<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205</id><updated>2012-01-24T11:37:28.864-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I AM FROM THE FUTURE</title><subtitle type='html'>I'm from the future. Get used to it. I know all kinds of crazy shit about everything. And I'm mega rich cos I just won the lottery. Because I'm from the future.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-114260827925246151</id><published>2006-03-03T18:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-17T07:17:46.506-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chatting</title><content type='html'>Me and Bill are getting on okay now, we ate some strawberry laces and caught up and stuff. It was pretty cool. Anyway, I was chatting with him online earlier and he said he doesn't get a fair deal on my blog. So I thought I'd post one of our chats here so you can all decide for yourselves. As you can see, he gets real mad with me for no reason, and then bails on me just as I need his help. Don't get me wrong, he's okay for a person from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt; time, but he's a real loser compared with people from the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: OPEN COMMUNICATION CHANNEL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: Hey, whassup?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Bill. I can't work the food synthesizing unit. I'm fucking hungry. It turns on, and then it pings, but there's no food inside.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: Are you talking about the microwave?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: It's a box that pings. I'm sure I've seen you synthesize food in it at your place... This one is a fucking piece of shit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: I think you're talking about the microwave...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: I worked out you have to operate it manually... I think the voice activation is broken. I kept saying "Food synthesizer. On. Activate program greasy beefburger and fries", but it didn't respond. I tried for like half an hour and I got nothing. Piece of shit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: I don't think it's broken, you just can't use your voice to work it. You have to put food in first, it just heats food up, that's all. It doesn't make food out of thin air or anything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: It doesn't have voice activation? Why is it that only androids have voice activation in the past?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: Jeez... For the last time there are NO ANDROIDS here. My parents are NOT androids!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Your mother is an especially sexy model. Where'd you get them?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: You have to stop this. My Dad was really freaked out when you said "Android male: parental mode deactivate. Homework completion mode activate" when you came round to do algebra the other day...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Your mom is way too sexy to be human. Plus she always brings me food and stuff. You can't expect me to believe she's not an android.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: I'm not joking. They're human. You have to STOP doing this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Are your android parents there? Can they see the screen? ANDROID FEMALE: GREASY BEEFBURGER AND FRIES PROGRAM ACTIVATE. DELIVERY CO-ORDINATES TO FOLLOW.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: I'm going to logoff if you don't stop this, you're really pissing me off&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Don't get your lead thong in a twist. I'm just fucking hungry. I'll try putting some food in that microwave piece of crap.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: Okay. Look, I have to go now. I've got homework to do, and my parents are breathing down my neck.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Just deacitvate them?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;Bill: Fuck you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bill logs off&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Bill? I've got a problem. All I did was put a metal dish full of eggs in there, now the microwave's going fucking crazy!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Bill? I need some help! MICROWAVE UNIT: EXTINGUISH FIRE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Bill?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: EMERGENCY SERVICES ACTIVATE: CO-ORDINATES TO FOLLOW&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Me: Fuckfuckfuck!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-114260827925246151?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114260827925246151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=114260827925246151' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114260827925246151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114260827925246151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/03/chatting.html' title='Chatting'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-114221284929820086</id><published>2006-02-28T10:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-17T06:17:24.420-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A note to my fans</title><content type='html'>A note to all the people reading my blog - thanks for reading and commenting and shit. I don't get to post as much as I'd like to what with my hand recently and also because sometimes I get caught up in other stuff. Just the other day I saved some orphans from being killed in a mud slide, which I new was going to happen because I'm from the future. Ladies - that's the kind of guy I am. Caring, heroic, awesomely cool because I'm from the future and totally not impotent because I wear a lead thong. I know you find that sexy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway yeah, some people were wondering if I went back to the future recently. The answer is no I did not because, well it's too complicated so I can't expect you to understand. Some of it's to do with how complicated time travel is, and some of it's to do with some lawyers saying I can't go "back to the future" because there's some film called "Back to the Future", and they came up with the idea first or something. The last thing I'm going to do is mess around with lawyers. They scare the shit out of me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-114221284929820086?