Otis McNutt

+Veteran
 View profile  See their activity

  • Content count

    5219

  • Joined

  • Last visited


Posts posted by Otis McNutt

  2. Posted

    I hear they go for $20 american as for other countries, your guess is as good as mine. And it's actually a durable molded plastic.

  7. Posted

    I wrote this fanfic for a website that no longer exists, i thought i'd post it here. It's based on the Cartoon Network series "Ben 10". Hope some people here watch it.

    Prologue:

    For those of you who came in late

    It was the start of summer vacation, a time of fun and play. Young Benjamin Tennyson had an annual trip with his grandfather Max to look forward to. But as the RV quickly approached he knew that something wasn

  9. Posted

    I hope you'll get to sleep... I don't maybe you should see someone....

    I have, they give these magic little pills that make you sleep like a newborn, side effects include sleep eating, sleep walking and sleep balancing your checkbook. Truthfully they make me feel like a zombie!!

  10. Posted

    I've always seen it as "red light bad, yellow light good!" what i hate is when there is an update at midnight and the thing just glows from dull to bright blue.

  11. Posted

    It's 5 a.m. and I just can't fall asleep! You see sometimes i have mild to severe panic attacks ( scale 1 to 5 this is about a 2 and a half i remember the last 5 was on a monday i was TRYING to watch "24" but just couldn't sit still and i missed the whole thing thank god for DVD! Well anyway), it's like a switch clicks in my brain and my fight or flight response flashes into overdrive. It is a pain in my arse (so to speak). I guess my whole family is a little messed up, my sister her to be referred to as M, is Bipolar meaning her moods shift between fantastic highs and depressing lows, while my other sister J is well she's just a big old, self centered beyotch!! I'd swear she's the Anti-Christ if I wasn't an atheist.

  13. Posted

    Puzzles and dungeons are what Zelda is, Ever since Link took his clumsy 2D steps from the muck that is the NES. Zelda is a unique game in a world full of copycats. What we don't need is another final fantasy!(Lord knows there are already too many!) :angry:

  14. Posted

    Its a short story, i forgot who wrote it. Its a great short story. They made a short movie out of it too.

    We read/watched this in class.

    Are you sure it wasn't the "Twilight Zone" episode, it was on SciFi channel yesterday. one of the greatest ever right behind "Monsters are due on Maple street" "The Jeopardy Room" "No time like the past" and "Terror at 30 thousand feet"! There's something on the wing of the plane! Billy Shatner ruled in that!

  15. Posted

    A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down

    into the swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind

    his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his

    neck. It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the

    slack fell to the level of his knees. Some loose boards laid upon the

    ties supporting the rails of the railway supplied a footing for him

    and his executioners--two private soldiers of the Federal army,

    directed by a sergeant who in civil life may have been a deputy

    sheriff. At a short remove upon the same temporary platform was an

    officer in the uniform of his rank, armed. He was a captain. A

    sentinel at each end of the bridge stood with his rifle in the

    position known as "support," that is to say, vertical in front of the

    left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight

    across the chest--a formal and unnatural position, enforcing an erect

    carriage of the body. It did not appear to be the duty of these two

    men to know what was occurring at the center of the bridge; they

    merely blockaded the two ends of the foot planking that traversed it.

    Beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran

    straight away into a forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, was

    lost to view. Doubtless there was an outpost farther along. The

    other bank of the stream was open ground--a gentle slope topped with

    a stockade of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles, with a

    single embrasure through which protruded the muzzle of a brass cannon

    commanding the bridge. Midway up the slope between the bridge and

    fort were the spectators--a single company of infantry in line, at

    "parade rest," the butts of their rifles on the ground, the barrels

    inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands

    crossed upon the stock. A lieutenant stood at the right of the line,

    the point of his sword upon the ground, his left hand resting upon his

    right. Excepting the group of four at the center of the bridge, not a

    man moved. The company faced the bridge, staring stonily, motionless.

    The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues

    to adorn the bridge. The captain stood with folded arms, silent,

    observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign. Death is a

    dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal

    manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him. In

    the code of military etiquette silence and fixity are forms of

    deference.

    The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about

    thirty-five years of age. He was a civilian, if one might judge from

    his habit, which was that of a planter. His features were good--a

    straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead, from which his long, dark

    hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar

    of his well fitting frock coat. He wore a moustache and pointed

    beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a

    kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose

    neck was in the hemp. Evidently this was no vulgar assassin. The

    liberal military code makes provision for hanging many kinds of

    persons, and gentlemen are not excluded.

