Date One of My Biases! Sunday, Aug 11 2013 

So tonight, I finally finished my first game. Go me! I started this last year, worked on it for about a day, and then promptly forgot about it. I finally remembered it tonight, so I figured I should finish it up and put it out there for the world to enjoy.

It’s a short, completely ridiculous dating sim based around bedding my favorite k-pop idols. Click the link below to download it and get playing! I apologize in advance for any formatting issues/ugliness that occurs– PowerPoint loads differently on different computers, so things may look a little odd on your end.

Date One of Cheyanne’s Biases!

Once you’ve got the PowerPoint open on your computer, I would suggest going to the Slideshow tab, clicking ‘Set up SlideShow,’ and making sure the Slideshow is in Kiosk mode to prevent accidental clicks that might throw you off while you try to play the game.



Work-Out Journal Monday, Jun 17 2013 

I think the title is pretty self-explanatory. I’ve started working out!

Now, if you’re picturing something like this,



STOP, because I am in awful shape right now and would die if I tried some shit like that.

But anyway, I do want to get some regular exercise in because that stuff is important, you know? Also, I need to bulk up if I’m ever going to become a professional wrestler.

Look at this guy. I look nothing like that.

Look at this guy. I look nothing like that.

So, because I can’t step out the door without having an adventure, I figured I’d chronicle my path to greatness here on this blog for you all to enjoy.

Day 1

I checked the weather the day before, and next to a big ass picture of a sun were the numbers, ’84.’ 84 flippin’ degrees. Just great.



But I figured, hey, the hotter the better. I’ll sweat away the laziness. I headed over to a big ass steep hill a few blocks away from my house. I started sweating just walking over there, which didn’t bode well.

I jogged up and down the massive hill three times, and then walked for another six blocks or so to the bank, (to get some banking done).  On my way back from the bank, I felt a few drops of rain, which of course turned into a fucking twenty-minute monsoon, most of which I spent huddled inside of a bodega, sheepishly avoiding eye contact with the guy at the counter.

I'd say this is a pretty accurate image of what it looked like outside.

I’d say this is a pretty accurate image of what it looked like outside.

After the rain finally let up, I ran my ass home. I had wanted to trek up the hill a few more times, but I didn’t want to get caught in the rain again.

When I got home, my dad welcomed me by asking, “Why don’t you just run on the treadmill?”

WHAT A FOOL HE IS. The treadmill is really scary. Running on it makes me feel like it’s gonna fall through the floor any second. Who needs that?

Secret death trap.

Secret death trap.

The Pepsi Conspiracy Thursday, May 24 2012 

Pepsi is pretty much the best soda in the history of ever.

In case you forgot what it looks like.

Now, you may be thinking one of four things:

  1. “Yes, Pepsi is amazing and delicious.”
  3. “Pssh, they both taste the same…”
  4. “Can we get to the conspiracy already?”

But no one cares about you and your thoughts. The real problem here is that, back in the day, it was really easy to get some Pepsi in my belly. Go to the store, buy a bottle, and enjoy.

But no more.

In the past two years, I’ve noticed that the Pepsi bottles have gotten increasingly impossible to open after closing them. And no, it’s not because I’m a weakling, because even my dad has trouble. So there.

And my dad looks like this.

You may not know this, but Pepsi does in fact have a hotline that you can call and use to bitch at them for whatever reason. I decided to take advantage of this fact earlier this month and see what they had to say about my problem.


I called the number and then immediately hung up, my phone-conversation-anxiety taking over. After a quick pep talk, (“Come on bitch, if you don’t make this call, you’re gonna have jack shit to write about in your blog post this week.”); I dialed again and waited until an operator answered.

“Hi, I’m [name redacted]. How can I help you today?” [Name redacted]’s voice held the tone of someone who wanted to go home right the fuck now, but still had a few more hours to go in their workday.

