Saving Yourself A Shitload Of Money: A Primer (or) How to Steal Every Chance You Get.

By:

Professor A.Carroll

LESSON ONE: WIRELESS INTERNET

If you live in a heavily populated area like I do, get yourself a wireless card or an airport and steal a signal.

Cancel your internet service.

LESSON TWO: TORRENTS

Now that I just saved you from that internet bill, let's concentrate on your cable, music and movie expenses.

Every popular television show, DVD, or CD is available online, for free, on TORRENT sites. Just google "torrents" - you'll see what I mean.

Often, especially during awards season, you can find DVD quality screeners of current running films on these sites.

Make sure the files say DVDRIP or DVDSCR.

CAM files are some guy filming a screen in the theater. Not worth it.

MININOVA.ORG is the site to go to. A goldmine. Chances are you'll find any DVD or CD you are looking for.

Also a site called EZTV. They post all major TV shows minutes after they've aired.

You'll need to download a TORRENT PROGRAM. My favorite is called AZUREUS.

A free download.

Movies may take a few hours, TV shows a little less - CD's take minutes.

Link to your television or just watch on the computer.

Cancel your cable.

LESSON THREE: STEALING SONGS

If all you want is a song, or you are curious about a certain artist, download a program called LIMEWIRE.

A free download.

There you can search out songs and artists and download them track-by-track.

It's an incredibly simple program.

My newest discovery in the realm of music theft is a program called STREAM RIPPER X.

A free download.

This program allows you to rip hours and hours from any SHOUTCAST supported radio stream (SHOUTCAST.COM).

Shoutcast caters to a huge variety of musical tastes and Stream Ripper X breaks down each stream track-by-track, allowing you choose what songs to keep or trash.

Keep note of the BITRATE quality. 128 is the cleanest.

Priceless.

LESSON FOUR: RAPING YOUR NETFLIX QUE

A buddy of mine recently turned me onto a program called HANDBREAK.

A free download.

Insert any DVD into your computer and Handbreak rips it onto your drive in under an hour.

The quality of the rip is entirely up to you. If you give a shit, set the TARGET SIZE higher. If not, just press the RIP button and let it roll.

Burn that file onto a blank DVD and you've just saved yourself twenty bucks.

LESSON FIVE: YOUR WELCOME.

RE : Comic / Guitarist Of The Day

Okay, it was a cute idea, but entirely unrealistic. I just don't have the time. Sorry.

Velvet Memories

I am fairly certain that if the internet had become widely popular a mere ten years earlier I would now be attempting to write this essay with a deformed claw hanging from my right arm.

I am also pretty sure, that every guy my age, that grew up in a rural area like I did, had a friend, who had the father, who had the big box hidden in the barn.

The box in the barn that you accidentally kick over and open one summer afternoon.

The box in the barn that - when kicked over and it's contents spilled out - was responsible for the entire meaning of your life shifting in seconds.

In Junior High I had a friend named John. John's father had such a large collection of glossy filth, that looking back on it now, I am convinced the F.B.I. would have a found more then one runaway buried under the house. I don't remember a lot about my pre-teen years, but I can recall all of the forbidden shit : the first cigarette I smoked (Tarrytown), the first beer I drank (MGD) and I can remember finding that box like it happened an hour ago.

John's father was particularly fond of a publication called Velvet (see above) and appeared to have every volume published since it's inception. The barn behind John's house suddenly became the epicenter of our young lives. The picture above? That, my friends, is the cover of the first porno magazine I ever held in my sweating, shaky hands. It has been almost twenty years since I've laid eyes on the sucker but I recognized it online in minutes.

In large groups, we would gather after school and trade these magazines like Colombian gun runners - quickly, shifty eyed and strolling off to our respective homes within minutes of exchange. It's actually baffling to me the amount of planning and plotting we put into it. There were definite rules : keep em' clean (aim away), keep em' intact, and make sure the old man's box in the barn was full enough to avoid detection.

I'm confident, to any city kids, this scenerio is laughable. Shit, you bastards had it on every corner. You could find batch material in the back of a fucking newspaper - but we lived in the country. Our bored minds were aching for stimuli. If you couldn't smoke it, drink it, or blow it up, you'd better be able to jack off with it or it was no use at all.