    The preparations being complete, the two private soldiers stepped

    aside and each drew away the plank upon which he had been standing.

    The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself

    immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace.

    These movements left the condemned man and the sergeant standing on

    the two ends of the same plank, which spanned three of the cross-ties

    of the bridge. The end upon which the civilian stood almost, but not

    quite, reached a fourth. This plank had been held in place by the

    weight of the captain; it was now held by that of the sergeant. At a

    signal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would

    tilt and the condemned man go down between two ties. The arrangement

    commended itself to his judgement as simple and effective. His face

    had not been covered nor his eyes bandaged. He looked a moment at his

    "unsteadfast footing," then let his gaze wander to the swirling water

    of the stream racing madly beneath his feet. A piece of dancing

    driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the

    current. How slowly it appeared to move! What a sluggish stream!

    He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his wife and

    children. The water, touched to gold by the early sun, the brooding

    mists under the banks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the

    soldiers, the piece of drift--all had distracted him. And now he

    became conscious of a new disturbance. Striking through the thought

    of his dear ones was sound which he could neither ignore nor

    understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of

    a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil; it had the same ringing quality.

    He wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by--

    it seemed both. Its recurrence was regular, but as slow as the

    tolling of a death knell. He awaited each new stroke with impatience

    and--he knew not why--apprehension. The intervals of silence grew

    progressively longer; the delays became maddening. With their greater

    infrequency the sounds increased in strength and sharpness. They hurt

    his ear like the trust of a knife; he feared he would shriek. What he

    heard was the ticking of his watch.

    He unclosed his eyes and saw again the water below him. "If I could

    free my hands," he thought, "I might throw off the noose and spring

    into the stream. By diving I could evade the bullets and, swimming

    vigorously, reach the bank, take to the woods and get away home. My

    home, thank God, is as yet outside their lines; my wife and little

    ones are still beyond the invader's farthest advance."

    As these thoughts, which have here to be set down in words, were

    flashed into the doomed man's brain rather than evolved from it the

    captain nodded to the sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside.

    II

    Peyton Farquhar was a well to do planter, of an old and highly

    respected Alabama family. Being a slave owner and like other slave

    owners a politician, he was naturally an original secessionist and

    ardently devoted to the Southern cause. Circumstances of an imperious

    nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here, had prevented him from

    taking service with that gallant army which had fought the disastrous

    campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth, and he chafed under the

    inglorious restraint, longing for the release of his energies, the

    larger life of the soldier, the opportunity for distinction. That

    opportunity, he felt, would come, as it comes to all in wartime.

    Meanwhile he did what he could. No service was too humble for him to

    perform in the aid of the South, no adventure to perilous for him to

    undertake if consistent with the character of a civilian who was at

    heart a soldier, and who in good faith and without too much

    qualification assented to at least a part of the frankly villainous

    dictum that all is fair in love and war.

    One evening while Farquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic bench

    near the entrance to his grounds, a gray-clad soldier rode up to the

    gate and asked for a drink of water. Mrs. Farquhar was only too happy

    to serve him with her own white hands. While she was fetching the

    water her husband approached the dusty horseman and inquired eagerly

    for news from the front.

    "The Yanks are repairing the railroads," said the man, "and are

    getting ready for another advance. They have reached the Owl Creek

    bridge, put it in order and built a stockade on the north bank. The

    commandant has issued an order, which is posted everywhere, declaring

    that any civilian caught interfering with the railroad, its bridges,

    tunnels, or trains will be summarily hanged. I saw the order."

    "How far is it to the Owl Creek bridge?" Farquhar asked.

    "About thirty miles."

    "Is there no force on this side of the creek?"

    "Only a picket post half a mile out, on the railroad, and a single

    sentinel at this end of the bridge."

    "Suppose a man--a civilian and student of hanging--should elude the

    picket post and perhaps get the better of the sentinel," said

    Farquhar, smiling, "what could he accomplish?"

    The soldier reflected. "I was there a month ago," he replied. "I

    observed that the flood of last winter had lodged a great quantity of

    driftwood against the wooden pier at this end of the bridge. It is

    now dry and would burn like tinder."