“Hi, [name redacted],” I said cheerily, trying to lighten things up. “I’ve been having some trouble lately.” I paused, allowing [name redacted] some time to go, “Oh, really?” or something else that would encourage me to continue. She said nothing.

“I’ve been drinking Pepsi for more than a decade now, but recently I noticed the bottles are getting harder to open. I don’t suppose if you know if the caps or the neck of the bottle have been redesigned lately?”

“Um…” [Name redacted] was stumped. “Actually, we don’t make the bottles ourselves. We buy them from a bottle distributor; they’re the ones who handle the bottles.”

“Oh,” I went. “That makes a lot of sense,” I continued, because it did.

“Well, why don’t you give me the bar code number of the bottles and I can report them for you?” [Name redacted] suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” I said sheepishly. I read the number to her and she asked for my address so she could send me some coupons.

So at least the call wasn’t a complete waste.

I hung up with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was happy to have some coupons, but on the other hand, I hadn’t gotten any answers.

I turned to the internet next, which is probably where I should’ve gone in the first place, because it took me literally four minutes to find the culprit of my bottle woes.

Here it is folks… Are you ready?

Pepsi apparently changed the necks and caps of their bottles in an effort to conserve plastic, which has made them harder to open. Which I guess is better than those new Poland Spring bottles that, while easier to open than the new Pepsi bottles, have a tendency to spill water everywhere as you try to open said bottle. (Or is that just me?)

This is how I open bottles, by the way.

Anyway. The world now has it’s answers. Are you satisfied? Because I’m not. After all… My soda is still hard as fuck to open.

THE ADVENTURES OF KEYCASTLE1388 Thursday, May 17 2012 

I remember the frenzy that people were sent into when Pottermore first went live and you had to jump through a series of hoops involving having to insert all seven Harry Potter books up your butt and then see which page wouldn’t fit and enter that on the site or something like that.

A lot of people had to stop and go to the hospital around book five.

I remember thinking it was all very cute, and that perhaps I might join one day when you didn’t have to circle every fifth letter of each odd numbered book and unscramble it to make the Latin words for ‘YOU HAVE NO LIFE,’ and enter that into the site and pray for an invitation.


That day came like two weeks ago when I was bored and decided to type ‘pottermore’ into my search bar and begin a magical journey.


This is me. I don’t have any house points because fuck my house. Also I am a cat.


Day 1

The majority of Pottermore is unbearably boring. You wait a few minutes for an interactive picture to load and then you can click around and find treasures such as:

‘Send as gift,’ so that your friends can hate you.

As you can tell, I’m using the word ‘treasure’ very, very loosely. You can also discover some shit that J.K. Rowling wrote exclusively for Pottermore, and enjoy that. And by ‘enjoy,’ I of course mean ‘ignore.’

Eventually I got to do some interesting stuff, like buy shit and get a wand.

Which looks suspiciously like a turd.

I was sorted into a house eventually too. Gryffindor. Poking around the common room, I found that directly underneath the big ‘Gryffindor house,’ there was smaller text, that read: Bravery & Chivalry.

Would it have killed them to capitalize the ‘h’ in ‘house’? IT’S DRIVING ME INSANE.

That’s right, one of my house’s main tenets is sexism. GREAT.

Day 2

After that… Alarming discovery, I ignored Pottermore for like two weeks. But my friends were talking about it so I decided to hop back into the thick of things and start pottermore-ing it up.

I gained three new friends and discovered that you could give them nicknames, which is convenient for when I can’t be bothered to try and remember who the fuck ‘ShinyAirBubble666’ is. I somehow resisted the urge to give all my friends really ridiculous nicknames and just settled for their actual names.

I also found out that you get house points, although I’m not sure how. I briefly considered whoring myself out to other users for points, (and I don’t mean begging, I mean literally whoring). I figured it would definitely spice things up on this site clearly meant for children…

… Yeah, or not. I guess I’ll have to get points the old-fashioned way.

