If I don't see you before then,
I wish you the happiest New Year you've ever had.

Have a safe and warm trip to the other side of you,
where you can begin again, adding the brand new
to the old you've broken in to fit you so well.

mucho love to all - bny

Eat it, it's good for you.

iProtein



Since she did the whole thing without laughing,
I give her a 79.



I like this a lot, called gutnotes.



Headlines that I think are humorous
but the client will not, so nevermind:


"Overchilled chardonnay? Over our dead bodies."

"Comes with an anti-jam feature. Just wait for the anti-jelly one…"

"Have the world's best disposal at your disposal.
You filthy, rich bastard you."


(Didn't say they were brilliant.)




And finally,
turn the volume down for
a shining example of why having kids is overrated,
and quite possibly, certain people should just stop altogether
and let the world purge itself.

(Three weeks of good advice from three cracked cookies.)

Movie Review, Movie Review:

So I watched "Wattstax" last night. It was very good. I liked it.

Wait, I can do better than that. Please. Ok...

It had a well-centered message of peace and love and an even greater meaning of hope and happiness, yes it did. And you should watch it for that, and for Richard Pryor. I've been missing him for a long time now. But you know me, I'm more interested in the sparkly aspects of anything. Now all I can think about are splendiferous, bouncy mounds of gravity-defying afros, so what, of course, I want one now. Ooo, and the shiny, tiny hot pants and swingy, polyester dresses -- I wanted those, too. But I get cold too easily so that's right out, oh well. But the boots, dear God, the boots, I love the boots. Even the men wore them. Wait, especially the men wore them. And lo, they were superfly. The Bar Kays were superfreaks, who knew that? I didn't. All I ever knew about them was that they used to be someone, and now I think they play in smelly, mumbly lounges and darkened, indifferent casinos. But geez, I hope not. But hey, on the bright side - doesn't that just describe everyone you know plus me to a perfect size 7.5 boot size? No? Just me then? Huh...ok...well, anyway...

Afros were called "naturals" back in 1972. So don't say I didn't learn anything because I did. Sure, I was somewhat alive in 1972 but more concerned with dangerous toys with sharp edges, my bunny slippers, my hamster, getting to Sesame Street and not spilling Koolaid which was easy SINCE MY MOM WOULDN'T BUY IT, FOR STARTERS. And evidentally, this is where the repressed rage began. So anyway, I also want a vest made out of gold chains like Isaac Hayes had because I bet it was real gold, and buddy, I'd melt mine down for cash money and sail the seven seas with my pirate's booty. Booty, booty, booty. And more booty.

So there you have it - a deep and powerful movie was made, and all I can talk about is booty in one form or another. Isn't that interesting. Well, that's me. I'm that simple.

No.

Ok. So now I will try to produce a more intellectual opinion of "What I Got Out of a Deep and Powerful Movie like Wattstax" a la how I used to do it in elementary school. Here goes:

What I got out of "Wattstax" besides the distinct feeling that things seemed a lot easier in 1972 than I realized, but I'm sure it wasn't however everyone still complained a good deal because I guess that's our jobs, y'know as humans to do that, like squirrels find nuts because it's their job. And they're good at it, too, dammit...

Good Lord, whatever, so much for a deep review. That was a good try for me, but as you see, the tires blew apart in the middle and sent what may have been an actual thought crashing into the drainage ditch.

I'm tired, that's what it is. Booty.

Ok, one more time: I got the want for an afro, and the need to feel the music and the people from the inside out because within this shivering white girl with a constant scarf and ponytail, really, is a dark-and-lovely giant of a woman with a deep, rich, warm soul and voice, never one to hold back from uncaging her rendition of "Amazing Grace" on wings up to God in a river of tears down this side of the mountain and back, and ready to get funky on yo' jive turkey ass because she don't play like that an' she will not walk behind in the blues some man done tried to lay on her, no ma'am, an' all those ones out there who try to keep her down can kiss her ass on Capital Street, an' she'll give you two weeks to draw a crowd because she's like that an' so was her mama, you better believe, so don't even.

That felt good. But that's not quite the point.

For the last time, that's not what I got out of the movie. It's a wonderful film. You should buy it in fact. If you don't like the funk, you just might be dead already. I'm just always like this. I keep going back to the afro I wish I had, and the Koolaid I never drank.

Oh come on. You care, you know you do. Yeah, I understand. I barely care today either. I'm rambly. The shivery white girl's fighting to stay awake for some reason.

Aw, fishsticks!

The cat ran away with my memory. Again.



One more reason to love Canadians - Amoebacorp.



And lastly, a discussion topic for you:




Yes. I see where they were going.
But is "Sudden Headache" really a good name for a drink?
How debonaire can one seem swaggering into a
trendy cocktail bar full of overpriced people
and ordering a drink named "Sudden Headache"?
Why not "Gas Pain" instead?
Unless I'm just reading it wrong, anything is better.

"Panic Attack"

"Chronic Backpain"

You can even branch out into "Oncoming Traffic"
or "Impending Doom" as a similar yet different route.

See? Try it. It's fun.

Aw, no. Thank you.

Back to the crushing grind.

And bored already? Ah, well.

I can't say I made it through unmarked, but at least I'm in one piece.
One horrific fight, lots of gifts, and a half knitted scarf.
Ah. Good times, good times.


And now, a public service announcement:

You think there is no help in sight,
and you think there is no way out.
But there is hope. In a bag.

You see, at Labmonkie Institute, we understand holiday feasting, and we're here to help you get back to that normal path of least resistance called "life." Our scientists have uncovered a breakthrough in treating those struggling with the crippling holiday feasting epidemic. Our doctors hold the key to a bright new future and your complete recovery. Endless research has shown, only one powerful substance can successfully treat this addiction:

Chex Mix: It's the methadone of the holiday feast addicts.

By administering small doses of The Mix every four hours around the clock, the DTs will pass. And you will come clean.

So if you or someone you know needs help,
call 1-800-CHEX-MIX now. We'll crack a bag for you.
And the ass you save just might be your own.

Because here at Labmonkie Institute, we care.
No, really.

In my case, "Happy Birthday and Mad Props to the Big JC"
observed in this consumerists' year 2005 AI,
Annus iPodNanos. Amen.

However or whatever you may or may not
be celebrating or not celebrating,
deck those halls or haunt them.
Whichever makes the most peace.
Happy December 25th to you.
Today (same as every day except with a bow on it),
I wish you eternal happiness and love.
Eternal, I said. Infinity. So go, world.
Spread it around like chunky peanut butter.*
Smooth, if you like.


*Or soynut butter, if you're allergic to peanuts.
If you're allergic to soynuts, too, well...I can't think of anything
past unflavored gelatin, but you get the idea.

Ooo. Is it Friday already?

In my world, always.

Get your festive swerve on for the impending holidays
with the modern mixologist and my favorite, the mixilator.
Damn, I love peppermint schnapps and pink elephants.

