The DORK club is like a little gang on the web. Wedge55 is the “boss” of the gang, and Manatee is like a third hand attached inappropriately which continuously scribbles out entertaining missives. Wedge oversees the ritual beating of new initiates with bamboo switches and pixie sticks.

Piyonugget is like the prostitute off in the corner. Only, he can kill with well-aimed philosophy. Like a philosophy ninja ‘ho.

ShootMe is the Ogg/Vorbis guru and makes the gang’s pleasant music.

And me? I’m an idiot.

(vector_black shame recipe)

These days you cannot turn on the TV without seeing a woman humping a thing. Be it a man, a woman, a hermaphrodite, or a beer bottle, she is definitely going to be humping something. She will have giant breasts. They may be on display, or she may be veiling them slightly behind some kind of a tight shirt.

Do you know what I think is sexy? Picture a sweet faced young lady with hair of a sensible length, styled so as to accentuate her eyes. In her hair is a simple red ribbon.

Her simple, welll balanced figure is being hugged in the correct places by a simple, but elegant dress. But not hugged too tightly.

She has applied her make up carefully. Only the slightest bit of foundation, the tiniest bit of blush.

And maybe some slutty lipstick.

When I saw a book called “In the Chat Room with God,” I knew it was my destiny to make fun of it. What I didn’t know is how many obscenities would eventually be used in doing so.

Read it, kids, and make sure to mail me a burning cross at your earliest convenience!

(Turtles, turtles, all the way doooown)

Dear Lord and God Almighty, Ruler of Our Universe, these Are Some Words That, Following Your Mighty Laws of Perfect Symmetry, Spell the Same Thing BackwardssdrawkcaB. May They Bring me Power and Happy Joy LuckkcuL!

Dad. Mom. Mum. Pup. Level. Tit. Boob. Tut. Nun. Tot. Bub. Gag. Bib. Deified. Detartrated. Racecar. Radar. Redevider. Reviver. Solos. Kayak.

I worship your name, oh powerful GoddoG.

I don’t care about the huge gigantic security flaws in Outlook. I don’t mind that you’re taking over the world one defective PC after another. You can have all the monopolies you want! Want to conquer China? Go for it!

But do NOT fucking fuck up when you make menus for my Media Player! See, when you put a button ON something, and that button is supposed to change the state of something, (hiding it, or expanding it, for instance) maybe that button should be set up to indicate what state you will be changing it too, not the state it is obviously in! If it’s shrunk, I don’t think my first move when I want to expand it is to click the button indicating that it’s shrunk! I’m going to look for a fucking button that fucking looks like it’s going to fucking expand something, not goddamnbitchass shrink it more! Do you f***ing understand?

It’s basic design principle, guys!

As some of you already know, I equate Vanilla Coke to a holy fluid produced from God himself (pick an orifice). Well, now it seems that Pepsi, unable to allow Coke to hold a monopoly over the vanilla-flavored cola market, recently released their own vanilla soft drink called Pepsi Vanilla (not to be confused with Vanilla Coke). I was lucky enough to have an opportunity to taste test this new drink and found it to be both “lame” and “hermaphroditic,” as the kids say. I think the problem lies in the fact that some Pepsi higher-up forgot to include the vanilla, and the Pepsi, as the drink tastes like generic flat cola combined with the alluring aftertaste of an old shoe. No joke. If nothing else, it is better than Crystal Pepsi. And the Virtual Boy.

What the above paragraph fails to mention is that the links page – yes, this links page – has been updated. New additions include, and are limited to, Casa del Juego (which seems to be down at the moment) and Kobun Heat, while both Sirlin.net and Transformers World’s Worst have been voted off the island. I don’t need to explain myself to you. And while our beloved links have undergone some slight remodeling, I’ve still yet to apply a super-cool gimmick to the page and thus make it more interesting than a big list of sites coupled with REZONZ WHY THEIR TIGHT. So, uh… that’s something.

As always, I readily accept story submissions for use as motivational speeches.

The copy of Darius Gaiden (for the Sega Saturn) which I purchased from eBay several weeks (?) ago finally arrived today. I’m finding it pleasantly enjoyable, much to my surprise. Generally speaking, the Darius series is, by far, the blandest space shooter series ever created. If it weren’t for its abundance of giant mechanized fish and its wicked-cool level progression scheme, the series would have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Aside from the large engrish warning displayed before each boss, the original Darius didn’t bring much innovation to the table, and it’s not like subsequent installments have done anything other than update the graphics and add new levels. Even Capcom could learn a thing or two about rehashing a game from Taito, Darius’ developer. Still, despite its numerous flaws, Darius is far and away my favorite shooter series. I’ve just always found R-Type too boring and Gradius too unforgiving when compared to the bland mediocrity of Darius. At least Taito never resorted to relying solely on a single gameplay gimmick to distinguish between games in the series. Unless you count G Darius, which you probably should. Maybe I just have a thing for shooters involving fish.

There was a point in there somewhere, but I seemed to have lost it the instant I started typing. That seems to happen a lot when I’m behind the keyboard.

Now, on a wholly unrelated topic… For about the first ten months of dorkclub.com’s existence I posted every single day, no exceptions. I guess I just had more to talk about back then. Or my standards were lower. Take your pick, loyal readers! Despite the fact that I’ve made this very same announcement innumerable times in the past, I’d like to announce that I will try my very bestest to update this site with something vaguely not shit-like in nature at least five out of the seven days which constituted our calendar’s week. I promise. Maybe.

BLAH