a nice view, great food and a middle-aged Spanish dude with funny English as housekeeper. After doing what I came there for, I had some time to explore the city and since I traveled so much with so many means of transportation (basically all of them, except the Batplane and the KITT ), that I decided to go on foot around Hamburg. Since I’m a nature lover, it was even easier, and I did what a male full of testosterone such as me would do: I walked for about 10 minutes and when I found a mall, I buried myself there, going on a shopping spree. I FELT SHAME.

I got back to the hotel, drank some German beers (don’t ask me for the name, I just bought some that had German names) and basically passed out. It was a full day and I was tired. But not tired enough to let the TV alone, so I turned it on to see some German shows. They were appealing to me like a book does to a kid: ooo… pretty pictures… but then this game show where they ask people about stuff by their taxi driver and if they get it right, they win money. If you live in Germany and you can’t find someone to take your smart friend (you know, the kind of dude that is intelligent, but not exactly the soul of a party) to the library, use the taxi cause you might actually thank him for being good at history and physics. And check out one of the contestants: Nuff said.

The next morning was the one where I was supposed to go back from Berlin to Prague and from there to Bucharest: another chance for me to lose some more of my stuff at the airport check-in (only lost the shampoo and 2 large dildos this time; the smaller ones were ok) cause I might endanger the passengers with my excessively large Head and Shoulders. The Czech plane was looking… hmmm… interesting, if we judge the bright yellow stripes over the propellers. The flight was basically the same: hot flight attendants, nice Engrish from the Czech crew, etc… only differences were the tiny cold sandwiches (pretty good actually, especially if you have consumed a considerable amount of alcohol the night before and food was not your thing at the time) and the lack of Romanians – they were only 2 or 3 and they only manifest themselves in packs, so it was a rather silent flight. I FELT BORED.
I arrived in Prague and there wasn’t much time before my flight to Bucharest so I can’t tell you anything about the city. The good part is that I spotted some Romanians (you can recognize them quite easily after you meet them once) and I was lucky enough to be close to this guy:
Well now, don’t jump to conclusion and call him a douche, just cause he wears sunglasses in the plane, or that he wears a sleeveless shirt so that we can admire his poorly tattooed siren, anchor and barbed wire around his muscles (that he keeps reminding us about by flexing them if he blows his nose, ties his shoelaces or stretches to reach for something obviously unreachable), or that he laughs loudly and in a rather… let’s say devolved way… at some atrocious jokes with his buddies. I FELT GOOD.
I remember it was a shitty weather, with a bad case of rain, and this made my flight come 10 minutes later. I can’t believe how humble and how sorry the crew was: they clearly do not know our transportation habits (I remember a few months ago, the train that was supposed to take me to the city where I study arrived in the train station 1 hour later and it stayed there for another 1.5 hours, before I said “fuck it”, took my bags and went back home): the minibus from Bucharest to my city did 4 hours instead of 2. I love my country, I’m just bad at showing it.