(thank u for the link, Scottshead)

Things I realized today at the Honda dealership:

Some but not all Southern women are endearing when they gut-laugh at a man violently shaking a vending machine. But it has to be just the right type though. Of woman, not machine.

Most cheap air freshners do not freshen the air at all.

I either almost fell asleep or it's a hypoglycemic coma. I'm not sure.

Man. Kids sure have gotten to be fat little creampuffs, haven't they?

"Wazzhannin', bra" is a totally acceptable way to greet a coworker at the Honda dealership.

Japan: It's not that far away, and I really need to go.

Alecia, you are wanted on line one.

This year, this whole "happy holidays" versus "merry christmas" discussion topic has made me too sensitive, I think.

My eyes hurt. It's Memphis.

The person who eats one free donut at a car dealership is most likely to eat three.

Alecia. Please. Line one.

Bush is on tv. Why. Did something blow up. No one in this waiting room is listening to him, not even me. But someone is rattling a bag of porkrinds and drinking from a styrofoam cup.

I haven't sent my friend Tina her birthday card yet because I don't know what to say.

Someone is looking at me and wondering what my problem is.

Damn. That boy over there is good looking.

I miss the way my grandfather talked to me.

It takes three hours and forty-seven minutes to replace dirty brake fluid, a leaky oil gasket, and a blown lowbeam.

The employees here are getting turkeys and hams apparently. This might sound predictable, but if I hear the word "ham" one more time, I need to know what would happen if I screamed.

The moon was high in the sky behind me today as I left home.

"They ain't no liiions er tiiigers on the bus...aiight?...no...you on th' telephone, not th' television. If you was on th' television, I'd be able t' see you, aiight?...yeah....hey. hey listen...you save up some money so you have somethin' to leave with...aiight?..."

Ok, you know what, this big guy loitering in my space, swaying back and forth on his feet, is absolutely pissing me off.

But that pissed feeling was warm in comparison to getting in my car and realizing I need all new tires, and it's going to take me another two hours+ to get those on.

"Yew wait here any longer, and yew'll have to clock in," he said. "No, if you make me wait here for 29 more days, you'll give me a free month's rent," I said.

Next lifetime, I'm living in a place with safe public transit options. I'm a train girl myself. This I know for sure.

It's official. I'm off.

Yes, I'm *away from my desk* from December 19th until the holiest day of them all -- the day after the day after Christmas, December 27th. By then it'll just be a confused, blurry memory soaked with bourbon drinks, silvery sprinkles on cookies and three or four types of cheeses that no one knows the names of but everyone seems to like just fine. So I figured out what I want for Christmas. I want next year. I'm ready for next year. Like, right now.

Yeah, I know..."But ye olde horoscope told you to suck it up and take it like a merry-making consumer." (Oh, Star magazine astrologist, you really do know me. Even though I added the "consumer" bit. Oh, come on, it's implied.)

But you know, if I really feel the strong desire to get bent about Christmas this year then you know what, cosmic rulers at Star magazine? I warmly invite you and your staff assistants to kiss my buche de noel, ok? Sure, it's a delicious and intricate dessert that deserves a hell of a lot more respect than it'll ever get, but you can just roll up your stellar astrological note real tight and shove it up your fa la la.

I just need some french fries. No. Coffee. And patience. For my return and a departure at the same time. If nothing else these days, I do know how I feel and what I think is as constant as the moon. Sure it changes and has its phases and is sometimes covered with clouds, but it's always there, always the same, and always the brightest thing in the darkest sky.

Man, I get tired of the tv and magazines telling me what to do all the time.

Can I get a witness? At least an "amen"? How about five bucks. And I'm turning off the tv.

But. I do have a few more magazines to read. It is Sunday and all. And we partied like one-hit-wonder rockstars last night but luckily, no one took the brown acid. But I feel like Tara Reid's liver. Her poor, screaming liver.

Speaking of that, I need to go shopping today. Have to. Oh come on. You care, you know you do.

"Oh NO. My REINdeer."

Bad news, kids:
No Christmas this year,
courtesy of me and the Gorillaz.
And I...well...
I'm sorry. Really, I am.
Well. Chin up. It's for the best.
You have too much crap anyway.
Consider giving some away.

Where I'm from, it's stepping into the front yard
and firing off two shotgun blasts.

Just in time for the holiday season, it's
how to handle house guests that stay too long,
from wiki.ehow.com.

Oh, come on now. The holidays aren't that bad.
Ok ok, maybe they are.
Well, don't look at me like I invented 'em!
Get your mind off the whole damn thing
with this snowflake maker by zefrank.

Because really,
how can you be sad with a snowflake in the room?
You might as well get pissed at a donut.
Yeah, I don't know what that means either.
Just make sure to click the 2D and 3D Rotate buttons,
and crack out some yuletide on the rocks if you have to...
Enjoy!

Oh, Kazakhstan.



A Two-Word "Product Review, Product Review" of
my long-awaited encounter with Colgate Lemon Ice:

Lemon Pledge.




Also, an urgent plea from Jacquie (+ a massage from daniel):

Who LOVES Stella?

(me me me me me me me!)

IF YOU DON'T LOVE STELLA,
but you DO love me,
please please please sign
this online petition for a
Season Two of Stella:

http://www.petitiononline.com/stella06/petition.html

daniel will give you a massage!


jacQUie
writER*bunny |liberatOR chick

I was (only partially) wrong.

Luckily, no one fully cares.
However, I said that Patton Oswalt
was the funniest person in the world.
That is still true, mainly because
existing in his own zachosphere,
there is Zach Galifianakis.
So he is the funniest person closest to the world.
So I'm wrong.
I was right after all.

http://www.zachgalifianakis.com/

That doesn't mean that my love and respect
for Patton as the saner one is a bad thing.
It just means if one of them had to do something normal
like make a turkey sandwich with cheese,
I'd let Patton do it before I'd let Zach supervise.
And I'd know exactly which one
might accidentally put my eye out with a fork.

See the documentary
responsible for the series now on Comedy Central
as soon as you can.

"The Comedians of Comedy"

Oh yes, that's right.

Don't tell your kid "no." Just blame it on the sponge.

Cheers!

Somewhere, my sister is going overboard with the good news.

Speaking of:

Call of nature saves man from garbage crusher.

The man "suffered only a minor head injury and mild shock."

Oh and alcoholism. He suffered that, too.
And mental issues, yes probably.
But otherwise, he was as right as acid rain.

Ah well, so much for my soul.
Maybe next lifetime around, I'll do better.
I seriously doubt it though.

But for now, make your own church sign like I just did,
and I'll save you a seat by me and all my friends
at Hitler's Tea Party in hell.

Thanks for the link, Jacquie!

The XBox 360 sells out within hours.