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114221284929820086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=114221284929820086' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114221284929820086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114221284929820086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/note-to-my-fans.html' title='A note to my fans'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-114221131496336404</id><published>2006-02-16T22:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-12T17:05:13.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My hand hurts</title><content type='html'>My hand hurts like a bitch. It makes doing this blog thing really difficult. And everyone keeps taking the piss out of me, telling me my hand is some sort of wanking injury. I have absolutely no idea what "wanking" or "wanker" is, but it's all I ever hear right now. They don't have those words in the future. Normally I ask Bill what this sort of thing means, but he won't speak to me since I punched him in the head. That fucker - he's the one that broke my hand on his head, he should be apologising to me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard Branson turned up and took the piss out of me for like, half an hour in the afternoon. I was like "What the hell are you doing here Richard Branson?", and he was like "You're a winker, you're a winker!". This made me real mad, so I said "What the fuck? It's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;wanker&lt;/span&gt;, and you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; don't have a clue what it means either because you're also from the future like me!" And he just kept laughing and calling me a "winker", so I just looked at him and was like "Look, you ugly little bitch, you came all the way back from the future and with all your futuristic knowledge, you still called your company &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Virgin&lt;/span&gt;! You're the biggest loser there ever was! Now you'd better find yourself a real fast balloon to fly out of here on, because if I catch you I'm gonna beat the crap out of you - broken hand or no broken hand." And then he just ran out crying or some shit like that. Fuck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-114221131496336404?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114221131496336404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=114221131496336404' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114221131496336404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114221131496336404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/my-hand-hurts.html' title='My hand hurts'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-114221029572841712</id><published>2006-02-12T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-13T06:38:13.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Homesick</title><content type='html'>Today, I was really homesick. I miss loads of stuff about my real home which is in the future, but today it kinda got too much. Firstly, Bill came up to me and said "Hey man, you look pretty low. Is there anything I can do?" And I just fucking punched him in the face. Because in the future "low" means something a bit like "impotent". So, I just punched him, because I am NOT impotent. I shouldn't have got so mad, I guess, because it's not his fault he's from the stupid past and talks shit all the time without even realising it. It's just that I was having kind of a bad day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other thing that got me down was that it reminded me of the future because 90% of men there are impotent due to everything being radioactive. If it's not radioactive, it's not as fucking cool and futuristic. Luckily most people of my age know to wear a lead thong to protect our important bits. People in the past kind of look at you funny if you walk around in a lead thong, but they're dirty impotent fuckers, so what do they know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I broke my hand punching Bill, because I sort of hit him at a weird angle. I had to go to this hospital place - it was fucking barbaric! They wrapped up my hand and apparently they're just going to wait for it to heal by itself! In the future, they'd just grow me a new hand (which they grow out of the back of some mouse or something), and then cut off the broken one and stick the new one on with special glue and futuristic lasers and shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only positive thing to come out of it was the painkillers, which were totally awesome! Painkillers in the future don't make you feel anywhere near as good as the ones they had in this place! I felt so good I thought I could totally punch through a wall, but I couldn't, and then I had to be rushed back to get my hand fixed again. But I got more painkillers! Hell yes!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-114221029572841712?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114221029572841712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=114221029572841712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114221029572841712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114221029572841712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/homesick.html' title='Homesick'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-114065790892466107</id><published>2006-02-10T17:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-22T17:38:30.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>School is the biggest fucking waste of time</title><content type='html'>I can't stand school. I thought it sucked in the future, but I travel to the past and find out it's even worse. Man, teachers are like so strict here it's unbelievable. They won't let you do &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;. I was sitting at my desk, and I thought shit this Shakespeare guy talks like he's had a stroke and can't speak English properly, he's all like "Thee, thy thy thou! Thou thee thy thee?" like a fucking moron. Anyway, I decide I've had enough of this shit, so I call the teacher a dick-hole-cleaning-butt-invader and walk the hell out of there. Apparently you're not allowed to do that here in the past. What the hell?! In the future teachers would give you a fucking &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;prize&lt;/span&gt; for coming up with an insult as cool as that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then after English, I had to do this thing called maths, which is like all adding numbers up