Pat Freestone

Pat Freestone : The Fly Days




January 16, 2003

I did the math.

Winning the Trophy for Crash Cove in Adventure Mode, while indeed memorable and special, also awarded me the cruel reminder that I still need to conquer 24 more tracks in 5 racing modes, earn 25 gems, collect 16 CTR Tokens, win 48 Relics, and unlock all the secret characters before I can consider myself a Crash Bandicoot: Crash Team Racing Champion.

Then I need to complete the other four games in the Crash Bandicoot Series. From there, I move on to the other 434 game titles available for the PlayStation and PlayStation 2 console. Then, I begin my work on the Nintendo Game Cube, followed by X Box, Sega, and the Game Boy.

If my calculations are correct, I should reclaim my title of Video Game Champion sometime in the Spring of 2068. Assuming, that is, that no new video game is ever invented.

I must find a way to step up my training.

Pat Freestone


January 17, 2003

GOAL: To increase level of gameplay training; to build up endurance for sustained hand-eye coordinated activity.

PROBLEM: Tired muscles in the wrists, hands and fingers, caused by lactic acid buildup resulting from extended game-controller-use flexion.

HYPOTHESIS: Increased red blood cell count will provide increased oxygen supply to muscles, resulting in improved performance during intense training.

SOLUTION: Dramatically increase oxygen-carrying capacity by introducing additional red blood cells into circulatory system.

TRANSLATION: Pat Freestone will begin immediate "blood doping."

Until next time,

Pat Freestone



January 20, 2003

Last week, by use of the Scientific Method, I determined that the only way I could reclaim my Video Game Champion status during my lifetime was to undergo a process known as "blood doping." Over the weekend, I was flooded by almost 2 e-mails that made it clear that many of you out there might not understand what blood doping is. So, FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES ONLY I would like to take this time to direct you to this informative web site:

The Science of Blood Doping



I think you’ll agree that the benefits far outweigh the risks.

More tomorrow,

Pat Freestone


January 21, 2003

As you now know from yesterday’s informative link, blood doping requires, first and foremost, some blood. Luckily, Pat Freestone is a man who doesn’t really feel like a man unless he has 3-4 pints of his own blood safely stored in the back of the refrigerator at all times in case of emergency.

And if needing to finish the Crash Bandicoot: Crash Team Racing video game on schedule isn’t an emergency, then I don’t know what is.

Regards,

Pat Freestone



January 22, 2003

Final preparations are almost complete.

I have laid out the required equipment and instruments for the process of blood doping. (see photos)



First, I must begin separating the hemoglobin from my blood (a), using a centrifuge (b). Then, I will remove the hemoglobin components from the centrifuge using a sterile suction implement (b). Finally, I will inject the separated hemoglobin into my blood stream using a hypodermic syringe (b).

I have marked the sterile suction implement (b) with a piece of colored tape (c) so that I do not accidentally confuse it with the hypodermic syringe (b) during the procedure.

In the name of science,

Pat Freestone
January 23, 2003

I am ready.

This afternoon, I will complete the testing phase of my equipment, in preparation for tomorrow’s blood doping procedure.

First, I will open all the windows, put the air conditioner on 10 and prop open the freezer door to lower the ambient temperature of my work area to absolute zero.

Then, I will test out my blood doping centrifuge by using it to whip up a batch of Margaritas. This should simulate the blood viscosity, as well as help bolster my courage to go through with tomorrow’s dangerous undertaking.

And finally, I shall practice intravenous injection by cooking up a nice hot rig-full of heroin and slamming that motherfucker right on down the line. This will not only test out the apparatus, but also guarantee me a good night’s sleep so that I’ll be well-rested for the big day.

Wish me luck,

Pat Freestone

January 24, 2003

One small step for man, one giant hangover for Pat Freestone.

Judging from the wreckage in various rooms of my apartment and the giant bruise on my arm, I can piece together the events of last night as follows:

1. After consuming eight 16 oz. Margaritas and injecting $150 worth of heroin as part of my scheduled apparatus testing phase, I lost touch with most of my central nervous system and entered what is commonly known as a "black-out."