What this means exactly:
Ah yes, the unfortunate, veal-like herd of cornfed consumers
have been trained to gorge themselves most efficiently. Huzzaaah.

I can't say a damn thing. I bought the mister an iPod Nano* for xmas.

iMoo.



*Shh. Don't tell him.

It's not easy, and it's simple at the same time.

Somebody just asked what it was like to be me. Although I personally don't condone or recommend it at all, I suspect not many people really want to try it anyway. But here are the highlights for today, as some of these could change tomorrow:

You're addicted to lipgloss (especially if it has vitamins in it) and toothpaste (especially if it promises you things).

How you did it, you don't know, but you left your purse at home this morning.

You're sorry, you really are, but you have to be true to yourself. Although you don't admit it freely, you feel that Bob Dylan is overrated. There, you said it. Because people who really like Bob Dylan take that comment as a personal attack, and you don't get that. At all. You don't get the Grateful Dead either. But you love The Beatles, and if anyone said they were overrated, you'd get so incredibly pissed off. But you would get over it and probably forget that they said it at all.

Some people call it a buzz. You call it contentment with newfound energy and inspiration.

It's not your fault. You never claimed to be smart.

Remember when you thought "Surely in the 21st century, I'll just get an eardrum transplant or something, whatever" when you listened to alllllllll that music too loud? Oops, too bad: That's why you're staring at lips all the time.

Another thing, you think direct eye contact with someone you don't know very well is piercing and borderline maniacal anyway.

Tunnel-vision just might get you killed one day.

Discussing your feelings about the people who are closest to you: No. That's like breathing. You take it for granted, but it keeps you alive.

Sometimes you hate your hair. Sometimes you like it fine. You really should probably cut it though. All you ever do is wear it up in 3 different ponytails. What is up with you anyway...

Screw it, you like your damn ponytail, and you're growing out your hair long, again, for the apocolypse.

Reading a book is impossible unless you read it in the bathtub. That way, the fear of falling asleep and drowning keeps you awake and focused.

Most of the stuff you read in the bathtub is a bunch of magazines like "Star", "Self", "Real Simple", "New Yorker", and "OK!" and two more that you secretly won't admit: "Cottage Living", and "Countryside" so one day, you can live off-the-grid in a yurt with a cable modem connection and some blueberry eating goats.

You have a good plan, but it isn't completely thought out yet.

Whatever. You just love your damn magazines.

Like you said, there are a lot of things you take for granted. But one thing you know is that all of the friends you have are seriously genuine and talented people, and if they'd never spoken to you first, you would never have known them at all.

Rarely if ever do you talk on the phone.

The cat only tears up the things you like, so you can't ever have anything nice. So just forget about it for a few years, okay?

You like roses and sparkly things, and you admit that freely, too, although no one really cares one way or the other by the way.

Narrowing it down is something you can only do when someone asks you what you don't like.

That garden gnome you laughed at? You have one now. Ha ha.

You get bored/distracted/whatever very easily. That's not exactly your fault either.

Somebody turned the heat up, and you feel dried out and dusty. You can't get up. Man, this is serious -- you are too burned out to get up anyway. Maybe tomorrow. Oh man, yeah, tomorrow is Friday, thank you, God.

Vitamins and supplements: You get 200% RDA and could use more, Dorian Gray.

You think it's only a matter of time before they find the cancer somewhere in your body.

Cooking is fun to you. But you end up cooking mostly pasta, mainly whole grain, with different types of sauces. Quinoa makes you happy, too, in that sad kinda stupid way...

Whoops, you've bored yourself again. Man. Oh well, at least you're consistent.

Weeding is relaxing to you. Oh now that's it -- what a nerd. That makes you feel old, doesn't it? But eh, like you'll ever believe that. Besides, what else are you up to on a Saturday? It's not like you're out running a marathon with that back, granny. You freak you out. Stop it!

Did you really wear black socks with your Nikes today? YOU DID! ... What is WRONG with you?!

Not many people around you understand a damn thing you are talking about ever. For some reason, that never stops you. But the ones that do understand just know everything you are thinking unspoken, and you want to know more about what they think. But you usually don't offer up any information unless someone asks you to because you're either listening or not listening, it's hard to tell.

You forgot to get olives at the store again, so way to go.

People mistake your squinting for aggression. And you're too nice, so stop with the nice already.

Yeah, we know. You can't.

To you, Patton Oswalt is the funniest person in the world right now, and Denis Leary just needs to retire. Honestly.

You miss your sister but not all of her. You miss the person she seemed to be when she was about 21 years old.

You could go on for days, but eventually you get goobed out writing a list about what it's like being you. But you publish it anyway because you're like that.

You like people who like you.

Eh. I'm still not convinced she's not fake.

But I think there's a braincell in there just waiting to happen
because I'm nice.
It's hours and hours of not fake fun for you at youtube.com.

Thank you thank you, shaunshead!

For the Frank and Frank! from froghatstudios.com.

Welcome to Cyber Monday:
The day everyone does their holiday shopping online,
so they say.

So grab your credit cards and some hot chocolate!
It's time to slow-roast those credit cards.
Here --
make your own snowflake
while your information is being processed.

I think it'll be good when the riots come, the world blows up and the survivors of the New World will at least be able to enjoy the holiday season by reinventing them all and making it simple.

I just had to get that out of my head before the standard U.S. Holidays started.

I'm not one of those people who jumps on the "I hate holidays" bandwagon. No way. I love them. In fact, we need more, as long as we get a day off for them.

It's just an observation, but am I right? Every year, Thanksgiving becomes more of a footnote. More of a teddybear with one eye missing that most people think is cute but could take it or leave it. Isn't that just about right? People who are hardcore consumers are usually big Christmas fans. I know a lot of those people. So I watch them plow right down into the XMAS 2005 Shopping Season quite easily. These are the people who, God forbid, would never consider making a gift for someone out of a wad of clay or a fistfull of beads; they BUY BUY BUY, NOW NOW NOW before you might BUY BUY BUY That Stuff they wanted to BUY BUY BUY BEFORE YOU YOU YOU.

The official "waking of the sleeping holiday giant" really begins in October with a "Trick or treat! Smell my feet! It's Halloween." And then, screeeechkerPOW, it's Christmas frag all over the place. My favorite thing about a 21st century Thanksgiving is that people just blow right past it. And I think that is beautiful. But then again, I laugh at the most inappropriate times. Nerves.

"Screw Thanksgivin'!," the over-priviledged middle-class yeehaw screams, "Madision and Addison! Finish them fun-sized Snicker bars and help me throw fairy lights 'round the front yard...hey, Nadine! Where's my blow-up Santa??"

For me, the fun starts with which retailer will have the mixed nuts to play the first whiff of Christmas? Who will play that ambient, canned Holiday musak shortly after Halloween but not quite Thanksgiving, to lull you into the howling-mad buying spree snowballing right over you and those sad Pilgrims and their measely Giving of Thanks with those locals with the beads and teepees and something like that, with corn and pumpkins and all that gravy, until you get to that day where there was some kid in the manger with the hippie couple, yada yada, sheep and kings, whatever...