Whatever that is.

How To Make My Job Harder Thursday, Feb 9 2012 

For two weeks now I’ve been working as a part-time field promoter for various spas. My job entails the following three things:

– House to house distribution (Basically I leave coupons and shit in front of, [or inside of], people’s houses).

– Store to store distribution (I ask store owners if I can leave some coupons inside the store where customers will see it).

– Flyer distribution (I hand the coupons out to random people on the street).

The one that probably affects you, the average human being, the most, is house to house distribution. I work at the same time you work or go to school, so chances are you won’t be home to stop me from leaving you coupons for a  discounted massage or a free body wax.

What a deal.

However, if the thought of saving money on such luxuries turns your stomach, there are ways you can thwart me while away from home, and I’ve taken the time to list them for you below.

1. Purchase a ‘No Advertisements’ sign

Like this.

Before I worked as a field promoter, I used to shake my head and laugh at these signs. They were always ignored, and for good reason: it’s just a sign– not exactly the most threatening thing in the world.

No, that would be Semi Precious Weapons, according to Google Images.

But take notice, these signs do mean business. In fact, if I were to leave advertisements at a house with such a sign, they would have grounds to fine the companies I work for. Probably not for billions and billions of dollars, but you know, enough for to make them want to fire me.

2. Seal your door shut

The most common maneuver to leave coupons at people’s houses is to jam the coupon in the small space between the door and the door frame.

No door is safe.

Failing that, I will jam it in between the door and the floor. Most of the time, there’s plenty of room to shove some shit in there and keep it movin’ to the next house.

However, if you were to, let’s say, jam the bodies of dead cats into the crevices around the door, well I’d be shit out of luck and would probably just call the police.

3. Buy a gate

One of the worst parts of my job is having to open people’s gates to get to their porch, (which is where I have to leave the coupons). Most people’s gates are loud and creepy, and some of them are so confusing that I just end up skipping the house.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to surround your house with a fake gate that does not open. Use a tunnel that opens up into your backyard to get in and out of the house.


Tiptoeing Towards Legitimacy Sunday, Feb 5 2012 

My blog now has categories. A whopping FOURTEEN of ’em.

Now, I know what you’re thinking– “Wow Chey, it must’ve took you hours to go through all your old blog posts and sort them into categories whilst continuously making new ones on the way! Days, even!”

And you’re absolutely right. It took forever. So appreciate them.

The categories are:

Blog Update

Body Mod



Legacy of Kain

Let’s Make Fun of Things



Sex Toys

Shitty Movies

Tellin’ A Story

Video Games


Now, I don’t know if you noticed, but all of those are clickable links that’ll take you to all the posts under that category. So go ahead, take some time and look at some categories that tickle your fancy.  You can also use the new ‘Categories’ drop-down menu to your left for a similar effect. I won’t judge you if all you do is click on is ‘Sex Toys’ and call it a day. I’m not a cop. Do your thing.

The Dark Side of Industrial Piercings Thursday, Feb 2 2012 

One of my last few posts before my hiatus detailed my experience getting an industrial piercing in my right ear. For the most part, it wasn’t so bad. The piercing itself was painful for about two days, and then the pain went away and I was left with a really cool looking piercing that would need some upkeep, but would supposedly bother me no more.


Here are a few things you should know if you’re considering getting an industrial piercing. No one told me these things, because, I don’t know, everyone else who has one is an asshole who doesn’t like sharing information with the world like I do.

1. They Take For-Fucking-Ever to Heal

Alright, I’ll admit, I had already known that the industrial piercing took longer than most other piercings to heal. ‘But whatever,’ I thought, ‘I can deal with a longer healing time. It’s in my ear, so it’s no biggie.’

Actually, it’s a huge fucking biggie. Every time I go to clean the damn thing, (which I have to do three times a day), there’s some new crusty mixture of blood and shit that I assume was never meant to see the light of day.