2. Some time later, I turned on my stolen Sony PlayStation and attempted to win the trophy in Crash Bandicoot's highly difficult Hot Air Skyway course. Apparently angered by my inability to achieve any sort of hand-eye coordination, I carefully turned off the game, placed it safely under a couch cushion, and then viciously ransacked my living room.

3. Finding my way back to the kitchen, I made the decision to immediately proceed with the blood doping procedure, approximately ten hours ahead of schedule. Somehow, I managed to complete all steps of the procedure as planned, with the exception of forgetting to re-sterilize the centrifuge, which at that point was thoroughly coated with tequila, triple sec and Mrs. T’s sour mix.

4. At some time during the evening, I microwaved a bowl of Progresso clam chowder, but then forgot all about it and went to bed with my shoes on.

So today, I have a tremendous headache, several clearly infected track marks, and a great deal of housecleaning to do.

But other than that I feel GREAT!

High Score Hall of Fame, here I come!

Pat Freestone


January 27, 2003

You can’t catch Pat Freestone.

In a rare, serendipitous moment of reality imitating digital interface, I was able to defeat all opponents on every track of Crash Team Racing, as well as outrun the entire security staff of a particular shopping mall that shall remain nameless for fear that I may incriminate myself.

I owe it all to blood doping.

After loading my body with tequila, heroin, and an extra 900cc of red blood cells, I went about the business of completing the remaining tracks in Crash Bandicoot: Crash Team Racing. As I had hypothesized, the abundance of newly introduced erythrocytes in my bloodstream gave me the advantage of nearly inexhaustible energy in the muscles of my arms, hands, fingers and eyes. By sunup, I had completed the entire game, defeating all competitors and earning top awards in every mode of play.

Then I was faced with sudden inevitability: That was the only game I had.

With no money in the bank and no credit cards in my possession, I drew upon the instincts I picked up on the streets during my week as a male prostitute. I jumped a turnstile, took a train to the mall, and headed straight to VideoFunLand Games and Gizmos where I proceeded to shoplift everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Then, thanks again to the blood doping, my getaway was unexpectedly easy. Once I triggered the alarm, I was able to sprint a forty-five second quarter mile from the store exit to the edge of the mall parking lot. With a battalion of security guards giving chase in the distance, I settled into a five-minute-mile pace and was striding down the shoulder of the expressway within twelve minutes. Just when I thought I was home free, a NY State Trooper came racing up behind me. His chirping siren caused the traffic ahead to slow to a crawl. With nowhere else to go, I planted a foot on the trunk of a 1986 Chrysler New Yorker and leapt off the expressway onto the turnpike 30 feet below. I landed in a tuck-and-roll, dodged several oncoming cars, and dashed off across an open field.

So long, suckers.

Pat Freestone

January 28, 2003

We sat around the pile
Sat and laughed
Sat and laughed, and waived them into the air.


I did it just like that,

Pat Freestone

January 29, 2003

Exceeding all of my scientific projections, the blood doping has manifested itself in ways I never imagined. If I had known how much pure strength and power it could create within me, I would have began blood doping in the sixth grade. More specifically, I would have began blood doping the night before Clifford Swink kicked the sweet bejesus out of me for not handing over my Koogle® and jelly sandwich at lunch recess in sixth grade.

Now, however, not only has the blood doping virtually eliminated my body’s need for sleep and rendered me immune to the effects of alcohol, but it has also suddenly given me the uncanny ability to execute an impressive repertoire of gymnastic maneuvers by using the living room steam radiator as a pommel-horse.

I would be playing some of the games I stole from the mall yesterday, but the controller shattered in my hands this morning while I was enthusiastically spearing a two-headed Proto-Demon in FearBlade: Dungeon of Destiny.

For the first time in my life, I don’t know my own strength.

Sincerely,

Pat Freestone

January 30, 2003

I have two things to do today.