and like sometimes there are letters or something. I think in the future the robots do all that maths stuff, because we don't get taught it. Instead of learning maths, we get to sit down and watch cartoons. But you don't get to do that in the past. You have to do maths. Which is a waste of time because robots can do that. Fucked. Up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh shit, Bill just told me that some kid got expelled because he tried to burn down the school. I was going to do that tomorrow, I'm glad he gave me the warning. In the future, burning down the school is classified as artistic expression - you'd get a fucking &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;prize&lt;/span&gt; for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh nevermind, I just found out "expelled" just means "not allowed to come to school anymore". In the future it means "kicked out into the forbidden nuclear zone, to fend for yourself against the rampaging atomic mutants". In that case, I might just burn the school down anyway. That reminds me, I get in a lot of trouble because things have different meanings in the future. I might talk about that next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, shout out to Arun for leaving a comment. Not sure what you find funny, but nevermind. I'M FROM THE FUTURE THIS SHIT ISN'T FUNNY!!! No-one understands what I'm going through. Apart from Richard Branson. He's from the future as well, but he made me promise not to tell anyone. But I was like "Richard Branson, only a person from the future could look like you and still be so successful. Everyone knows you're from the future, so stop your whining, you bitch". And he was like "Fuck you, you're always calling me ugly. I'd tell my mom but she won't be born for like another couple thousand years or whatever cos I'm living in the past now". And I just looked at him straight in the eye, and said "You're an ugly bitch, Richard Branson". And he burst into tears! No shit, the tears just poured down his face. What a  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loser&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-114065790892466107?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114065790892466107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=114065790892466107' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114065790892466107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114065790892466107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/school-is-biggest-fucking-waste-of.html' title='School is the biggest fucking waste of time'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-114057409919726475</id><published>2006-02-09T17:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-21T18:09:36.303-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Here's what's about to happen</title><content type='html'>I'm telling you, you don't believe me but I'm telling you. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;am&lt;/span&gt; from the future. Here are some predictions that'll come true. And when they do, you're going to need to apologise for all that nasty shit you say about me and yeah that means Bill. I can't believe he told some guy to stop beating the crap out of me because I was a bit "messed up in the head and wasn't worth it". Messed in the head? Me? I don't think so. Man, I thought he was supposed to be my friend. Still, I wouldn't have got beat up so bad if I'd had my ray gun on me, but I left it in the future. Man, beating people up is so, like, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;low&lt;/span&gt;. You know? In the future there's no way anyone would beat up anyone with their own fists. We'd send in a pack of robots to do it, or maybe just disintegrate them with our ray guns. I fucking hate the past. Sometimes I wonder why I came back here. Anyway, here are my predictions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Computers in the future are much smaller and much more powerful than the ones you've got. Although there are some which are much bigger as well. But they're like super powerful. You know those Sony robot dog things you've got? Well, because of our really small powerful computers, our robot dogs are much more intelligent so they're easier to house train. In fact, I knew this one guy's Dad who was sacked from his job because his pet robo-dog was smarter and more qualified so they hired it instead. That was fucked up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The future is way warmer than now. You guys have some really weird weather going on!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Our fashion sense is waaay cooler. You guys dress like morons! I can hardly stop myself from laughing when I walk down the street. Girls wear less clothing in the future - people in the past are so stuck up about how they dress. It's quaint, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. We haven't got any fossil fuels. Well, maybe we have like a tiny amount but they're really expensive so no-one can afford them. Most people walk more, or use their genetically engineered solar-powered rocket horses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. People live longer. It's really scary that here in the past I only get to live until about 80 or something if I'm &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lucky&lt;/span&gt;. In the future everyone lives for ages, but most people commit suicide when they're about 200 because they can't stand all the kids. Anyone under the age of like 120 is a kid to them. Stupid old people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay that's it for now. Quick shout out to Curious Yellow and Ronia for leaving comments. You guys rock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-114057409919726475?