Nope, it's not pie crust, (unfortunately).

The piercing itself also likes to get stuck in the funk, so I can’t even play with the piercing and twirl it around like a baton, which I would like to be able to. For reasons.

Look at how much fun she's having!

2. Everything Will Try To Infect It

When I first got my piercing, I had some vague knowledge of infections. I knew you probably shouldn’t rub dirt on the piercing or let people tongue-fuck it or whatever, but apparently there is a wide range of things trying to poison your piercing and make your ear fall off.

  • Hair
  • Glasses
  • Phones
  • Pillowcases
  • Fucking anything your ear comes in the slightest contact with

The important thing to remember here is that, with the industrial piercing, you’ve got two relatively large, (for things that have been stabbed through your ear), open wounds that are just chilling and taking their sweet, sweet time to heal.

And it’s important to keep that in mind, because, as soon as you get the piercing…

3. It Will Create It’s Own Gravitational Pull

Like this, I guess.

Okay, not really. It’s just a piercing, not a small bar-shaped planet.

But I swear to God, ever since I got my industrial, everyone and their mother is trying to touch it.

Whether they’re patting me on the head, smashing their ear against mine as we hug, trying to run their fingers through my hair, putting my glasses on me, it all ends in excruciating pain. I’ve grown quite accustom to ducking and screaming, “My ear! My ear!” Before anyone even gets within a foot of the piercing. Because like I said, they’re open wounds. If I shot you in the stomach and then tried to jam my finger in there, you’d be less than pleased about it too.

Now, does all this mean that industrial piercings suck ass and you should never get one? Of course not. They’re fucking awesome. Just keep the above information in mind. There are enough surprises in life.

P.S. And if you like tucking your hair behind your ear, you can kiss that goodbye, too!

Shitty Movies: Megan Is Missing Thursday, Jan 26 2012 

My sweet two month hiatus was very nice and I hope you all didn’t miss me too much. Now, onto the blog!


(Shitty Movies is a new series where I take a shitty movie that I’ve seen and break it down for you. This week, we have…)

Megan Is Missing

Megan Is Missing centers around two best friends: Megan and Amy.

Megan is the smiley one, and Amy is... The other one.

They’re 14 and 13 respectively at the beginning of the movie, which starts out slow. The first twenty minutes are pretty much dedicated to convincing you that Amy is the hugest loser in the fucking world, and Megan is the hugest slut. They go to a party and Megan blows a dude so Amy can get in and blah blah blah why is nothing interesting happening yet? They also spend a ridiculous amount of time video-chatting on their phones.

Just because.

After all that party bullshit, Megan starts talking to a boy named Josh, whom she meets in a cam chat room. His camera is “busted,” so their chats end up pretty one-sided, with Megan only able to hear Josh, who is of course, a super shady creeper. He invites Megan to meet him behind a diner, and then she is never seen again. Alive, anyway.

Megan getting abducted by Josh.

Let’s ignore the stupidity of meeting someone in real life who you haven’t even known for more than a couple of days and let’s focus instead on where they meet up. Behind a diner. I wouldn’t meet up with my best friend behind a diner, because the area behind a diner is 1. a fucking creepy spot, and 2. a pretty fucking useless spot to meet up at unless you’re actually going to the diner.

But anyway. Amy is obviously concerned about her best friend, and lets the police know that Megan was talking to some dude named Josh online right before she went missing.

Josh gets pissed and cam chats with Amy, telling her to shut up or something bad will happen to her too. He also lets her know that he’s been watching her.

Instead of calling the police or cowering in fear, Amy makes this face:

And decides that hanging out under creepy traffic bridges, (that she also mentions are prone to flooding), is the right thing to do in this situation.

While filming her video diary under one of these scenic bridges, Josh abducts her, and once more, this film takes a turn for the retarded.