Hell. I don't think people choose not to celebrate the simple blessings of having small things and sharing them with each other, if that's what Thanksgiving is really all about. Do I look like I know? Alls I know about Thanksgiving is that there's a big parade in New York, and turkey wings are overrated. And I'm thankful I never have to be around my Aunt Martha Ann and her perverted second husband, Russell. The end.

No, I think The Big C (a.k.a. Christmas and its mighty SUV-sized V-12 mean-machine consumerism) just blows a 21st century Thankgiving right out of its pipes before it knows what hit it.

I stay confused and at odds with myself.

Ron and I went to buy a turkey the other day. And my eyes glazed over and froze as I stood motionless with indecision hunched over into the grocery store freezer, bowling frozen-solid turkeys around over and behind each other, and I asked myself "Why am I even doing this? I don't want to cook this damn thing. It'll take $70 worth of gas to even cook the thing. Something small would be nice. Why am I doing this?"

So I looked for tiny turkeys, and I guess they don't make that model because I didn't see one. Then I considered torfurkey, and then my third eye saw Ron turning pink and rolling his eyes at my suggestion, and then I snapped outta that notion. And then I realized, as I hoisted a child-sized frozen headless and footless fowl into my cart that the only reason I was even considering doing this at all was because I was superstitious. No, really. As if I didn't cook and eat a turkey as I have done every year of my conscious life, then I would have Bad Luck or something. If anything, I should try to Not Eat a turkey and see how Lady Luck deals my hand for 2006. So after wheeling this bird up and down a few aisles with me, I rolled it over to the pork section for one last independent thought. Then accidentally glacing over at the 4-pack of fresh-cut pigs feet, I felt a grip tightening around my throat. "Is it demand that created supply, or supply that created demand?"

I suppose I had That (Grayish) Look on my face, so Ron turned pink and rolled his eyes at me as usual, grabbed the turkeyus maxiumus and spun around, then walked it back to its subzero crypt and tossed it back, airborne, into and amongst its brethren. "We'll just have pizza!" His answer to everything.

We're having a small turkey tenderloin. I'm superstitious, raised in the religion "Consumer".

But I am not complaining. Oh nooo. I'm not the type that will complain about a holiday. I am just looking and typing. Not me, boy. I would never look a gift turkey in the beak. As long as we, the barely middle-class working class, get a day or two off to see what it's like to be a fat jolly housewife, lolly-gagging and lounging and napping and eating bon-bons, just for two days, then that is a-ok with me until I win the lottery.

Anyway, what is my point? I have no idea. Maybe that's beautiful. Enjoy the day, wherever you are and whatever you do or don't do. That's probably something you should do everyday anyway. There. That's the only little nugget of zen I can chisel that complex sociological lump of consumerism coal into. And for the road, here is a little bun of senseless happiness for you -- whether you skip the holidays altogether or get all into like a bag of buttered biscuits.
(Thanks for the link, W!)


Dancin' Doughboy

Oh, Kazakhstan: Lighten Up!

Most people watching didn't even realize
that you were a real country to begin with.

Eh, don't feel so bad.
Now you know how Mississippi feels.

Wheeooheeeoooo, I'm a millionaire! AGAIN!

Six hundred and sixty seven thousand, two hundred and forty eight Euros. Twenty six cents to be exact.

I'd like to thank God "My New Main Man" Daddy G, of course, and the big JC, for giving me this giant heap of cash, and my mom and my dad for having me, and my agent that I'll be hiring who can keep a straight face in pitch meetings, and all the llama farmers or America, and I'd like to thank Cadbury for making the best chocolate around, and my dog Otis for keepin' it real, and all my best friends that I'll be making since I'm filthy rich now and I'd like to thank myself mostly for siging up for some dumb newsletter and having my name sold to la lista del Spam.



Euromillion Loteria Español
Paseo De La Castellana
15-89, 28008 Madrid.
Spain Branch.

Ref. Nº: ES/007/05/12/MAD.
Batch. Nº: GHT/2907/333/05.
YOUR E-MAIL ADDRESS WON THE LOTTERY.

We wish to congratulate you over your email success in our computer balloting sweepstake held on 20th october, 2005. This is a millennium scientific computer game in which email addresses were used. It is a promotional program
aimed at encouraging internet users; therefore you do not need to buy ticket to enter for it.
Your email address attached to ticket star number (4-5) drew the EUROMILLION lucky numbers 3-19-26-49-50 which consequently won the draw in the Second category.
You have been approve for the star prize of EUR 667,248.26. (Six
Hundred And Sixty Seven Thousand, Two Hundred And Fourty Eight Euros. Twenty
Six Cents)

CONGRATULATIONS !!!

You are advised to keep this winning very confidential until you receive
your lump prize in your account or optional cheque issuance to you. This
is a protective measure to avoid double claiming by people you may tell as
we have had cases like this before, please send your Full Name,Home and
Office Tel & Fax Number, Mobile Tel Number and your winning ticket number,reference
numbers and amount won information for processing of your winning fund to
our registered claim agent in addrres below.

Mainland Trust Security Service
Mr.Phillip Weeks
Address: Avenida de America 12
Madrid Spain.

E-mail:mainlandtrusta@netscape.net
Rememer, all winning must be claimed not later than 30th november, 2005.Please note, in order to avoid unnecessary delays and complications, remember to quote your reference number and batch number in all correspondence.
Furthermore, should there be any change of address do inform our agent as soon as possible.

Once again congratulations.

Best regard,
Mrs. Emily Simon,
Lottery coordinator.

The information transmitted is intended only for the person or entity to whom or which it is addressed. Unauthorised use, disclosure or copying is strictly prohibited. The sender accepts no liability for the improper transmission of this communication nor for any delay in its receipt

Can you spot the fake smile?

I got 17 out of 20. But I saw 19.
Interesting experiment courtesy of the BBC online.

"Arrested Development" cancelled.

Theory now fact: Excellent shows are wasted on the average moo-cow American audience and the executives at Fox.

So kids, listen up. Grab a digital camcorder and record the neighbor's dog taking a crap. You get the idea, you're the future, you spend your parents' money. You tell us what to feed you. Fox is looking for sellout ideas. Oh, and you have a little time to get that crap together -- let Fox get their watered down prison show out of the way in the next few weeks. It shouldn't take long.

But thank God more time has been freed up for more reality shows.
Not that God is taking requests anymore apparently,*
but send in that big "thanks."



*Aw. I don't blame the guy.
I'd throw the petri dish away and start over, too.
But that's just the gingersnap in me talkin'...yummy gingersnaps and Revelations.

Dude. I'm a gingersnap.
I was thinking I was more of an Oreo.