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/114057409919726475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=114057409919726475' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114057409919726475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/114057409919726475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/heres-whats-about-to-happen.html' title='Here&apos;s what&apos;s about to happen'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-113941625408081387</id><published>2006-02-08T08:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-08T08:31:28.773-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Strawberry laces</title><content type='html'>So, yeah I met up with Bill today and he apologised for being such a stuck in the past loser fuckhead. And it was cool. We ate some strawberry laces. Bill said strawberry laces were the best, but they weren't as easily available as they was when he was young. I almost told him "Yeah, in 10 years time a scientist is going to find out that, like strawberry lace consumption increases your chance of spontaneously transforming into a rampaging mucus spider" but I didn't, cos then it might freak him out, and I was feeling bad about us fighting the other day. And like, strawberry laces taste way better than the futuristic safe version, "strawberry velcro shoe straps". Some things are better in the past, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not ipods, though. In the future they're much smaller, and have this nerve gas ray gun that stops people from trying to mug you and steal your ipod. Plus they're controlled by a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mind wheel&lt;/span&gt; - which is this really shiny wheel that you control via your finger, which as you probably guessed, is controlled by your mind. It's kinda like the ones you get in the past, but it's shinier, and has more futuristic technology. It's true that ipod nanos in the future used to be built out of nano robots that went crazy and crawled into people's heads and made them do crazy stuff, like dance real weird whenever their shadow landed on a brightly coloured background. But once they got that sorted, they were much better. The ipods I mean. The people were totally fucked forever. But we don't worry about that shit in the future, because we can always clone some geese, and then nobody cares because they've got more geese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the future geese are way better because they're shinier... LOL!!!! Just kidding! They're actually exactly the same, but they glow in the dark. Do your geese do that? I'm not sure. I haven't seen a goose since I got here. In the future they're everywhere, kinda like pigeons are now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-113941625408081387?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113941625408081387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=113941625408081387' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/113941625408081387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/113941625408081387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/strawberry-laces.html' title='Strawberry laces'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-113941515888556881</id><published>2006-02-07T11:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-08T08:15:18.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fuck the haters!</title><content type='html'>I get loads of hate from people I meet, who are all like "Hey, why are you saying you're from the future you freak?!". These people, these people just don't know what I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt;, you know? They call me a freak because I walk around wearing this cool futuristic tin foil outfit and talk about the future. But they're the freaks because tin foil is, like, the coolest thing in the future. Everyone cool wears it, because it's shiny and futuristic. And it's way cooler than spandex, which is what used to be in fashion when I was younger but still in the future. It's cooler because it's shinier. And talking about the future is always cool, right? Because it's futuristic. I know you agree cos otherwise you wouldn't be reading my blog and shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was round my friend Bill's house, and he was like "check out my new widescreen plasma TV, it's HD ready!" And I was like, "What the fuck? &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Wide&lt;/span&gt;screen?! LOL!!!!! That shit is missing loads of stuff on the top and bottom! Everyone knows that squarescreen is better because you get more picture on the top and bottom! Widescreen is just squarescreen with the top and bottom chopped off you fucking loser from the past!" And then he was like "get out of my house you freak" and I was like, "fine, see if I care! In the future where I come from, we live in fucking huge treehouses that make this shit look... shit." Anyways, I'm not friends with Bill anymore. He just gets me down all the time by being so stuck in the past. Which is really the present, if you think about it. For him that is. And for me as well, if you think about it. But it's still the past from the point of view of the past me which is in the future. Whatever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-113941515888556881?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113941515888556881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=113941515888556881' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/113941515888556881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/113941515888556881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/fuck-haters.html' title='Fuck the haters!'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22146205.post-113941379292821183</id><published>2006-02-06T07:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-08T08:14:10.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I am from the future</title><content type='html'>Greetings all. I am from the future, and I have quite a few things to tell you. Important things. The kind of things that I shouldn't tell you, because if I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; tell you, you could change the future and I might cease to exist. But then again... Maybe if I don't tell you, you won't set in motion the chain of events that will lead to my existence, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;then&lt;/span&gt; I'll cease to exist. Who knows? I do. Because I'm from the fucking future. I'm, like... All futuristic and shit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/22146205-113941379292821183?l=iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/feeds/113941379292821183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22146205&amp;postID=113941379292821183' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/113941379292821183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/22146205/posts/default/113941379292821183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamfromthefuture.blogspot.com/2006/02/i-am-from-future.html' title='I am from the future'/><author><name>Roland Dale</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh5.googleusercontent.com/-5XkX0CVVMTI/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/FDEGW-xG2Ww/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