I can only wonder now what our parents must have been thinking as we shot by them at the speed of light. The whole experience was like a prison movie. We, the convicts, had to rathole the contraband and get it by the guards. When safely in our cells, now came the question of where to hide it.

Knowing full well our mothers probably did an inch by inch search of the entire room when we were in school, this was the most difficult part. Where could it be safely out of site but easily gotten hold of in a moments notice? Some guys got lucky, some guys didn't and quite a few issues never made it back to John's father's secret stash.

But no one ever snitched. Snitches get stitches. Rats get bats. Talkers get walkers.

That was grounds for banishment, or a good, solid, group beat down - depending on who and how many were dragged down with the tattle-tale.

Nowadays, not only are video games making kids fat and lazy, but the endless stock of naked flesh online is stealing from our young men the necessary problem solving skills you aquire from hiding porn from your parents. Those skills are the seeds, the foundation, of what you will need to survive in the real world. They are at a sore disadvantage and I fear for our future.

Back In Action

Haven't had the chance to post for a few days since, like a jackass, I spilled coffee on my keyboard - like an idiot. The keys got all stuck, most of them didn't write, it was a fucking nightmare. In a simple act of desperation I hatched an experiment : I ran the sucker under hot water and left it on my window sill to dry for two days. Low and behold, it actually worked and now I am back in business.

Remember that the next time you get someting warm and sticky on your keyboard, like coffee......or something else

Comic Of The Day

Ralphie May

Guitarist Of The Day

Tommy Castro

Hot Off The Press

Say what you want about her politics, Dana Perino, the new White House Press Secretary, is a stone cold fox. Turn down the sound and it's the best show on TV.

I wish were a member of the White House Press Corp so I could ask her difficult questions about missing e-mails until she beat me within an inch of my life with one of her sexy, yet sensible high heeled shoes.

Vintage Wanking

Hey, kids. It's movie time. This is what grandpa roughed up the suspect to. I challenge any man with a pulse not to totally dig it. Enjoy.

In a Nutshell

The first words I wrote in this blog promised that I was going to try and make something original out of it. This is why I have avoided voicing my opinion on the whole Imus situation - if just to seperate myself from the self-indulgent assholes on YouTube that actually think anyone really gives a flying fuck about their false outrage.

But today I read an article by a man named Jason Whitlock, who writes a sports column for the Kansas City Star.

This man......




.........is an amazing writer.

I bow down to him. Not only is he swinging some serious brass clangers, but you can tell by his words that he really gives a shit and isn't afraid to have his dick nailed to the wall for what he believes in.

He absolutely rocks.

*note* play close attention to when he uses the word "agenda$" That isn't a typo. The man is a fucking genius.

Read on:

Imus isn’t the real bad guy

Instead of wasting time on irrelevant shock jock, black leaders need to be fighting a growing gangster culture.

By JASON WHITLOCK
Columnist
Thank you, Don Imus. You’ve given us (black people) an excuse to avoid our real problem.

You’ve given Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson another opportunity to pretend that the old fight, which is now the safe and lucrative fight, is still the most important fight in our push for true economic and social equality.

You’ve given Vivian Stringer and Rutgers the chance to hold a nationally televised recruiting celebration expertly disguised as a news conference to respond to your poor attempt at humor.

Thank you, Don Imus. You extended Black History Month to April, and we can once again wallow in victimhood, protest like it’s 1965 and delude ourselves into believing that fixing your hatred is more necessary than eradicating our self-hatred.

The bigots win again.

While we’re fixated on a bad joke cracked by an irrelevant, bad shock jock, I’m sure at least one of the marvelous young women on the Rutgers basketball team is somewhere snapping her fingers to the beat of 50 Cent’s or Snoop Dogg’s or Young Jeezy’s latest ode glorifying nappy-headed pimps and hos.

I ain’t saying Jesse, Al and Vivian are gold-diggas, but they don’t have the heart to mount a legitimate campaign against the real black-folk killas.

It is us. At this time, we are our own worst enemies. We have allowed our youths to buy into a culture (hip hop) that has been perverted, corrupted and overtaken by prison culture. The music, attitude and behavior expressed in this culture is anti-black, anti-education, demeaning, self-destructive, pro-drug dealing and violent.

Rather than confront this heinous enemy from within, we sit back and wait for someone like Imus to have a slip of the tongue and make the mistake of repeating the things we say about ourselves.