Starbucks owns you and me and the world,
but this is one of the reasons why.
Because they're gooooooood.
All the way down to this website.

Check out theredcup.com.

Digging through the ole saved Drafts...

Trust me, it's more rewarding than sorting socks. No, really. I mean it. I hate organizing socks. All socks should be disposable, and then you'd never have to pair them up after the big wash, the big wash where one bastard sock manages to escape anyway. Yeah yeah, you know the story. So where does that escapee sock go? To live on the Island of Salted Airline Peanuts, Full-Service Gas Stations and Broken Dreams.

Let's see what we got here:

Oh yeah, you gotta make your own pimpmobile at blingmybomb. I had one but don't know where I put it. Repossessed. Don't let this happen to you.

Speaking of pimpin' the ride, pimp your site while you're at it with gizzoogle. Look how much better CNN looks. I can actually read it without crying...

I can't remember what this is, but it might be funny. Or fizzy. Or the fiznit or fizzle-fied, however you wanna say it with tizzletalk. It's a free country. For the time being. Until the A-bomb comes...leading me to

...Open source beer. Period.

And a few books worth reading, I'll bet:

How to be a Graphic Designer Without Losing Your Soul


Chip Kidd


Why I'm Like This


Oh yeah! Izzes! These are so good, they don't even need vodka. You knew I had to say that, right? Yeah. I go for the obvious jokes when I'm doing laundry...

http://izze.com

pomegranate

grapefruit

I have no idea what this is: JFDS video. Wait, I remember now. It's very cool.

Ok, that's done. Now, go forth and enjoy. I'm off to watch "Lost" now (I still think those people are in a purgatory-type state of in-between existences...no? Then maybe I am...DAMMIT, I knew I shouldn't have mercy-killed that prostitute in 1865...)

"Look at it this way: You dodged a bullet, hun."

At least that's what my mom always told me.*

What a great idea - gather up all the old jewelry
that gassy waste of cytoplasm gave you
and have it melted and made into
something sentimental:

goddammo.com




*Except for the time I dated the pudgy, closeted illustrator.
That time, she said "Well, hun...he wasn't THAT special...
I mean, honestly. He was two milkshakes away
from Louie Anderson."

Zing pow to the moon, Alice. I love my mom.

Oh boy! Congratulations once more!

I am therefore to be happily claiming Two million, five hundred thousand, United States Dollars.

+++

British Lottery Headquarters:
Customer Service
28 TANFIELD ROAD,
CROYDON.LONDON


Ref: BTL/491OXI/04
Batch: 12/25/0304


WINNING NOTIFICATION

We happily announce to you the draw of the British
Lottery International programs held on the 1st of
June 2005 in London. Your e-mail address attached
to ticket number: 564 75600545-188 with serial number
5388/02 drew the lucky numbers: 31-6-26-13-35-7,which
subsequently won you the lottery in the 2nd category.

You have therefore been approved to claim a total
sum of US$2,500,000.00 (Two million, five hundred thousand,
United States Dollars) in cash credited to file
RPC/9080118308/04 made available from a total cash prize
of US $125 Million dollars, shared amongst the first Fifty
(50) lucky winners in this category.

All participants were selected randomly from world
wide web sites through a computer drawn system and
extracted from over 100,000 companies. This promotion
takes place annually.

Please note that your lucky winning number falls
within our booklet representative office in Europe as
indicated in our play coupon. In view of this, your
US$2,500,000.00 (Two million, five hundred
thousand, United States Dollars) would be released to
you by our affiliate bank in London as soon as you
establish contact.

Please be warned. To file for your claim, contact our
fiduciary agent with the below details;

AGENT: Mr Joe Perkins

Email: joe_perkins2005@yahoo.com

To avoid unnecessary delays and complications, quote your
reference/batch numbers in any correspondences with us or
our designated agent. Congratulations once more.

Faithfully,

Mr Micheal Ronin.

Zone Co-ordinator.

more links on hurra torpedo because none of you are tired of them yet.

Oh no, you're not. Not here you aren't.

Kids, a birthday party and smashing shit. It's just funny.

thecrushingblow.tv from hurratorpedo.com.

But if it's boobies you're looking for then it's hurratorpedos.com
for you.
(I always find these things out the hard way.)

And if you're still coming here looking for free flexy girls, I wish I could help you out of your misery. Honestly. But I can't. Try God instead. Or bourbon. Hell, try both. And for the person wondering and how much beano can i take, I say "Follow your heart."

But as far as finding Johnny Depp's email, Winona...you're beautiful, but give up the ghost, angel. I'm not giving it to you.

Awww...

Brian posted the "back of m' head" picture.* How many times do you get to say that in a lifetime? Thanks, Brian! And thank you, Biolage.

By the way: I have to say, Brian, besides the luxurious hair you have, you also have an awfully nice set of gams, brother. And I'm not talkin' a herd of whales either.
Again, how many times do you get to say that in a lifetime.
Bravo!

And now I'm off to write my novel about about a pale skinny Irishman with great hair. Who went camping one day. On an uncharted island. With Bigfoot. Played by Rob Schneider.

That's all I can say. I don't want to give away the ending.

*Try it sometime. It takes real skill. And the sense of accomplishment, don't get me started.

well, I didn't get home until 5:30, but man, really.
they even did a cover of Britney's "Toxic."
nice.
very nice.

hooray for hurra torpedo and 100% genuine Norwegian buttcrack.

ps: these guys are tall.



as long as you have too much to do anyway,
it's that time of year again:
National Writer Month starts tomorrow.

1999: 21 participants and six winners
2000: 140 participants and 29 winners
2001: 5000 participants and more than 700 winners
2002: 13,500 participants and around 2100 winners
2003: 25,500 participants and about 3500 winners
2004: 42,000 participants and just shy of 6000 winners


nanowrimo.com


my mom: you know, you should be a writer.
me: yeah, well, that's part of what I do for a living, ya know. copywriter.
my mom: oh no, i mean a real writer.



ooo.

What am I gonna be for halloween?

Ecstatic, if these guys really show up as promised
for the annual Hell on Earth party.

I love hurra torpedo. And bourbon and cokes.

he was injured...bad injured.

yet another good one from transbuddha.com

thank you, mistress jacquie, for "Bushes" at transbuddha.com*

now i'm stuck on this remix by Markus Nikolai and must have it.

and for all those out there
who think women are just mainly stupid
for putting themselves through something
as painful as bikini waxes, well, you could be right.

but don't forget, it's that special kind of stupidity
that keeps the world fully-populated,
so you better embrace it.

enjoy!





*and, check out the Le Tigre video also found @ transbuddha.com

all i want for xmas is something flashy.

tokyoflash.com

Only 89.022 US american dollars, hmm?

"What time is it?... I have no idea, but this is the coolest watch I've ever had."

join the flock: electricsheep.org

wheoo heoo, i'm rich!