1. Shoplift a new PlayStaion2-compatible game controller

2. Clean up the blood and tequila mess in the kitchen

3. Buy stamps

Respectfully,

Pat Freestone


January 31, 2003

Oh, no.

Oh, God, no.

Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

My attempts to venture beyond my own human limitations have been successful. Too successful.

I forgot to sterilize the centrifuge! I forgot to sterilize the centrifuge!

It sat there on the counter, covered in sticky sweet Margarita residue for hours. It sat there, unguarded, vulnerable to contaminants. To vermin. And this is the vessel I used to mix the blood I would inject into my body. The blood that carries the very DNA code that makes me who I am.

I SHOULD HAVE DISINFECTED THE CENTRIFUGE!

I suppose it’s too late to cry over it now. What’s done is done. It’s time to face the brutal truth:

Pat Freestone has become part fly.



February 5, 2003

Yep--I have become part fly alright.

I’ve spent the last few days going over and over in my head the events that led up to this tragic metamorphosis. The Margaritas. The blood doping. The fruit fly carcasses I found stuck all over the equipment.

There are no two ways about it.

I briefly attempted to convince myself that perhaps the fruit flies had contaminated my centrifuge/cocktail shaker after I had injected myself with the blood plasma. The equipment did, after all, sit unattended in the kitchen for several days after the procedure was completed.

I almost had myself convinced. Then I noticed the hairs on my back.

Granted, I have had hairs on my back for years, but now, for some reason, they suddenly seem suspiciously insect-like.

Regretfully,

Pat Freestone



February 6, 2003

Have you ever heard of "insect politics?"

Neither have I!

Whimsically,

Pat Freestone

February 7, 2003

The fly within me has awakened.

Am I a man who dreamt of being a fruit-fly, or a fruit-fly who dreamt of being a man? Or am I just a man-fly who could really go for a few quarts of Irish whiskey!

The fly is taking over, and the fly wants sweet brown liquor.

Cheers,

Pat Freestone

February 10, 2003

whiskey buzz


help meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Pat Freestone

February 11, 2003

As the insect within begins to slowly take over, I find it more and more difficult to fight its brutal instincts. So last night, I took the fly out drinking.

Now Pat Freestone, as you may know, is and has always been a tequila man. Gold, white, añejo, mescal—if it leaked out of a desert plant and had time to ferment, Pat Freestone’s drinking it. But the fly is a bourbon drinker. A low-down, no-good, three-feet-in-the-grave whiskey rock-a-roller.

So as you can imagine, going toe-to-toe with the fly at the local tavern is quite an adventure. Especially when you’re sharing one circulatory system. After throwing back thirteen Cuervo Gold Cadillacs and an equal number of Jack & Cokes, I must admit, I barely remember running out on the tab and then coming home and attempting to make flapjacks on the George Forman Grill.

Damn that winged beast within!

Pat Freestone

February 12, 2003

They know.

Late last night, while returning to my apartment after burglarizing Hillcrest Liquors, I was spotted in the hallway by Mr. Limón, the building superintendent.

As my transformation into fruit-fly becomes more and more noticeable, I find myself becoming a creature of the night, allowing the cover of darkness to cloak my hideous appearance. I can only assume that if my horrible secret is discovered, I will surely be chased down and killed by mobs of terrified locals. Thus, I have taken to entering my building through the trash disposal system, and slipping into my apartment when the coast is clear. That’s when it happened. Just as I was climbing out of the forth floor trash chute, I came face to face with Mr. Limón as he was tending to the recyclables.

I expected him to shriek in terror, and then run off and alert the authorities, but he just nodded at me, mumbled politely in Spanish, and then went on about his business.

Clever. Very clever. Perhaps he didn’t recognize me with the banana peel on my head.

Concerned,

Pat Freestone

February 13, 2003

Here we are--me, the fly, and a dwindling half-gallon bottle of Rebel Yell. It’s times like this when I look back on my life and think about the things I should have done differently.

For example, I should’ve washed the fruit flies out of the centrifuge and syringe before I filled them with blood and injected the contents into my body. That would have been nice.

