<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Thu, 19 Dec 2024 03:16:27 +0000</lastBuildDate><title>Folded Rockets</title><description></description><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-1090838914873254131</guid><pubDate>Tue, 07 Oct 2008 21:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-07T14:51:45.187-07:00</atom:updated><title>Blah.</title><atom:summary type="text">There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.-Ernest HemingwayI sit here and I write. I&#39;m distracted, I waste time, but I write. I lay down and I dream, I think and I write. I make words but I can&#39;t write. There&#39;s no art without blood, without sweat and tears. There&#39;s no value without sacrifice, there&#39;s no meaning without pain.    The road of a doctor is glamorous</atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/10/blah.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-1167993578546965895</guid><pubDate>Sun, 21 Sep 2008 07:34:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-21T01:05:22.701-07:00</atom:updated><title>My Mission</title><atom:summary type="text">I was on Google Maps today doing things that can&#39;t be considered even remotely productive. (Although now I do know it would take you 40 days to walk from California to Connecticut) Anyways, I began zooming in on both populated and remote parts of the world. Nothing too interesting. But then I thought that there has to be a car crash or accident somewhere.Not good enough.Out of 6 billion people </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-mission.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-z0Tn6I6OseG5_CTwbmQlJm0C8xkkoXaoWYTbOgzxjKhRE2zZOFHtWcEeGGxTxs54KcgGtERtMqDluwK-Cnvp-5icR8gEN1Ur-Vd9pWFZRwZYzOOrGnh-zfebPNjK4JRENagEV99tB8/s72-c/Ultra+zoom.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-4920579271816157058</guid><pubDate>Fri, 19 Sep 2008 21:30:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-20T00:56:28.132-07:00</atom:updated><title>I Suck at Poker</title><atom:summary type="text">Poker is like sex. Everyone thinks they&#39;re great at it, but almost no one knows what they&#39;re doing.-A wise old manI suck at poker, you probably suck at poker. If you know someone that says they&#39;re good at poker they -without a doubt- suck horse cock at poker. Some people who claim they&#39;d be winning players if it wasn&#39;t for all the donkeys, really? Ok, let me put you up against professionals, I&#39;m </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-suck-at-poker.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsHTt0OZ4TLoyRArKLH4sO_ASgSMAt8PKIRxJ-TVyXpAGeogeBNRZHvJcVLX8xFAiW1resjqLlxMSvEldcQ_vd6BHpUXzLD3WwcTkpezLE1uPbiHX37hAoVFnbCGBtJE_7z389CkfCGwQ/s72-c/Donkey.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-2784821991234788927</guid><pubDate>Wed, 17 Sep 2008 20:42:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-17T13:55:36.982-07:00</atom:updated><title>The End Is Near...</title><atom:summary type="text">In a previous post I alluded to my utter disdain for &#39;hipsters&#39;. There were several reasons, but I knew there was something else, a deeper reason. Like that feeling you get after eating too much Taco Bell and you think to yourself &quot;Something bad is going to happen&quot;. You don&#39;t know exactly why, but you just know. This article  explains it better than I ever can. Enjoy</atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/09/end-is-near.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79W97v2wuLbuHxsEQTgA6q0BkcS-LwSlhRcsK3CafuovBrzol5OhaZ0ol5oVbO4mOjkXuVAL9vb6d9o7f5xNkBUK2Rc6Dv2OEbiAynIXt8C26cnYdcRvxGo-85KUJkdv65N_I_KZU2K0/s72-c/Brick+Lane+hipsters.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-7561183714422800862</guid><pubDate>Wed, 17 Sep 2008 08:36:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-17T13:12:52.074-07:00</atom:updated><title>My Blog, America and Poker</title><atom:summary type="text">Several of my readers (yes, all 3 of you) have complained  that my blog isn&#39;t very blog-like.   I succumb to your demands. I shall post more often about the trivial challenges of my everyday life. You will join me in my uphill battle with employment, productivity and human interaction. As well as my bitter and oh so witty rants that you&#39;ve all come to love.There are certain things that put a </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-blog-and-america.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Jn0VU_xL9gmcg07jc-tCLLp4AoQPcXDRAEJE0GEufs5BN-w6UIcXz5VvjIp5qKhHgWYrKz2-ej73VA2CSaLSemgZBeM67r_7PhAMa4DmjD4t2wfB9HfOp5WZrgWAAQpIndPOxmSz5Rc/s72-c/Priorities.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-3692397591378353148</guid><pubDate>Sat, 13 Sep 2008 06:29:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-21T00:58:33.533-07:00</atom:updated><title>What do you mean, try?</title><atom:summary type="text">Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try.  -YodaThis is Yoda                   This highly overused, cliché of a quote from one of the greatest Jedi masters of all time is completely taken out of context to prove the point I want. This may sound hypocritical, -since I constantly criticize the plethora of wannabe intellectuals who quote philosophers out of context- but trust me, our motives are </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-do-you-mean-try.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdhLp7vGBJjPrrSHuDumoDkNXZ_32c9K_EGoAFP-2AdY3667Zke8EKFYH3BC4h8wtR9wODh-H1FpN9RUHCNzRvYRDoTcRRXbiMYiJKPmFf9XIMTapv0_Z1M0PVpJPEDWdRiDjfJOf_Gw/s72-c/yoda.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-6748874460658570593</guid><pubDate>Tue, 24 Jun 2008 18:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-26T17:48:11.144-07:00</atom:updated><title>Failure To Succeed Part 1</title><atom:summary type="text">*This blog, as well as the people mentioned in the stories, will remain completely anonymous and pseudonyms shall be used due to incriminating (read: that time you fucked a fatty) events.&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;“Your pizza is ready”I sign the voucher and take the pizza from the greasy cashier. We managed to get the only table – nothing short of a miracle—in the whole restaurant. The price </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/06/failure-to-succeed-part-1.