    The lady had now brought the water, which the soldier drank. He

    thanked her ceremoniously, bowed to her husband and rode away. An

    hour later, after nightfall, he repassed the plantation, going

    northward in the direction from which he had come. He was a Federal

    scout.

    III

    As Peyton Farquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lost

    consciousness and was as one already dead. From this state he was

    awakened--ages later, it seemed to him--by the pain of a sharp

    pressure upon his throat, followed by a sense of suffocation. Keen,

    poignant agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every

    fiber of his body and limbs. These pains appeared to flash along well

    defined lines of ramification and to beat with an inconceivably rapid

    periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating him

    to an intolerable temperature. As to his head, he was conscious of

    nothing but a feeling of fullness--of congestion. These sensations

    were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature

    was already effaced; he had power only to feel, and feeling was

    torment. He was conscious of motion. Encompassed in a luminous cloud,

    of which he was now merely the fiery heart, without material

    substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a

    vast pendulum. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light

    about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful

    roaring was in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of

    thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had

    fallen into the stream. There was no additional strangulation; the

    noose about his neck was already suffocating him and kept the water

    from his lungs. To die of hanging at the bottom of a river!--the idea

    seemed to him ludicrous. He opened his eyes in the darkness and saw

    above him a gleam of light, but how distant, how inaccessible! He was

    still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a

    mere glimmer. Then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he

    was rising toward the surface--knew it with reluctance, for he was now

    very comfortable. "To be hanged and drowned," he thought, "that is

    not so bad; but I do not wish to be shot. No; I will not be shot;

    that is not fair."

    He was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in his wrist

    apprised him that he was trying to free his hands. He gave the

    struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat of a

    juggler, without interest in the outcome. What splendid effort!--what

    magnificent, what superhuman strength! Ah, that was a fine endeavor!

    Bravo! The cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the

    hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He watched them

    with a new interest as first one and then the other pounced upon the

    noose at his neck. They tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside,

    its undulations resembling those of a water snake. "Put it back, put

    it back!" He thought he shouted these words to his hands, for the

    undoing of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang that he had

    yet experienced. His neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire, his

    heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to

    force itself out at his mouth. His whole body was racked and wrenched

    with an insupportable anguish! But his disobedient hands gave no heed

    to the command. They beat the water vigorously with quick, downward

    strokes, forcing him to the surface. He felt his head emerge; his

    eyes were blinded by the sunlight; his chest expanded convulsively,

    and with a supreme and crowning agony his lungs engulfed a great

    draught of air, which instantly he expelled in a shriek!

    He was now in full possession of his physical senses. They were,

    indeed, preternaturally keen and alert. Something in the awful

    disturbance of his organic system had so exalted and refined them that

    they made record of things never before perceived. He felt the

    ripples upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck.

    He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual

    trees, the leaves and the veining of each leaf--he saw the very

    insects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant bodied flies, the gray

    spiders stretching their webs from twig to twig. He noted the

    prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass.

    The humming of the gnats that danced above the eddies of the stream,

    the beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water

    spiders' legs, like oars which had lifted their boat--all these made

    audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the

    rush of its body parting the water.

    He had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the

    visible world seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point,

    and he saw the bridge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the

    captain, the sergeant, the two privates, his executioners. They were

    in silhouette against the blue sky. They shouted and gesticulated,

    pointing at him. The captain had drawn his pistol, but did not fire;

    the others were unarmed. Their movements were grotesque and horrible,

    their forms gigantic.

    Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water

    smartly within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with

    spray. He heard a second report, and saw one of the sentinels with

    his rifle at his shoulder, a light cloud of blue smoke rising from the

    muzzle. The man in the water saw the eye of the man on the bridge

    gazing into his own through the sights of the rifle. He observed that

    it was a gray eye and remembered having read that gray eyes were

    keenest, and that all famous marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this one

    had missed.

    A counter-swirl had caught Farquhar and turned him half round; he was

    again looking at the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound

    of a clear, high voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out behind

    him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and

    subdued all other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears.

    Although no soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread

    significance of that deliberate, drawling, aspirated chant; the

    lieutenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's work. How

    coldly and pitilessly--with what an even, calm intonation, presaging,

    and enforcing tranquility in the men--with what accurately measured

    interval fell those cruel words:

    "Company! . . . Attention! . . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready!. . .

    Aim! . . . Fire!"