Josh just so happens to have access to a rape dungeon, (I’m serious), so that’s where he keeps Amy, and, as we come to find out, Megan as well.

Amy in the aforementioned rape dungeon.

Let’s talk about this for a second.

How many people do you know have a rape dungeon built into their basement?

And I’m not even talking about a rudimentary ‘dungeon’ cobbled together with some drywall and creative curtain placement; this guy’s dungeon has stone rooms built into it that lock from the outside and have shackles inside of them and everything. This couldn’t have been a summer project on this guy’s part; this is a fucking professional dungeon he has here. You’d have to hire contractors to get a dungeon of that quality.

But how the fuck do you explain this to a contractor? Take a moment and try to think about how you would convince a contractor to help you build a rape dungeon in your basement. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

But anyway. Josh locks Amy in his dungeon and makes her eat dog food.

He also rapes her, because, hey, why not.

After this ordeal, Josh decides that he’s had enough of torturing Amy and stuffs her into a barrel, along with Megan’s rotting corpse.

Which looks like this.

He seals the barrel up, drags it outside, and starts to dig.

And dig.

And dig.

And then he digs some more.

Josh digs for a good ten minutes straight, (let me repeat that for you, TEN MINUTES OF DIGGING), while Amy screams and pleads with him from inside the barrel. If that sounds at all scary or interesting in the slightest– trust me, it’s anything but.

Josh finally finishes digging his hole and tosses the barrel inside. He buries it and the movie ends as he stands over the now buried barrel; Amy’s cries just faintly audible.

Yay! What a happy ending. But I guess that’s the point, isn’t it? Purportedly, this movie is supposed to make you think twice about meeting people online. But if you needed to watch a terrible movie to give you some common sense, then you’ve got bigger issues.

Getting Pierced the Fuck Up– A Long Story. Sunday, Nov 13 2011 

About three hours ago, I got an industrial piercing. For those of you not in the know, an industrial piercing looks like this:

As you may have deduced, an industrial piercing is actually two piercings, with a bar jammed into them. I don’t know what exactly compelled me to want the piercing, besides the fact that I just thought it looked good. That’s enough for me, really.

Now, onto the actual experience, which I just know you all will find extremely riveting.


I walked into the tattoo shop behind a woman who I had just watched toss her cigarette out the window.

She's lucky this guy wasn't there to witness that.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“She’s here to get a piercing,” my father explained, who had accompanied me for the express reason of filming the entire thing and hoping I would cry and throw a big fit.

I knew I certainly wasn’t going to cry, (I’m not a bitch), but I was concerned that at some point I might, you know, get something in my eye and it might flood with eye juices and tear up and stuff like that.

“What kind of piercing do you want?” The woman asked.

“An industrial,” I answered.

She nodded. “Which ear?”

“My right,” I said.

She frowned. “Well, which side do you sleep on?”

“My left,” I lied. “That’s why I chose my right.” In reality, I chose my right ear because I plan to get a tattoo of some sort on the left side of my body, and I’m all about odd symmetry. Also, I prefer to hold my phone up to my left ear.

She nodded. “Okay, which piece do you like?” She asked, holding up a cushion with various barbells stabbed into it. I selected a black barbell, with points at the end.

Kiiiiind of like this, but black.

The woman nodded. “Black titanium. You’re the first to select this type,” she explained, loosening the jewelery from its cushion. I was on the verge of asking why no one else had ever chosen that type, (like, did it cause herpes or something?), but before I knew it, I was whisked off to a black chair.

No one likes herpes, after all.

My dad laughed from his perch ten feet away. “You look tight,” he teased.

“Whatever,” I replied.

The woman turned around to face me. “When was the last time you ate?” She asked.

“Uh… Like three hours ago,” I replied, beginning to feel hungry now that she had brought it up. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you know, if you’re feeling nervous–”

“I’m not gonna throw up,” I interjected with a laugh, seeing where she was heading. “I’m not that nervous. More like excited,” I finished.