It’s embarrassing. Dave Chappelle was offered $50 million to make racially insensitive jokes about black and white people on TV. He was hailed as a genius. Black comedians routinely crack jokes about white and black people, and we all laugh out loud.

I’m no Don Imus apologist. He and his tiny companion Mike Lupica blasted me after I fell out with ESPN. Imus is a hack.

But, in my view, he didn’t do anything outside the norm for shock jocks and comedians. He also offered an apology. That should’ve been the end of this whole affair. Instead, it’s only the beginning. It’s an opportunity for Stringer, Jackson and Sharpton to step on victim platforms and elevate themselves and their agenda$.

I watched the Rutgers news conference and was ashamed.

Martin Luther King Jr. spoke for eight minutes in 1963 at the March on Washington. At the time, black people could be lynched and denied fundamental rights with little thought. With the comments of a talk-show host most of her players had never heard of before last week serving as her excuse, Vivian Stringer rambled on for 30 minutes about the amazing season her team had.

Somehow, we’re supposed to believe that the comments of a man with virtually no connection to the sports world ruined Rutgers’ wonderful season. Had a broadcaster with credibility and a platform in the sports world uttered the words Imus did, I could understand a level of outrage.

But an hourlong press conference over a man who has already apologized, already been suspended and is already insignificant is just plain intellectually dishonest. This is opportunism. This is a distraction.

In the grand scheme, Don Imus is no threat to us in general and no threat to black women in particular. If his words are so powerful and so destructive and must be rebuked so forcefully, then what should we do about the idiot rappers on BET, MTV and every black-owned radio station in the country who use words much more powerful and much more destructive?

I don’t listen or watch Imus’ show regularly. Has he at any point glorified selling crack cocaine to black women? Has he celebrated black men shooting each other randomly? Has he suggested in any way that it’s cool to be a baby-daddy rather than a husband and a parent? Does he tell his listeners that they’re suckers for pursuing education and that they’re selling out their race if they do?

When Imus does any of that, call me and I’ll get upset. Until then, he is what he is — a washed-up shock jock who is very easy to ignore when you’re not looking to be made a victim.

No. We all know where the real battleground is. We know that the gangsta rappers and their followers in the athletic world have far bigger platforms to negatively define us than some old white man with a bad radio show. There’s no money and lots of danger in that battle, so Jesse and Al are going to sit it out.

Guitarist Of The Day

Brian Setzer

Comic Of The Day

Doug Stanhope

Guitarist Of The Day

Anson Funderburgh

Comic Of The Day

Patrice O'Neal

THE AURA: A Review

In September of 2006, Fabian Bielinsky, one of the best directors to come out of Latin America in the last twenty years, died of a heart attack at the young age of 47. Although his death was a blow to film lovers all over the world, he couldn't have left at a higher note then with this powerful, neo-noir masterpiece.

Ricardo Darin, the DeNiro of Argentinian film, plays the central character: A nameless, epileptic taxedermist contracted out by the Buenos Aires Natural History Museum. Darin's protaganist is a quiet, shadow of a man whose essentially riskless life is carefully mapped out around the unpredictable nature of his illness.

The title of the film comes from his explanation of what it is like to experience a grand mal seizure.

To escape the malaise of his everyday life, Darin's taxedermist, a meticulous student of detail, makes a hobby out of planning the perfect heist. Every payday, waiting in line at the bank, he scripts out these mental robberies for a gang of thieves in his head - paying close attention to the guards, the tellers, armored truck drivers, cameras and exit routes.

When an impromtu hunting trip leads to a fatal accident and a case of mistaken identity, our hero is thrown into the bloody world of real criminals - with real guns.



With a scenario that could easily be the set up for a screwball, fish-out-of-water comedy, Bielinsky masterfully pulls it into the other, far more darker direction. Every step of the nightmare is brought forward with such brilliant subtlety that, not for a moment, do you doubt the predicaments surrounding it. It simmers, then boils, then grabs you by the throat when you least expect it - much of this owing to Darin's flawlessley textured performance - a beaten down by the world everyman whose inner predator has been leashed for far too long.

The man can say more with a twitch of the eye then most actors can say in an entire monologue.

