As it happens, I'm a big fan of very strange indy music. Foreign stuff, too. I've found that pop music sounds much better when sung in a language I don't understand. I believe that's because pop lyrics are fucking terrible, but the music itself is not bad. We veer violently off-topic. Every time I feel the need to aquire some odd song that nobody has ever heard of before, YouTube is the first stop. It's good for that sort of thing, because there's a fair chance that somebody made a shitty amv to that particular song. However, it seems these days all I can find is some bizarre techno/dance/trance/rave/bullshit DJ Dan remix with more numbers in the title than I was aware existed in the current decimal system. It's like Puff Daddy's remix of Every Breath you Take. The infuriating aspect is not how incredibly poor the resulting song is, but that it still resembles the original, even to an infinitesimal degree. They're taking something I like; a cake, for instance, and then shovelling it full of shit, then feeding it to me again. It still bears a likeness to the original baked product, but everything I ever liked about it has been stripped away, and replaced with horrors of the modern world. Okay, maybe a song by The Police is a bad example considering I started this one about indy fringe music, but you see my point. I'm not adverse to cover songs in general, mind you. Some of the tracks on ocremix are amazingly professional, but that doesn't mean that I like the idea of the 1912 overture (not to be confused with the 1812 overture) on a synthesizer.

- Don't wait up.

I have located the missing link. It dwells in a local fast-food outlet. I say "it" because I am unsure of it's gender, if it's social standing dictates the need for such a thing. In any case, I made my way into a desolate "Hungry Jacks", with a grand purpose. A Double Whopper, with cheese, to go. As I ordered this, the creature operating the register stood staring blankly as he processed this new information. After thirty seconds or so, he called over another peon to aid in his quest of pressing buttons. Another thirty seconds or so passed. At this time, yet another maladroit made their way to the register. The three of them, with their combined cognitive powers of a dead horse, managed to press the correct button. I felt like applauding the creature, I was, after all, unaware if it had the necessary digits to complete the task. With my food actually prepared, this being re-assured me that this was it's first day. After some [I]serious[/I] eyebrow action, I made my way to an eating station. The burger was surprisingly decent. Less greasy than MacDonald's, yet not as heavy as K.F.C. The fries were mediocre, but there was a lot of them. Their housing unit was of ample size. The beverage receptical was similar in proportion. This was pleasing. Worthless peons aside, it was an almost enjoyable outing. A franchise cannot be judged on one sole outing, or even one outlet, however. It is my hope to investigate this more thoroughly.

The wheat fields rock back and forth on the winds of dread. Atop a small hillock, a Transylvanian peasant leans against a withered tree, staring. A moment passes, anf time flows. The man's head cocks up. There is a scent in the air, a faint, yet familiar scent. This strange aroma circulates his fields, and then, something appears on the horizon. Some strange mass, that he can't make out. At the same time, there is a sound. The noise comes from directly in front of him, yet sounds muffled, as though it travelled many leaguesto bear witness to some grand spectacle. With no period of transition, the mass on the horizon suddenly appeared closer. The man's filthy, unwashed locks blow in the dark winds. The noise starts to get louder, and louder. The mass comes closer. The aroma turns to that of a thousand decaying corpses, the noise, to the piercing howl of a Banshee Queen. The man's mouth flutters in horror, but his eyes are caught, captivated by the mass. As it approaches closer, he identifies it to be a cloud of nothing. The winds grow stronger, the noise louder, and the smell more potent, until nothing is sensed amidst the chaos. Then, after another moment passes, everything stops. Shuddering, the man opens his eyes, and takes his hands away from his ears. The cloud is less than an inch away from hin, and it approaches, until it is almost inside his ear, and whispers in a voice that was the very embodiment of malevolence. The man strains his sense and makes out a single, sinister phrase. "Have a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year."