“Okay,” she said, brandishing a medieval looking pair of scissors. “Lie on your side.”

“Those don’t even look sharp,” I thought to myself worriedly as the woman scrubbed at my ear and marked the incision points. “Holy shit.”

“The first one’s gonna hurt more than the second,” the woman began. “Because of all the cartilage.”

I nodded. “Alright!”

“Deep breath,” she suggested, stabbing the scissors into my ear.

I shut my eyes tight. My ear began to ache and throb incessantly, but it wasn’t insanely painful.She slid the barbell through the hole and I gasped.

“Woah,” I said, laughing. “What a weird feeling…” Because it was a weird feeling. Like getting a metal bar shoved through a fresh wound in your ear.

“Here we go,” she said, readying the scissors for the next piercing.I shut my eyes and–

“Fuck!” I exclaimed as she stabbed my ear. The second piercing had gone much quicker, but hurt like a motherfucker; way more than the first.

“All done,” the woman said, screwing the ball onto the barbell.

I sat up, surveying my ear in the mirror. It was super red and super sore, but the piercing itself looked pretty good.


Three hours later, my ear still hurts, but I love my piercing. I can switch the barbell in two weeks, and I’m already eyeing some new ones:

This one kind of reminds me of a dildo.

This one, too.

But one barbell tops them all…


Not So Great Things Thursday, Nov 10 2011 

I’ve been looking at a lot of pictures of Cthulhu lately, as semi-research for a story of mine.

To refresh your memory, (or let you know for the first time), Cthulhu is a monster created by H.P. Lovecraft, acclaimed science fiction/strange fiction writer. Cthulhu crashed to Earth from another galaxy in Earth’s antiquity and now lies sleeping underwater in the ancient city of R’yleh.

There’s lots of great art of the terrifying, amphibious monster that is Cthulhu…

And there’s also a lot of not so great art.


To be clear, let’s go over what Cthulhu is supposed to look like, as outlined in H. P. Lovecraft’s, ‘The Call of Cthulhu.’

  1. He’s got a, “pulpy, tentacled head;” reminiscent of an octopus.
  2. His body is “scaly.”
  3. He has, “rudimentary wings;” here meaning, not large enough to fly with.
  4. All in all, he looks sort of like, “an octopus… dragon.. human caricature.”
  5. HE’S FUCKING HUGE. HUGE, HUGE, HUGE. If nothing else, one should at least remember that.
  6. Also, lots of people like to make him green. Who knows why.

Here’s an example of an acceptable Cthulhu representation:

And now, here are some examples that are unacceptable:

Well, now. It’s hard to tell what the fuck is even going on here. It’s like… A brain… Attached to a stick… Attached to the body of a skinned ape? Something tells me this not what Lovecraft envisioned.

Also, why is it just strolling through what looks to be the projects?

Cthulhu, you've really let yourself go...

Ignoring the monster’s morbid obesity for a moment…



Ignore Cthulhu for a moment and direct your attention to everything else going on this picture.

A wizard, (?), the sky falling and opening up, some big ass cliff in the middle of nowhere, and, is that a crown on Cthulhu’s head..? Listen up, artists: it’s a problem when you draw a picture of Cthulhu and he’s not the craziest thing going on in the picture.

(Also, his man boobs are bothering me).

The next two pictures display some common issues with Cthulhu representations.


Many of Lovecraft’s monsters make people go insane when they look upon them. In trying to replicate that effect, (not in full, hopefully), these two artists have created monstrosities that can’t even be comprehended. If you saw it in real life, you wouldn’t be scared– you’d be confused as fuck. And that’s not that scary.

Except maybe in Math class.

Here are some more crappy Cthulhu pictures to give you nightmares:

"Um, we said, 'draw Cthulhu,' not a fucking dragon."

Purple Cthulhu loves the ladies...

This is, at the very least, scary in it's own way...

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