    Farquhar dived--dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his

    ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the

    volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of

    metal, singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. Some of

    them touched him on the face and hands, then fell away, continuing

    their descent. One lodged between his collar and neck; it was

    uncomfortably warm and he snatched it out.

    As he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, he saw that he had been

    a long time under water; he was perceptibly farther downstream--nearer

    to safety. The soldiers had almost finished reloading; the metal

    ramrods flashed all at once in the sunshine as they were drawn from

    the barrels, turned in the air, and thrust into their sockets. The

    two sentinels fired again, independently and ineffectually.

    The hunted man saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimming

    vigorously with the current. His brain was as energetic as his arms

    and legs; he thought with the rapidity of lightning:

    "The officer," he reasoned, "will not make that martinet's error a

    second time. It is as easy to dodge a volley as a single shot. He

    has probably already given the command to fire at will. God help me,

    I cannot dodge them all!"

    An appalling splash within two yards of him was followed by a loud,

    rushing sound, DIMINUENDO, which seemed to travel back through the air

    to the fort and died in an explosion which stirred the very river to

    its deeps! A rising sheet of water curved over him, fell down upon

    him, blinded him, strangled him! The cannon had taken an hand in the

    game. As he shook his head free from the commotion of the smitten

    water he heard the deflected shot humming through the air ahead, and

    in an instant it was cracking and smashing the branches in the forest

    beyond.

    "They will not do that again," he thought; "the next time they will

    use a charge of grape. I must keep my eye upon the gun; the smoke

    will apprise me--the report arrives too late; it lags behind the

    missile. That is a good gun."

    Suddenly he felt himself whirled round and round--spinning like a top.

    The water, the banks, the forests, the now distant bridge, fort and

    men, all were commingled and blurred. Objects were represented by

    their colors only; circular horizontal streaks of color--that was all

    he saw. He had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with a

    velocity of advance and gyration that made him giddy and sick. In few

    moments he was flung upon the gravel at the foot of the left bank of

    the stream--the southern bank--and behind a projecting point which

    concealed him from his enemies. The sudden arrest of his motion, the

    abrasion of one of his hands on the gravel, restored him, and he wept

    with delight. He dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself

    in handfuls and audibly blessed it. It looked like diamonds, rubies,

    emeralds; he could think of nothing beautiful which it did not

    resemble. The trees upon the bank were giant garden plants; he noted

    a definite order in their arrangement, inhaled the fragrance of their

    blooms. A strange roseate light shone through the spaces among their

    trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of AEolian harps.

    He had not wish to perfect his escape--he was content to remain in

    that enchanting spot until retaken.

    A whiz and a rattle of grapeshot among the branches high above his

    head roused him from his dream. The baffled cannoneer had fired him a

    random farewell. He sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank,

    and plunged into the forest.

    All that day he traveled, laying his course by the rounding sun. The

    forest seemed interminable; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not

    even a woodman's road. He had not known that he lived in so wild a

    region. There was something uncanny in the revelation.

    By nightfall he was fatigued, footsore, famished. The thought of his

    wife and children urged him on. At last he found a road which led him

    in what he knew to be the right direction. It was as wide and

    straight as a city street, yet it seemed untraveled. No fields

    bordered it, no dwelling anywhere. Not so much as the barking of a

    dog suggested human habitation. The black bodies of the trees formed

    a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a point,

    like a diagram in a lesson in perspective. Overhead, as he looked up

    through this rift in the wood, shone great golden stars looking

    unfamiliar and grouped in strange constellations. He was sure they

    were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign

    significance. The wood on either side was full of singular noises,

    among which--once, twice, and again--he distinctly heard whispers in

    an unknown tongue.

    His neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly

    swollen. He knew that it had a circle of black where the rope had

    bruised it. His eyes felt congested; he could no longer close them.

    His tongue was swollen with thirst; he relieved its fever by thrusting

    it forward from between his teeth into the cold air. How softly the

    turf had carpeted the untraveled avenue--he could no longer feel the

    roadway beneath his feet!

    Doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking,

    for now he sees another scene--perhaps he has merely recovered from a

    delirium. He stands at the gate of his own home. All is as he left

    it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. He must

    have traveled the entire night. As he pushes open the gate and passes

    up the wide white walk, he sees a flutter of female garments; his

    wife, looking fresh and cool and sweet, steps down from the veranda to

    meet him. At the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a smile

    of ineffable joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity. Ah, how

    beautiful she is! He springs forwards with extended arms. As he is

    about to clasp her he feels a stunning blow upon the back of the neck;

    a blinding white light blazes all about him with a sound like the

    shock of a cannon--then all is darkness and silence!

