Minecraft

I've been playing Minecraft for a year now, and I just had the opportunity to buy FRAPS for myself. So I've been making some tutorials for redstone contraptions. I recorded them without sound, so I have to get around to actually recording some sound for them or just writing some captions in for them. I'm too lazy, though.

I'd never been on a multiplayer server before, so I decided finally to apply to join one. I played for a few hours. I am never going to play on that server again. It's not that the server was bad; I liked the people, I liked the environment, I loved the plugins.

I got murdered by another player. I had six diamonds, two diamond pickaxes, three iron pickaxes, 20 gold ore (used for money), 16 iron ore, three stacks of coal, three stacks of redstone, five iron swords, a bow, two arrows...gone. Is it understandable that I feel sick right now? I tried to go back because there's a plugin where if you're carrying a chest, your stuff gets dropped in the chest and it has protection for three minutes...The guy was camping my chest, I got blown up by a creeper. Getting there took just less than three minutes, the first time. On the way back the second time, "Your tombstone is no longer protected." Got back, two chests full of his old junk just staring me in the face as if to mock me. Five stone pickaxes, a wooden pickaxe, and just random junk...

I understand that it is a PvP-legal server. I wouldn't have felt so sick if things had gone differently. I was not wearing any armor. I was not on the surface. I was not being bothersome. I was not being obvious. I was in a tunnel, miles from the start of it, mining.

This guy in diamond armor snuck up behind me, from who knows where. He shot me with a poison arrow. And he sat and waited for my death chest to become unprotected.

That guy's an ass.

You know what I want to do? I want to write a rant.

So, I know I haven't posted in a while, but it's not like that matters much. What does matter is that today, I decided that my family isn't stupid.
They're straight up retarded.
I know that word is offensive and I never mean to be offensive, but right now I can't think of anything else to use to describe how I feel right now. Basically, the story is this: My brother has depression bad. He's sure he's going to die a virgin, alone and unloved, and he also is afraid to go outside because he feels that everyone is judging him. My brother and our mom were watching Dog Whisperer and there was a lady with severe anxiety who needed help training a service dog, so my mom told my brother that he might get a puppy to help him with his issues. He wants to train it as a service dog as well...except he has absolutely no handicaps. So I suggested a therapy dog instead, which still is a bit overkill for him, and he just said 'idk. I just want to train a dog so that I have something productive to do'...Ok, what?
My brother has been to a doctor about his depression. He has a prescription for it. He refuses to take the medicine, because it doesn't sit well in his stomach and he feels nausiated. My parents let him not take the prescription. They think it's perfectly ok. And apparently, they think that getting him a puppy is a perfect substitute.
Ok, first off, I would kill to be able to see a doctor about my constant low mood, but I don't even have enough money to buy powdered drink mix to mask the muddy, rusty taste of tap water. Second off, my dad hates dogs, but apparently he just loves this idea of getting one for my brother. Er, excuse me, but I do seem to remember that exact father threatening to divorce mom if she didn't get rid of a puppy we surprised him with.
Also, I have a hard time believing my brother would be able to train that dog to do anything other than sit and lie down. That's all we've been able to do in the past. My whole family, including me, is too lazy to go through that sort of thing, and none of them have experience in training animals anyway.
So when my brother told me that I should be excited for him, sure, I told him I was, but my brain was off on its own tangent. "I'm pretty sure I know how I should feel right now, and excited really isn't very high on the list of things I maybe should feel. I feel angry, jealous, and there's straight up disbelief coursing through me right now."
They have 5 people in that house right now, and barely enough income to feed them, and on top of that is the care for the 10 cats and 1 chihuahua that they already have. They're unable to pay for regular check-ups at the Vet for any of those animals.
I just feel very frustrated right now. But I believe that's about all I have to say on the matter.

Not having a computer sucks.

My computer threw itself out of my hands and every time I think about it I get so angry. Rargh. I don't have much else to say. Just that I'm so terribly bored now. I was just updating so that it doesn't seem like I fell off the face of the Earth.

Yes. I existed in the '90s too. Congratulations.

So I've been seeing a -lot- of stuff lately filled with nostalgia for the '90s. "Like this if you remember this. Share this if you know this character. When I was a kid, these things happened." Blah blah blah.

So you existed in the '90s. Great. You're not the only one. I promise. There are literally billions of people, I'm sure, who remember the exact same things from the exact same decade. It's not a feat.

Next decade, we'll have teenagers saying "Oh, you know, it was so awesome when I was a kid. We were attacked by terrorists and were locked in a war for more than ten years as a result. All of our entertainment was in a mach-speed downward spiral, too."

Yes, child. I remember. Just because you remember too, doesn't make you special. It just means you have an average memory span. Which I suppose, in a decade, will be a bit of a feat, seeing as most kids seem to have something wrong with them that makes it difficult for them to pay attention. (See: Lackofdisciplineitis.)

So no. I will not like, share, comment on, or anything else, your '90s-related post. It's just a desperate cry for attention, and I'm too lazy to care about your need for that attention.

"Like this, email it, print it out, share it with your friends and family, post it on every neighborhood telephone pole, and then eat a copy of the printout if you knew how to blow in the cartridge."