It's been awfully good knowing you, but I am now officially Upper-Class Rich Folk now.

Observe:

EURO MILLION LOTTERY INTERNATIONAL

CALLE MOSTOLES 23C PISO 6G 28923 MADRID ESPANA.
DATE: OCTOBER24TH, 2005.
FROM:
THE DESK OF THE VICE PRESIDENT
INTERNATIONAL PROMOTIONS/PRIZE
AWARD...
BATCH: EGGS-652-067-222
REFERENCE: 77/13/KTT
                                       AWARD NOTIFICATION.
This is to inform you on the release of the EURO MILLION  INTERNATIONAL LOTTERY held on the 19th of JUNE 2005.     
The results was released on the 21st of JUNE 2005. Your email address was attached to ticket number 331-554-075-495 with serial number 321-570-160-006 that drew the lucky numbers of 00-87-85-69-89, which consequently won the lottery in the 1st category.
You have therefore been awarded a lump of 550,000.00(FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND EURO ONLY) cash credited to file with REF: Nº  EGS/774/161/888
This is from €5,500,000 (FIVE MILLION FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND EURO) in cash among the 20 participants finalist playing 100 full tickets  in which 10 winners was selected.
                                   CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Your fund is now deposited with Santa Lucia Security Company and insured in your  email address. Due to mix up of some numbers and names, we ask that you keep this award from public notice until your claims have been processed and the money remitted to your account.
This is part of our security protocol to avoid problems from participants as it has happened in the past.
All participants were selected through a computer ballot system drawn from 25,000 names from Asia, Australia, New Zealand, Europe, North and South America, Middle East and Africa .
This programme is sponsored by EUROPEAN UNION/BILL GATES and WORLD INTERNATIONAL LOTTERY ORGANISATION TO PROMOTE and ENHANCE the use of SOFT WARE IN THE GOBAL WORLD. We hope your lucky name will draw a bigger cash prize in the subsequent programs. To begin your lottery claims, please contact your claims agent.

DR WALES TOM 
infosantalotto05@netscape.net
Telephone number: 0034-620-692-135 ,

you are required to present  your information of identity to prove you are the user of this email address, either your country passport or any other valid identity is required.
Remember, all winnings must be processed not later than two weeks from the day you receive this notification.
Any requirement not met before this date,funds will be returned to the EUROPEAN UNION MINISTRY OF FINANCE HEADQUATERS.  Also be informed that 10% of your lottery winning belongs to the security company because they are the company assigned by the European Union to process your winnings to you.From your winnings,  10%  will be collected after you have received your winning prize because the money is insured in your e-mail address and can not be removed.
Remember to quote your reference and batch numbers ( BATCH: EGGS-652-067-222 REFERENCE: 77/13/KTT) in every of your response to your claim agent. Further more, should there be any change of address,  inform your claim agent as soon as possible.A copy of your lucky winning ticket and your deposit certificate will be sent to you by your claim agent, DR WALES TOM.
Once again from all members of our staff  CONGRATULATIONS  for being a part of our International promotions program.
NOTE:winners below eighteen years (  -18yrs ) are disqualified from this programme.
We wish you  good fortunes.
Sincerely,
MRS,JANET CROLL "

-----Original Message-----

From: Shaun

Sent: Thursday, October 20, 2005 9:57 AM

To: Full-Time

Subject: Donuts

There's lots of donuts by the coffee machine, I brought a bunch and Michelle did too. Eat some.

From: Mike

Sent: Thursday, October 20, 2005 10:05 AM

To: Shaun; Full-Time

Subject: RE: Donuts

Supersized America forces changes on boats, planes

October 18, 2005

Supersized Americans aren't just busting out of their belt sizes. They're forcing a reexamination of minimum weight standards for everything from hospital beds to cargo in small planes and passengers on ships.

Even caskets and cemetery vaults are coming in larger sizes to accommodate today's larger American.

There's no question Americans are getting fatter. About 65 percent of Americans are overweight, up from 46 percent in the 1970s, and a Rand Corp. study says the number of adults who are extremely obese - more than 100 pounds overweight - has quadrupled since 1986 to about 4 million people.

That extra heft is not only requiring new standards for the width of seats in airplanes and football stadiums, but also the width of doors and size of rooms in hospitals.

It's also making boats and planes dangerously top-heavy.

The National Transportation Safety Board cites the March 6, 2004, capsizing of the Lady D, a 36-foot water taxi in Baltimore Harbor, in which five people drowned.

The Lady D was carrying only 25 people, no more than its limit. But the NSTB added the weight of all aboard and concluded that the boat was 700 pounds over its 3,500-pound capacity when it capsized.

NTSB Chairman Ellen Engleman Conners said the problem is the Coast Guard set its standards in the 1960s, when the average passenger weight was calculated at 140 pounds.

"Average adult weights have increased by nearly 25 pounds in the last 40 years," she said, urging the Coast Guard to come up with new standards.

Angela McArdle, a Coast Guard spokeswoman, said the agency is taking another look at its 40-year-old standards and has contracted for a research project to come up with recommendations. "It's in study now," she said, noting the regulations could affect passenger loads in about 20,000 vessels operating in America's coastlines that come under Coast Guard jurisdiction.

After a boat carrying 47 elderly passengers capsized on Lake George this month, New York Gov. George Pataki directed state park officials to adjust the weight limits on boats in New York's parks from the 140-pound average to 174 pounds to reflect the changing dimensions of the average American.

The NTSB said outdated weight standards also played a role in the 2003 commuter plane crash that killed 21 people in Charlotte, N.C. The Federal Aviation Administration has revised its weight standards for aircraft, requiring aircraft owners to use 174 pounds as the average weight of passengers instead of 160.

The increased weight of Americans has prompted other changes. Elevator manufacturers no longer install passenger limits in elevator cabs, but instead set gross weight limits for what elevators can carry.

The Center for Science in the Public Interest, a Washington interest group that campaigns against fatty food and sugary sodas, has compiled a list of other routine changes a fatter society has required. Thanks to vanity sizing, the group notes that today's size 10 for women was sold as a size 14 in the 1940s and sales of plus-size clothing for women amount to a quarter of clothing sales.

The store chain Casual Male Big & Tall said surveys found that men don't particularly like the Big & Tall label and so is changing the store name to Casual Male XL.

Big changes also are being made to hospital equipment. Hill-Rom, a Batesville, Ind., supplier of health-care equipment that is part of Hillenbrand Industries, says it is offering an array of new equipment for use in bariatric medicine - the treatment of obesity.

Suzanne Bish, marketing manager for the company, said hospitals are increasingly buying instead of renting items like the 1,000-pound capacity beds Hill-Rom makes.

"With the explosion we've seen in the patients, there's a demand for more bariatric products," she said. She said hospitals need the larger beds, which are 40 inches to 50 inches wide, to handle the widest and heaviest patients weighing 300 pounds and 400 pounds.