    Peyton Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently

    from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.

  18. Posted

    Wow, that reminds me of this one time at Band Camp!!

    That was a very outdated American Pie refrence on my part and I do apologise, next i'll quote Austin Powers!!! But seriously see this movie, or by all that is holy your tuba will rust! (that is if you play tuba) if you play a wood wind you'll be fine.

  19. Posted

    I went to Wal-mart this evening and purchased "Doctor Strange" and I must say it was worth it. For those of you who are not familiar with him, Strange was once a brilliant doctor until he is in an accident that results in the shattering of every bone in his hands. After spending his fortune in a vain attempt at healing, he is told of a healer in Tabet, he travels there and meets the ancient one a sorcerer supreme who decides to train him. Strange is connected to magic and excels at it eventually he takes over as Sorcerer Supreme. The movie kind of jumbles the origin with a few other comic arcs including Strange villain The demonic Dormammu (for those old enough to remember Spider-Man animated series from the early 90's have seen him before). So if you like action, adventure and a little magic pick up Doctor Strange, It'll have you saying "By the eye of Agamoto, this is cool!"

    Also on a very funny side note as I was leaving the store two guys were stopped by store security who was checking their recepts on purchases of PS2 when all of the sudden they just bolted, dropping the bags and hoffing it out to the parking lot. they had stolen them somehow and as the guard gave chase they made it to their car and sped away nearly hitting a family in the process, but employees has got the plate number from the car. As we were leaving a cop car flew by us heading for the store. It is unknown if they were caught, i'll check the newspaper tomorrow and update, if anybody wants me to.

  20. Posted

    lol i saw a preview of it were they were fighting some huge mongolian dude.

    "I don't know what you feeding him but he is TOO DAMN BIG!!!!"

    lol...

    It was a martial arts studio where Soo Yung taught. Following this their is a very funny scene where Carter and the master Yu have a very funny exchange(

    Dojo Master: May I Help You?

    Detective James Carter: I'll be asking the questions old man. Who are you?

    Dojo Master: Yu.

    Detective James Carter: No not me you!

    Dojo Master: Yes I'm Yu!

    Detective James Carter: Are you deaf?

    Dojo Master: No Yu is blind!

    Detective James Carter: I'm not blind, you blind

    Dojo Master: That is what I just said.

    Detective James Carter: You just said what?

    Dojo Master: I did not say what, I said Yu.

    Detective James Carter: That's what I'm asking you!

    Dojo Master: And Yu is answering.

    Detective James Carter: Shutup!

    Detective James Carter: You!

    Dojo Master: Yes?

    Detective James Carter: Not You, Him! What's Your name?

    Dojo Student: Mi.

    Detective James Carter: Yes You!

    Dojo Student: I'm Mi.

    Dojo Master: He's Mi and I'm Yu.

    Detective James Carter: And I'm about to whoop your old ass man because I am sick of playing games!

    .)

  21. Posted

    I just saw "Rush Hour 3" and i have to say that this is the best of the series. Lee and Carter return 6 years later to take on the deadly Triads who want to keep a mysterious list of their leaders safe. They fail to kill the former Chinese Consul now ambassador Han, and his daughter Soo Yung. Which reunites Lee and Carter after a falling out (Carter accidentally shot Lee's girlfriend Isabella Molina "The Secret Service agent from Rush Hour 2" in the neck causing some oxygen loss to the brain which gave her a droopy eye ). They travel to Paris with action and laughs as their carry-on luggage. If you are a fan of the Rush Hour series (or not) see this movie it'll have you rolling in the aisles.

    post-4364-1186953415_thumb.jpg

  22. Posted

    They should do an episode of Smallville based on the "Superman: The Animated Series" episode "New Kids in Town", in which Cosmic Boy, Chameleon Boy, and Saturn Girl travel through time to save a young Clark from Brainiac. One change is that insted of Cosmic boy have Lightning Lad insted.

  23. Posted

    Just downloaded a preview of this game for free on the Wii shop channel. This game looks awesome. Unfortunately it's just a video and not a playable demo.

  25. Posted

    ooooo, i gotst chillzes down me spinal coulum.

    if you like this you should check out the "Scary stories to tell in the dark" series of books.