If you are a lover of atmospheric, charecter driven crime thrillers, make it a point to see this fantastic film. Like Bielinsky's wonderful con-man study NINE QUEENS, I am sure THE AURA is destined for a mediocre American remake (QUEENS was remade into CRIMINAL starring John C. Reilly), but before that happens just do yourself a favor and seek out the original. You will not be disappointed.

Guitarist Of The Day

Dave Hole

Comic Of The Day

Patton Oswalt

The New Name

Whoops. Another cat out there has the moniker The Sacred Cow on his blog (http://thesacredcow.blogspot.com/).

That's okay, though. I'm digging this one a little more.

* new feature * Comic Of The Day

Dylan Moran

* new feature * Guitarist Of The Day

Otis Grand

Just Point To The Doll, Donnie.

If you are a man and this picture gives you a tingle where the swimsuit covers, you might want to check out http://www.lovegodsway.org/.

Love God's Way is a Houston, TX based ministry that specializes in reforming homosexuals. According to the founder, Donnie Davies, a former homosexual: if you are gay, God hates you. He's not just disappointed, he downright fucking hates your guts.



Not great news for the Chelsea set.

But wait, there's hope. Just because you enjoy stubble rash on your inner thighs, this doesn't mean a chorus of angels is completely out of the question.

Donnie has created a program called C.H.O.P.S (Changing Homosexuals Into Ordinary People).



Donnie promises to succeed where others have failed. If your need to meet St. Peter outweighs your need for a good rogering, Love's God Way ministries can help.

The site even offers a list of "Gay" bands to erase from your iPod, and an alternative list of "Safe Bands" you can "safely" listen to without feeling the urge to call a number in the back of the Village Voice.

You know what? I really can't do this young warrior of God justice. Let's just allow Donnie to speak for himself.

Ch-ch-ch-ch Changes

I am constantly struggling to grow as a writer. This means being my own worst critic. If I am lucky enough, in the coming days, to gather up a loyal following of readers, I owe it to them to give the very best I have to offer.

No writer is ever happy with their first draft of anything. This is why I reread, and reread, and read over again - every word I put down.

But if I let myself nitpick over every little detail, all the time, you'd have nothing to read and I might as well just fold up camp.

Thankfully, this site allows me to make changes on existing texts whenever I want.

And I'm going to do that. A lot. Because when it comes to my credibility as an author, I'm pretty fucking anal.

Sometimes these edits will be small, like a sentence tampered with here or there, or on the other end of the spectrum - a complete shift in tone - depending on how I feel about a particular essay at the moment.

I hope this will convey to everyone just how important the subjects I choose to write about are to me, and the regard I have for anyone who takes out the time to hear what I have to say.

My first goal is to entertain, and hopefully make you laugh, and if you just bear with me, I'll make make it worth your while.

Louis CK

This guy is one of the funniest comics working today. Do yourself a favor and check out his show if he comes around.

Rest In Peace, Jonah

"Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why."
Kurt Vonnegut, 1922-2007

Stambovsky v. Ackley & The Kavanagh Webpages

Dicking around online today I ran across the account of a very unusual court case and in connection with it, pure internet gold.

First the case.

The opening lines of the final decision read:

"Plantiff, to his horror, discovered that the house he had recently contracted to purchase was widely reputed to be possesed by poltergeists, reportedly seen by defendant seller and members of her family on numerous occasions over the last nine years..........The unusual facts of this case, as disclosed by the record, clearly warrant a grant of equitable relief to the buyer, who, as a resident of New York City, cannot be expected to have any familiarity with the folklore of the Village Of Nyack."

Basically, in 1990, in Nyack N.Y., Ackley sold Strambovsky a house. Strambovsky then finds out, after the papers have been signed, that the house he's about to move into is widely known to be haunted. Since he isn't from the area, and hasn't heard the stories, S says to A: "You didn't tell me the house is haunted. I'm not taking any chances. I want my fucking money back."

A says to S: "Sucks to be you. Enjoy the ghosts, beeyatch."

So S takes A to court and WINS. How?

The house was on a local ghost tour, there was an article in Reader's Digest about it, everyone in town knew it's history.

These facts led to the final decision:

"Having reported the ghosts presence in both a national publication....and the local press....defendant is estopped to deny their existence, and as a matter of law, the house is haunted."