In retrospect, when I was nine years old, perhaps I should’ve asked Santa Claus for a baseball mitt instead of a mariachi costume. That might have opened some doors for me. And I suppose it was somewhat foolish to submit to the Washington State Board of Education a complete list of all the students in my high school who used alcohol or marijuana, and then send a copy of that list with a personally signed cover letter to the parents of each student I identified. And of course, I never should have brushed my hair with a wire barbecue brush 1000 times before going to bed every night until I was twenty-six..

But carelessly injecting fruit fly DNA directly into my bloodstream to improve my video game playing—that’s the kind of mistake that really stays with you.

Regretfully,

Pat Freestone




February 14, 2003

It’s time to show the world what has become of Pat Freestone.

I have photographed myself for the purposes of research documentation. Perhaps someday, after my tragic fruit fly mutation has completely overcome the human part of me and led us into some final conflict where we are gunned down by a heroic crime-fighter, science can examine these images and determine what went so horribly, horribly wrong.

But I warn you, these pictures are not pretty.

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE TERRIBLE TRANSFORMATION

I warned you.

Pat Freestone

February 17, 2003

After a long weekend of attempting to satisfy the unquenchable whiskey-thirst of the fly within, I am glad to back here with you, my dear web visitor(s).

Today, I shall not fill this bit of cyberspace with the negativity of a man who has inadvertently spliced himself at the genetic level with a fruit fly. Instead, I will use it to bring knowledge and understanding to a world that desperately needs it. Here, then, is:

Pat Freestone’s Tips and Tricks for the Drinking Man



1. Never operate a vehicle after you’ve been drinking heavily, unless it’s late and there is limited public transit available, or you’re in a hurry, or you’re very tired, or your destination is beyond a 5-minute walking distance.

2. Understand the signs of alcoholism—that way you know what kinds of behaviors you need to hide from the people closest to you.

3. To cure a bad case of hiccups, sprinkle sugar on a lemon wedge, add a few drops of Angostura bitters, and then ask the bartender to stab you in the trachea.

4. If you are a man under the age of 45, ordering a "dirty" martini will let everyone at the bar know that you are a smooth operator. Unfortunately, it will also let everyone at the bar know that you tend to ejaculate prematurely.

5. If the bar is busy and you can’t seem to get the bartender’s attention, try smashing a pint glass over the head of the best looking gal in the room.

6. Smoking in bars is allowed, except in liberal, laid-back, anything-goes places like the entire state of California.

7. The cocktail waitress is flirting with you because she wants a dollar. End of story.

8. Alcohol is full of carbohydrates, so if you want to stay trim while drinking heavily, make sure to do plenty of cocaine.

9. If you feel awkward drinking before noon, just remember that it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere . Then again, you probably wouldn’t be well-liked there, either.

Down the hatch,

Pat Freestone

February 18-19, 2003

Time for some happy hour fun!

See how many hidden drinking phrases you can find in the grid below. Good luck, and bottoms up!

word puzzle


Your drinkin’ buddy,

Pat Freestone


February 20, 2003

Yesterday’s puzzle was a smashing success—but before you start filling out your MENSA applications, take a gander at this much more difficult bar puzzle.

First, lay out 16 matches to form FIVE equally-sized squares, as shown in the illustration below.

match puzzle


Here is the challenge: in TWO moves, turn the FIVE squares into FOUR squares. This is not a trick question.

Sounds easy, huh? Well, just make sure you follow all the rules!

RULE #1: All 16 matches shown must be used, with no stray matches left over
RULE #2: Matches cannot lie on top of each other
RULE #3: No incomplete or partial squares are allowed
RULE #4: You may not ignite the matches
RULE #5: Each of the four squares you end up with must be of the same size as each of the original squares--one match tall by one match wide.
RULE #6: You can only move a total of two matches.

Check in tomorrow for the solution. Good luck, Einstein!

Pat Freestone

February 21, 2003

Stumped? I told you it was a difficult puzzle!