I entered a mall, the other day. I had hoped to obtain some small sundries, maybe a smoothie, or some other beverage of a texture-friendly manner. Maybe even make a stop at the arcade. What can I say, I was feeling... frivolous. With so many possibilities in the air at the time, I stood and pondered my situation for a moment or two. Then some strange being, resembling a Neanderthal in appearance, came up to me in a ridiculous striped outfit. He gave me the season's greetings. The season is one of nefarious, dare I say, maleficent, activities, that may very well result in the ultimate destruction of mankind. Only by the grace of whatever dark gods watch over me do I survive these times. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy receiving free things because I out-lived Jesus. I rather like the whole experience. The insufferable nature of things begins with the small-minded optimist, ignoring anything that doesn't fit into their perfect delusions. Google "The Monkey Sphere" right now, and educate yourself. It's biologically impossible to care about more than 150 people in your life, so stop god-damn telling me I should be worried that some Ethiopian orphan dies every 5 seconds. I don't care. I'm not an Ethiopian, so I don't see why I should care. This is the problem with Christmas. It's supposed to be a celebration of everything, the time when everybody's happy and cheery, but no. It is now more than ever that the intellectually confident (read: cynical) individuals among us are ostracised more than ever. Where's the sardonic misanthrope in the nativity scene, making scathing remarks at baby Jesus' expense? No, this is a holiday born on feelings of exclusion. I say we must rally together, under one banner! Let the bitter people out there stand up, and bellow from the highest mountain ranges "I don't care about you or your un-evolved, monkey-like companions, so stop trying to force me to!"

Yeah, and you thought I was kidding. Heheh; no. Both cost as much, at least, they do in Australia, so it's a tie in that regard. The taste, however, is unique. 7-up is a lot sweeter than Mountain Dew, and a lot heavier. Mountain Dew, while still a sweet drink, is lighter, almost like sprite, in a sense. Which is a good quality for a soda to have. One doesn't want to fill up on a soda, it's purpose is to complement the meal, not overpower it. Although, if one is having their beverage on it's own, then a heavier drink will likely be more suited, but maybe not as refreshing. In variety, Mountain Dew is the clear victor; hands down. There's currently 10 flavours of Mountain Dew, with more on the way, where as there is only three commerically available 7-up flavours. While there were more flavours of each, back in the day, they are sadly no longer being produced; and they will be sorely missed. I oft supped upon the nectar of the gods, commonly known as "Arctic Burst" and "Kyrptonite Ice". At least I am steadfast in my opinion that it is a far, far better place they go, than they have ever gone before. Again, they seem rather equal in advertising terms. While Mountain Dew tapped into the video-gaming-niche with "Gamer Fuel" (that may have given the impression that it was popular. It was not. Still, they get kudos for ingenuity.), a can of 7-up appeared in Moonraker, an impressive feat. Health-wise, however, Mountain Dew does not come out on top. It has a strangely high amount of caffeine, even for a carbonated soda, 55.2 mg per 12 oz. That's a fair amount of caffeine. 7-up, on the other hand, contains no caffeine. It makes up for it with frcutose corn syrup, but still; it's arguably healthier. So, who comes out the better? I say it's a draw. They each have an equal amount of good and bad traits, so go nuts! Purchase either, hell, purchase both, and make some sort of... super-awesome-o-soda.

An age old debate; one I intend to put an end to. Regular coke, on it's own, is beaten by regular pepsi. It is more expensive, does not quench one's thirst as effectively, and tastes a little worse (but that could just be me). There are more factors at work that one has to observe, however. For example, pepsi comes in more flavours than coke. There's diet coke, diet coke plus (in Belgium, that is), C2, coke zero, cherry coke, vanilla coke and lime coke. Pepsi, on the other hand, has legions of flavours. I'd list them here, but I don't have the stamina for it, so just check that out here. In the advertising field, I'm afraid coke has pepsi beat. Whilst pepsi did have some decent slogans, such as "More bounce to the ounce" and "Twice as much for a nickel", coke popularised (to some extent) the modern image of Santa-Clause, by no means a simple feat. Neither of the beverages are paticularly healthy, but coke has a slightly higher content of fructose corn syrup than pepsi, and is a touch more acidic. Flat pepsi is bad, as is warm pepsi, but again, I'm afraid they have coke beaten. Flat coke tastes like motor-oil, and warm coke tastes like warm motor-oil. From what I've discerned, taste aside, Pepsi has one up on Coke. Next time? Mountain Dew and 7-Up.