In layman's terms, this means: if your house is haunted, and you're telling everyone in town, and hosting ghost tours, and writing to magazines, you're not going to be able to just turn around and deny it if you happen to forget to bring it up to, say, the new owners. Now you're getting sued over something that may or may not exist and you're probably going to lose.

Plus you'd think there'd be a slew of nuts out there willing to pay good money to live in a haunted house.

I don't believe in ghosts, but I found it to be a pretty interesting little read. Especially when Stambovsky's lawyer manages to squeeze in a reference to Ghostbusters to defend his case.

If you Google the case name, the Wikipedia page comes up first. On that you can find a link to the original court statements.

But most importantly, you will also find a link to...........

Drum roll please.

The Kavanagh Webpages.

This a wonderful site. An in depth journey into the world of the Kavanagh family, currently living in Oregon, and the biggest collection of flat out dorks I have ever seen.

Oh, yes, kiddies. That's right. I'm going to regress back to High School now and pick on some nerds.

Come. Take my hand.

This is Mark. The Patriarch and creator of the page.
He works in the Semiconductor Industry. I don't know what that is either. He's also big into trains and transit systems. The site has a lot of pictures of trains and train tracks.

Mark married Cynthia. Her second marriage.

Cynthia now.

Once again, Mark.

Cynthia.

Mark is a busy boy.

Cynthia's maiden name is Ackley. She spent her teenage years in the haunted house. Her mother is the Ackley from the case.

The site has a page devoted to the house, it's history and Cynthia's ghostly encounters.

Mark and Cynthia have three children. A son & two daughters.

Let's start with young Emily.

Emily is into paganism and the Renaissance. I know this because I looked at her website, The Nymph's Veil.

Her page on the site has a link to it, but I'll save you some time.

www.angelfire.com/freak/emu_nymph/

You're welcome.

On it you will find pictures of her prom, pictures of her friends, some of her poetry, her favorite links and a page with some weird little sex things on it, like a skeleton blowing another skeleton and two stick figures fucking.

Emily's a dirty little bitch and she needs it bad.

In 2004 Emily married Matt.



They had a Renaissance style wedding.




Dig the crazy grin on Pop.

Imagine what this poor bastards life must be like. Three big women, their friends.....



(Oh, yeah. Emily has some BIG friends)

........and one house.

This poor sonofabitch is right up against it. All day. Mormon polygomists get more peace and quiet. I imagine the constant sound of chewing would be enough to drive a man to murder.

There's not a lot left about Emily, other then a couple of more wedding photos and a graduation picture. If you have the time I highly recommend checking out her sight for a better view of this sensitive nymph's fragile soul.

A few words from Emily:

I bound my heart and soul in locks and chain
Trying to hide myself from all the pain
In the bindings I wish I had stayed
For every dream and hope has now been betrayed

Good shit, right? Heartbreaking. Well, there's plenty more where that came from.

This is the eldest daughter Teresa & her husband Erik. Erik is a phone Tech support guy.


This is what I assume is their prom photo.

It looks like Teresa may have had a small window of fuckability.



That sucker slammed shut tight.

It appears Big T is into some wacky shit as well, but the page doesn't offer up any info and - unlike little sis - she doesn't have her own website.

This is the back of their home.

I particularly like the Teresa-to-house ratio.

The page mentions that they both enjoy playing "many different types of role playing games". This statement conjours up "many different types of horrible images". One can only hope these games involve a twenty sided die & not Teresa strapping on a Black Destroyer for a session of First Night In Jail.


This is Rich. The heir to the Kavanagh name.

I'm guessing Rich and Emily are roughly the same age since a couple of pictures of him are included in the Prom Section of Emily's website.

Not much is said about Rich, which leads me to believe he is the black sheep of the Kavanagh clan. It is, however, mentioned that he moved out of the house in 2006 (he graduated high school in 2003) and works as a baker in a sub shop.A job that obviously does wonders for the complexion.


If you visit the Kavanagh family website, make sure you have some time on your hands. Big Daddy K has left no stone unturned. Family vacations, favorite links and a step-by-step photo tour of the Kavanagh home re-modeling are just a few of the ways you can learn more about this fascinating family. Hell, they even give you this neat little site map designed like a train schedule.



I told you Mark was into trains, right? Well, he's REALLY into fucking trains.