To those of you who figured it out, congratulations! And in case you didn’t, here’s the solution:

Here are the five boxes we started with. Can we turn the five boxes into four boxes in only two moves? Sure we can!

match puzzle


First, we'll move the lower middle match over to the left and then...wait a minute, let me start over.

match step 1


The trick is, the top middle vertical match needs to flip down and then...hold on. That doesn’t look right.

match step 2


Oh, yes. I remember now.

match solution


Double bourbon, please.

Pat Freestone


February 24, 2003

Although I am, as far as I know, the first and only man-fly to walk the streets of Yonkers, we have woven within the fabric of our American culture a rich, folkloric history of a great many man-flies and insect-like humanoids. With these groundbreaking pioneers in mind, it’s time to honor

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly.

At number 5, from the 1958 horror classic The Fly, it’s screen legend Vincent Price.

Vincent Price


Actually, now that I think about it, the character of The Fly was played not by Vincent Price, but by actor David "Al" Hedison. Oh, well—that’s show biz.

Pat Freestone

February 25, 2003

Welcome to day 2 of

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly

At number 4 on the list is the actor who helped bring the terror of The Fly back to the silver screen after almost 30 years.

Congratulations, Jeff Goldblum!

Jeff Goldblum


Interesting facts about Jeff Goldblum:

*Jeff is best remembered for his starring role in the critically-acclaimed TV smash "Ten Speed and Brown Shoe"

*Jeff has more than likely had sex with Geena Davis.

*Jeff is tall!

Check in tomorrow for more of

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly

Pat Freestone

February 26, 2003

The Fly Guys continue here at

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly

At number 3 on the list is an actor who is no stranger to hideous transformation. It’s Eric Stoltz!

Eric Stoltz




As the star of The Fly II, the epic sequel to the remake of the original motion picture, Eric had another chance to undergo a grotesque hair and makeup metamorphosis, just like he did for his starring role in the touching drama Some Kind of Wonderful .

Good job, Eric!



February 27, 2003

The world of fictional fly-morphing is not limited to the movies, however. Just take a look at the fly-like features of number 2 in

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly

It’s world-class rocker Bono!

Bono




Interesting facts about Bono:

*Bono’s name and hair are not his real name and hair

*Bono’s maximum freefall velocity is approximately 125 mph

*Bono is the only man-fly to make a comfortable return to regular human form.

Be sure to log on tomorrow to find out who’s #1 in

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly

Pat Freestone
February 28, 2003

It seems we’ve reached the top of

Pat Freestone’s Top 5 All-Time Men Who Became Part-Fly

When it comes to becoming part, or even totally Fly, there is but one name that stands out above the rest.

To put it bluntly, there was never a dude like this one. He’s got a plan to stick it to the man.

Aw, yeah.

superfly


Good lookin,’

Pat Freestone


March 4, 2003

Damn ye, cursed drosophila!

Apologies for my slackness in allowing yesterday to slip by before I could update the digital diary known as Today Inside Pat Freestone Updated Almost Daily. But, to be fair, is does say "Almost" in there.

Anyway, I think I have figured out a way to reverse the genetic splicing mutation process and rid my body of this terrible fly once and for all. I have two words for you, ye winged parasite:

Bug Zapper.

Who’s with me?

Pat Freestone



March 5, 2003

The Bug Zapper.

Efficient. Deadly. Impossible for a flying insect to resist.

At this point, I am almost 100% convinced that the Bug Zapper is the only way to counteract the frightful fly metamorphosis that is occurring within me even at this very moment.

I thought about injecting myself with some blood from the fly’s natural enemy, the frog. But let’s face it: I am far too drunk to pull off that kind of nonsense.

Realistically,

Pat Freestone

March 6, 2003

I have made all the necessary preparations for the procedure that I hope will reverse the process that is slowly but surely turning me into a giant fruit fly.


First, step one. I will insert my hand (a) into the fully charged center coil of the 2500 watt fly zapper (b), until the electric current has completely destroyed the fly that lurks within me.

Then, for step two...

Actually, that’s pretty much it.

Wish me luck,

Pat Freestone

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