She said it's not just the patients who need the wider beds and wider seats, but the nurses and other health-care workers need larger equipment and stronger stretchers so they can conduct their routine tasks.

Bish said the company also advises hospitals in establishing wards for bariatric medicine patients, who require larger rooms for the larger equipment, larger doors to get through and different styles of bathroom equipment. "Wall mounted toilets and sinks aren't good," she said.

For end-of-life considerations, Batesville Caskets last year launched its "Dimensions" line of supersized burial caskets.

Joe Weigel, spokesman for the company, said demand from funeral homes last year for oversized caskets continued to increase. Weigel said casket size has been traditionally limited by the 30-inch-wide vaults into which they are finally placed. Oversized vaults are now made that can accommodate 32-inch-wide caskets.

Just in case you missed this at charlie's...

Someone. Help me, please, anyone. What do I do here.

Should I laugh or should I cry? Where do I look?! I'm so embarrassed, I don't even know where to look. And now, I'm guilty because they practiced so hard for so long. And now, I'm pissed because I wish I had that kind of time to practice so hard for so long. And now, I want popcorn and SnoCaps. What?

Is this child abuse?

This is how I felt at my grandmother's funeral. Now I feel guilty again.

Where do I look. Don't look at it again. OH NO. I looked.

You know, a little letter from J.K. Rowling's attourneys could stop this from ever happening again.

Wait a minute! I've got it! It's beautiful in its perfect imperfection, like in a wabi-sabi way.

Kids, you did a good job. Great job. Now stop that, don't do it again, and tell a trusted adult what just happened to you, and make sure you mention that the song "Beat It" was used.

There. No guilt, no more. Ohmm. Good monster, goo-o-o-o-d.

That was a close meltdown. Maybe it was the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice non-fat Latte combined with the crap music. Oh, come on. A Michael Jackson tune with dancing kids? No wonder I had an allergic-to-nuts reaction.

Damn, by the way, what a cool site Jay to the Kay Miss Money has...very nice!

There's got to be something I can say about this scary skeleton
found on sale at marthastewart.com...

Yes. I'm tired. But any Mary-Kate/Nicole Richie/Paris Hilton/Mischa Barton/Hillary Duff/Lindsay Lohan jokes would just be too obvious.

Get rid of your enemies in style the Martha Stewart way and use their empty carcasses as festive Halloween decorations for your doorstep.

"First, let's start with a freshly killed victim. Any victim will do -- say, an over-priviledged neighbor who miscalculated one step at that last soiree and had the grave misfortune of treading across a newly mulched pumpkin patch. Yes. Mistakes can happen. Once. So. What to do with the bodies...boil them in a big stainless steel stockpot or vat for several days. I like to buy my giant vats at the local co-op or any farming supply store...

"After a few hours, you'll see that the legs will remove quite easily. Pull all the meat from the bones carefully. Be sure to keep the chunks small enough to grind easily in your lovely KitchenAide mixer with meat grinder attachment. I love my KitchenAide. Every upper-class woman in the world should have at least one, if not two -- one being for display purposes only...

"It's a little known fact that most bones aren't that pristine white we're all so used to seeing around this time of the year with all the scary skeletons. To brighten up your scary skeleton, soak your freshly-picked bones in bleach for several days, turning them occasionally to make sure every little digit is bright white. I like to bleach my victim's bones until they are just the perfect shade of eggshell, so they really bring out the greens and oranges of my lovely pumpkins...like this poor near-perfect little dear right over here that I grew from hand-polished heirloom pumpkin seeds...and then...(split-second, low growling, high-pitched possessed, backwards-speak grumbling outburst) MILES (chimpanzee in Tanzania screams in background) decided to have one too many of my special Citrus Pucker Cocktails at my exclusive semi-annual Pre-Before-Almost Halloween soirees, and tripped through my darling pumpkin patch. My patch is very special to me because it's fertilized with the remains of my many precious housepets and back-talking housemaids throughout the years..."

I could go on for days like this, can you tell? Too easy. Oh well.

...egad...

my backpacks got jets - i'm boba the fett

Lyrics and download here. thank you, mc chris

happyyyyyyyy friiiiiiidayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

ilovemoondog

and

moondoglovesyou(.com)

Good lawd. There are many mui mucho neato things here. I want to spread this moondog love. I think I'll email him.

Also, if you smell burning wires and a hint of bacon, it's just me and my burnout. Mmm. Burnouuut.

employee5: "you know what today isss..."

me: "it's garbage day."

employee5: "No. IT'S HUMPDAY!!"

We're both right. So like, Happy GarbageHumpDay.

sigur ros



(~ thank u, kreg ~)

filmmovement.com

just in time for the impending holidays +
get a discount when you click the bottom right web ad found at
airamericaradio.com

look at this way: you never know what film you'll receive next. but guaranteed, it'll be a j.lo-free one.

{listening to}


1. Bluebird Is Dead / Todd Rundgren / Tribute to the Music of Jeff Lynne

2. Living in the Plastic Age / The Buggles / The Age of Plastic

3. This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody) / Talking Heads / Speaking in Tongues

4. Messages / Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark / The OMD Singles

5. Setting Your Head On Fire / +/- (PlusMinus) / (hmm...not sure)

6. Save it for Later / Beat / Special Beat Service

7. Bunker / 100 Flowers / 100 Years of Pulchritude

8. I Should Have Known Better / Wire / 154

9. One More Time / Clash / Sandinista!

10. One Hundred Years / The Cure / Pornography

11. Call Me Up / Gang Of Four / Gill/King

12. By Chance / Go-Betweens / Before Hollywood

13. Obstacle 1 / Interpol / Matador at Fifteen


{you should be listening, too. }

Just two neato sites is all.


asiargento.it found around misshapes.com

No, I can't help it. I freakin' love party pics and wings. Not so sure of the Paul McCartney "Wings" but out of respect, ok, yes I like those "Wings", too. Anyway, on asiaargento, click the flashing "MENU" and then "images". It's just so intensely hard being this beautiful,

oh,

do not get me started.

enjoy~oooprettyprettyprettyenjoycoolcoolcoolenjoy prettyprettyprettyenjoycoolcoolcoolnoreally~enjoy

I wonder how New Orleans is,

but I'm not kicking that rock over to find out. Not accepting fresh wounds.

I dug around and found a poemish thing I wrote on my pda on a train trip home on December 16th, 2004.

You know you care. C'mon. Don't be like that. Read my sad pda rambling...geesh... it's not brussel sprouts. Brussel sprouts are good for you, by the way, remember that.