Mark has even included a tribute to the World Trade Center victims and - to show how much he cares about his regular readers - an update section.

And if after hours and hours (and hours, and hours, and hours) of reading bios and looking at pictures of train tracks, you hunger for more, just turn to the FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS section of the site. There you can put out those little fires of curiosity burning in your mind like: What Nationality is Kavanagh? (Kavanagh is a VERY Irish name. From County Carlow)

Or.

How do you spell Kavanagh? ( K-A-V-A-N-A-G-H)

Good stuff.

Even though I've just eviscerated these nice people, I hold a genuine affection for them. They have completely embraced their geekdom and marked out a definite niche in life. Not a lot of people I know can say that. To be able surpass the pressures of conforming to the unrealistic image of what's considered beautiful in this country and find happiness with who you truely are?

That, my friends, is character trate to be admired.

Weight

I have a friend I used to work with. I won't say his name, but if you're reading this motherfucker, you know who you are.

This skinny piece of shit would eat all the time, everyday, non-stop. His idea of a mid-morning snack was what amounted to a school of salmon piled on some cream cheese with a bagel poking out. Then he would complain about how fat he was getting while pinching about a centimeter of flesh under his skin-tight, hipster, thrift store t-shirt. Oh, how I loved that. Maybe because if I let myself eat like that, in a month I'd have to call in a road crew to knock down a fucking wall to get my 2000 pound frame out of the apartment for my emergency angioplasty.

I love to eat. Especially starchy foods. Pizza, pasta etc. I love beer. I love beer with pizza and pasta. I was also blessed with the metabolism of a manatee. Which is nice because if I'm not constantly food conscious I end up looking more and more like one.

Now that I'm in my thirties I realize any kind of caloric grace I was under has long since vanished. I was never skinny, but for some reason I have recently acquired the power to gain weight at an almost superhuman rate. My days of pizza, pasta and beer are over, unless I want to stick my fingers down my throat like a teenage girl after every meal.

This realization came to me after trying on clothes for a friend's wedding. There is probably nothing more humbling - after shuffling back from the changing room and placing your first choice back on the shelf - then walking over to the "Big Guys" section of Target and grabbing a pair of pants two sizes higher. Jesus Christ, has it come to this?

It has, Fatso. Deal with it.

This was last Summer and thankfully, with diligence, I have been able to whittle myself down to something resembling a human being. It's a fucking pain in the ass. I hate it. But unless I want to go on the supermodel diet, I have to chalk it up as a necessary evil.

Please Pay Attention

I'm not the next Bill Hicks. I don't consider myself a comedic genius. I just enjoy making people laugh. It is one of my great joys (after Natural Light & White Castle). I also lack filter, which at times can make my sense of humor seem a tad caustic or some may even say, insensitive. To those people I say: boo fucking hoo hoo.

I can't help it if after a busy day of flagging You Tube videos and clipping out Cathy strips you happen to find yourself in the same bar as me after I've imbibed three Car Bombs and a Yager shot and decided it's a good time for ethnic jokes.

My real friends get it.

And I always look around first.

Now, I don't want to pigeonhole this as a comedy page, but if offensive humor offends you, you'd probably be better off somewhere else. Unless, of course, you're one of those people who make a hobby out of being offended. Then I lay in wait for your self righteous comments.

Also not a good place for zippy political commentary. Not one of my strengths. I know enough to have an opinion, I've taken a definite side, but at the same time I am just ill informed enough to have my views on important issues disqualified for public consumption. All my news is accidental. Yahoo, The Daily Show, snippets of NPR when I'm in the shower, a newspaper if someone leaves it in the laundromat. I'm able to soak in enough knowledge of current events to avoid complete ignorance (a process very akin to osmosis), but unless something really catches my eye, I hardly ever seek it out. And that headline better be really fucking big. Big and cute. New York Post cute.

That's not to say I'm going to stay away completely from current events. I've got a few hairs across my ass as we speak. I just promise to stay within the confines of my very small arena and try not to get ahead of myself. In fact, one of the things I'm hoping to gain by creating this page is at least an excuse to look more closely at what's going on in the world, if only to get ideas on what to write about.

But honestly, with all the porn that's out there, and more being made every day, who really has the time?

Late To The Party

I know everyone and their aunt has a blog now. I hope maybe this one evolves into something original. That's all for now. Thanks.