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-7735835320588739311</guid><pubDate>Mon, 23 Jun 2008 23:58:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-12T19:43:41.291-08:00</atom:updated><title>Don&#39;t Quit Your Day Job Part 3</title><atom:summary type="text">So, are you interested? After reading that you still think you’re up for it? Well, answer these questions then. 1) How far are you willing to go?&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;2) How good is your self-esteem?3) Are you a good actor?5) Are you willing to let someone be the most important thing in your life one day and leave them the next?6) Can you handle being completely alone?Here are the correct </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/06/dont-quit-your-day-job-part-3.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF6Y1S4MecVy5MuOVXtbJsqlmgKEb0pHSHok-E0rm1GUjhuZEDuZIX7DLuBaRj1IicoCMcA7WgSlJ_A4FlZC15l6Ku9lOO-pwI-BHJyqZZKpzna58gTPI4ZfEWbr_X1_coEa75qbmWI8o/s72-c/newburg3.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-1506565604272163614</guid><pubDate>Mon, 23 Jun 2008 23:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-12T19:43:41.749-08:00</atom:updated><title>Don&#39;t Quit Your Day Job Part 2</title><atom:summary type="text">How do you get here? Why do girls flock to your room? Why you? There are dozens of books, instructional videos and websites dedicated to the art of picking up girls. There’s a whole community (more like cult) of these guys, Mystery, David DeAngelo or Ross Jeffries; each guy with their own technique, whether it’s cold-readings, pre-determined lines or overall scummy techniques. If you want a quick</atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/06/dont-quit-your-day-job-part-2.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFRe5nTJQmSD0Pu6-AhfChjFlKqjXOJ2Vn5T7nWW006nFGD7_cPUw3ShrCI4uFHJjD09lpFTxU5FKG3jrnvqAcwAjw95phuB9yWZIEUy5onEHTYBbJXN8e08R43RnDhK_GY9luTaiESE/s72-c/51xT9fKEaHL.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-3062162112197693155</guid><pubDate>Mon, 23 Jun 2008 22:23:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-06-24T11:32:24.556-07:00</atom:updated><title>Don&#39;t Quit Your Day Job Part 1</title><atom:summary type="text">God: Bender, being God isn&#39;t easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you, and if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch. Like a safecracker, or a pickpocket.Bender: Or a guy who burns down a bar for the insurance money!God: Yes, if you make it look like an electrical thing. When you do things right,people won&#39;t be sure you&#39;ve done anything at all.-Godfellas, </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/06/dont-quit-your-day-job-part-1.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-290394330355609003</guid><pubDate>Mon, 05 May 2008 00:57:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-01T22:25:19.640-07:00</atom:updated><title>Fugitives on the Run: Part 2</title><atom:summary type="text">I knew I couldn’t, it was off limits. This was the last time we were going to see each other. Terribly tragic, I know, but what can you do? Three years ago I wouldn’t believe this site. I hated Lola when I met her, snobby, stuck up and, like every other high school elite, spoiled to the core, I guess people can change. Me, I was unmotivated, used drugs and had a blatant disregard for authority; I</atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/05/fugitives-on-run-part-2.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-9088380005697028530</guid><pubDate>Mon, 05 May 2008 00:47:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-07-01T22:20:28.546-07:00</atom:updated><title>Fugitives on the Run: Part 1</title><atom:summary type="text">&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;&quot;If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it&quot;-Ernest Hemingway I stood at the edge of the train stop and gazed at the beautiful scenery. Battered old rusty train tracks, littered with beer bottles, fliers and the occasional half-joint, I’m pretty sure I saw a dream or two lying around there. It was comforting knowing that our lives relied on these </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/05/fugitives-on-run-part-1.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-2855500098676812894</guid><pubDate>Sun, 23 Mar 2008 23:22:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-12T19:43:41.955-08:00</atom:updated><title>My Folded Rockets Part 2</title><atom:summary type="text">I know, I’ve heard all the pro-college arguments already. Those people didn’t work hard enough. Finish the degree, a diploma is a foot in the door. What good is a foot in the door when the room’s already packed? The professors are accomplished professionals. Going to a big school you encounter two types of classes.1) Huge lectures given by PhD’s who don’t give a crap because they’re teaching the </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/03/my-folded-rockets-part-2.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx63RU4yUic9lAO-e2rdiiqkoaHNfBnS-m0d_F-gJ_Zn1c5ek0wOzJMsAICdU64WxzGhatmrns608AI5YDaqCaGzRcXz6CSx90RsJlTF-FJlQH-GWHWOQUEW3PbcOS8OZ9H6j63W4Liog/s72-c/a&amp;D.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2460124149938460995.post-8623029953666792240</guid><pubDate>Sun, 23 Mar 2008 23:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-12T19:43:42.190-08:00</atom:updated><title>My Folded Rockets Part 1</title><atom:summary type="text">There’s nothing worse than not knowing how to open an essay. You got all the ideas floating around in that noggin of yours, but the part that puts them together is still napping off the suspiciously cheap vodka from last night. Well, here it goes, I’m folding my rockets, I’m going to lay down the best hand I’ve been dealt.               I’m currently a student of a second-tier state university </atom:summary><link>http://cheeseburner.blogspot.com/2008/03/my-folded-rockets-part-1.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Cheeseburner)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHLDW2JmuRSSYT3zVNRpIOYJqOz_EfTYkBvlLtWwbZX9Z92qbT9ZSRUsuwHbIFUgzQ5DyVb9tk38CH44aVYNy4db7eYo85gNM7cQG2ndwEnisW6onINJFt5MDcLlaVnGZmtmKI6KORJc/s72-c/MCD.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>