b3ta.com user CTVadim
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Profile for CTVadim:
Profile Info:


- My first post.. woo yay!

Recent front page messages:

Bleh.. so bored...

I need a life. :)
I'm so terribly sorry.
(Tue 20th May 2003, 6:58, More)

Best answers to questions:

» Random Acts of Evil

You say "Evil," I say "Vigilanteism..."
I was a nice kid in elementary school, but one year (I was 8) our class of 30 had this kid who was really big for his age and a real punk.

The school was all out at recess, and the bell sounds to go back in. On my way back, I notice three things:
1) a little orange cone
2) a sprinkler head
3) tall kid probably returning from an act of malice, but still a ways off.

Inspiration strikes. A moment later, I call out to him, "Hey Mike! You think you're so cool but I bet you can't kick this little cone more than two feet!"

The challenge is issued -- our eyes lock for a second, and then he hollers, "oh yeah!?" and gets a running start. 15 meters, 10, 5, he's at the cone, he kicks the cone, and the cone... stays there. Mike, however, does not. He goes flying, falling, rolling, swearing, and everyone laughs. One of the old ladies watching us has no idea what happened, my guilt still cleverly hidden under the orange cone. I walked off, quite pleased with myself, and that's that.

Of course, this is the same kid who angrily insisted that the blue marker was purple and who could fart on command, and ended up getting held back a year and eventually kicked out of the school... But at that age, I had no concept of guilt so it's all gravy.
(Sat 18th Feb 2012, 0:41, More)

» Clubs, gangs, and societies

I joined the Navy
A little bit more buttsex than I was expecting, but the free healthcare and legitimized alcoholism has so far made up for it.
(Sat 23rd Jun 2012, 21:39, More)

» The last thing that made me cry

Oo, last time I REALLY cried...
Hmm... December 19th, 2003. Early morning.

My dad woke me up by walking into my bedroom and simply said, "Your mom's gone." I didn't entirely know what I meant -- surely she didn't die; she was only 57 and I hadn't moved out yet! So I put some pants on and went out to look. She was in her bed.

I cried on and off for the next two hours and police and paramedics came in and out of our house, and that damned chaplain didn't help things at all. Didn't cry at all during the next few days, though. That was the first -- and last -- time that I cried in the past 8 years. Not at the funeral, nor the viewing, nor the enterring(sp? Oh fuck it). Hell, I even gave a speech about how it was alright to cry at the services, which got rave reviews from everyone there. But I had the only dry eyes.


Nowadays, whenever I watch Dancer in the Dark, I get choked up and breathe kind of heavy at the end.. but I don't cry. Perhaps I'm emotionally damaged.

Oh, I lied! It was actually the 1st and last time in 5 years. Reading all of this reminded me of 8th grade.. *shudders* those days sucked.
(Fri 15th Apr 2005, 6:53, More)

» Walkman Flashbacks

Rufus Wainwright - Evil Angel
Always brings me back to simpler times... The song would begin playing, and my mind would revert to pre-highschool days in which I played an insectile alien on swcombine.... Odd, I know. Oh well, Amma geek.
(Mon 28th Mar 2005, 6:14, More)

» Scars with history

Somewhat violent, actually...
Back when I was younger, I went to a private school in a class of about 30 kids who'd been with each other for about 7 years. In sixth grade, we all went to a camp-type thing for three days -- organized by the school and authorized by the pope himself! (or the local bishop, whatever) Anyways, the camp people took it upon themselves to teach a group of 12 and 13 year olds how to use a compass, and handed out compasses, paper, and pencils.

So, I take a seat down next to one of my odder friends and we're going along really well (I already knew how to use one, so I was helping him), when at osme point I make some joke about him. Long story short, he stabbed -- yes, stabbed; no, not poked -- me in the knee with his freshly-sharpened pencil. I screamed and bled, and he apologized.

To this day, I can still point out the spot where he stabbed me, since the graphite worked as tattoo ink. I probably deserved it, though -- a few years before, I bet him that he couldn't kick an orange cone more than a foot. I didn't feel obligated, however, to tell him that I'd put it over a sprinkler head...
(Sat 5th Feb 2005, 0:39, More)
[read all their answers]