+++++

train 59 to new orleans

i can ignore someone for 4.22 hours one way and 4.16 hours back again. and someone can ignore me the same amount of time.

i am the dumb one who sits on the train not in the seat number
but in the train number itself.
i am not the only one trying to sit in seat 59:
out of an entire empty car, a kid sits right next to me
all he has is a skateboard, backpack and CDs.

we all stood in the rain to board
instead of standing under the canopy
conductor asked why we were standing in rain 'like ducks'
i said 'we're standing in the rain like idiots'

you are sitting next to me on the train
you brought things to insulate yourself from me
i forgot to do that. i will forget next time, too.

i am in someone elses fugitive montage
i am the late one in the rain
you are sitting by me ignoring me
soaked

we have a lot in common.

i think i am that tree growing too close to the tracks,
stripped down and cleared now and then
i never grow back quite the same.

i didn't hear the question but I heard God answer:
'the foist thing you got to realize is that you lost. then, you go from there.'

God is a black man on a train to new orleans
sitting directly behind me in an empty car
with only us three.
i am the one feigning sleep
i am the one thinking about derailment
i am the one who carries a germ from them to you

and the world outside blurs by
pink and yellow ransacked skeletons with rusty tin rooves as a hat

i can tell i'm almost home.

someone's meadow lark lemon basketball is floating alone in a greened over drainage ditch.
people live here, i forget that.

'attention all passengers. someone has lost a ring in the restroom. they laid it down beside the washbasin. it has no monetary value, only intrinsic or sentimental value. '
does anyone stop to think that if you find a ring on a train, someone knows you have it.

the signs outside say 'holy city': black guy with his baseball cap backwards is riding a horse down the frontage road between us and a trailer park. people fascinate me.

nearly h@me.

when two trains pass each other going different directions,
its hard to tell which one is moving faster
or if one has stopped moving at all.

home.


+++++


See, that wasn't so bad. I don't totally suck at this. Softball, I suck at. This rambling thing is second nature, maybe even third. You care.

damn, this boy makes my day

always, every time.

found in at havesomehats in Misc. Artwork, collaboration, then whispered apologies comic

and don't forget to buy his art before hollywood ruins it.

"You tell them, Jonesy! You go tell them all!" ~ k. parker c. 2003

wheredidthetimego.com?

Good question. I know it's a little off because I know
for a fact I have worked more than 6.7 years for The Man.
Maybe they aren't counting time spent working for The (Wo)Man.
That may be it. But really, in retrospect,
those women were dudes, man.
Absolutely.

Enjoy!

hah! ouch.

This just in.

This morning in Georgia, a gas distributor paid $3/gallon for gas straight from the source. And it freaked him out enough to call his wife, who called Ron's mom, who called Ron, who then told me. So you guys go fill up. I'll just stay here and curl up into a little ball and roll to work in the new, fuel-efficient fetal position.

Mark my words, it will be all the rage until the world finally explodes.







And I thought today was going to be dull.





From email:
"Now this is a Crocodile! This crocodile was found in New Orleans swimming down the street -- 21 FT long, 4,500 lbs, around 80 years old minimum...

"Specialists said that he was looking to eat humans because he was too old to catch animals. This crocodile was killed by the army last Sunday at 3:00 pm, currently he is in the freezer at the Azur hotel. The contents of it's stomach will be analyzed this Friday at 2:30pm."

I can hear it, can you?

"Ned! Look at the size of this croc, would ya?! That is the most fascinating creature I have seen in all my years!! I don't think I can recall in my life's work as a Specialist of any record known to man documenting a crocodile that's grown to this impressive size. My God, Ned. Isn't nature a grand and marvelous and miraculous thing? Amazing, simply amazing. Look, I've got chills. Well...okay...Private, get over here with that shotgun, son, and shoot the fucker."

why chicks dig me


more, more and even more here.

and even though I am 1/16th european gypsy hippie, i still love this.

enjoyyyyyyyy.

And now, back to our regular program:

Bow WOW: a genetically mutated dog owned by the nicest woman in the world,
samugliestdog.com

Some of the nicer things people decide to do with cats and digital cameras,
catsinsinks.com

America isn't completely useless - we do have cheese, ya know,
united states of cheese

It's funny, you like it,
diesel sweeties

It's creative, you love it,
corporate pig

Need photograph here with copypoint and fat bonus ipsum dolor sunt,
lipsum.com

thisisweirdbutilikeit
thisisamagazine

I don't even know where to begin on this one. My friend Jim died last Monday. I guess that's a good start. A friend of mine died.

Cancer. He was 20 years, two months and a week older than me, but I never noticed. He had dreams, but he wasn't the typical dreamer type, so I liked him almost immediately. He had that sad, realistic edge like me, that "yeah, right" type of thing that not many people understand how deep it all goes actually. Lately, my edge has sliced me in half. But if used properly, it can keep you strong enough. So people like us, we're okay with it.

He gave me a clock radio. Pink, and I guess 1940ish. It had been broken in one place and glued back together. That piece rattled around inside for a while and eventually fell out. Despite the hole, it's a damn fine clock. He found it in 1997 when he was cleaning out his mom's house after she died. When he brought it to me, he handed it over and said "I wrote a little somethin' on the back..."









It was to remind me that I had a dream. And it was a good one that we all talked about and added things to every time we talked about it, over and over, beer after beer, sitting on piers at the reservoir late at night, or laughing and talking too loud with our mouths full of sushi. I looked back at him and smiled. He said "You can look at it when I'm dead and think, 'Yeahhhh that Jim Bass was a nice guy.... he gave me this crappy pink radio with a hole innit' ..."

"Oh shut up. You're never dying," I said.

I knew I was wrong on that one. But hey, I can dream, can't I?

He also said "Hey listen, you might wanna unplug that thing, too, when you're not around, so your apartment won't catch on fire."

Great, Jim. Let's hit on the top three things I'm terrified of: fire, water (implied: to put out the fire with, of course) and death. Throw in a bag of flying roaches, and I'll black out.

So everyone began emailing back and forth on when the funeral was, when the visitation was, fun stuff like that the living do to carry on. I'm not going to any more funerals. Those are right out. I focused all my energy on just getting through the day without coming unglued. I had a deadline stomping my head into the ground so badly that I convinced myself it was the only thing in the world that existed. I was okay until everyone left and went home for the day. Then I came apart in stages. I tried not to as hard as I could, but I felt just like speeding, burning space garbage re-entering the atmosphere, tumbling and disintegrating and finally exploding into a million tiny pieces. I don't even remember how I got home. It's like time just stopped at 9:45am on a Monday, and it just goes light and dark over and over again for no reason.

I miss Jim Bass. I missed him since the last time I hung up the phone. I hoped I'd see him again somewhere, but I knew from the tone of his "yeah right" that I probably wouldn't. I miss my dreaming friends. I miss sleeping through the night without waking up and wishing I was asleep. It's funny how real a dream is when you're just dreaming it and adding to it. If it never becomes a physical reality, it doesn't matter. Nothing is as real as a dream. The thing about dreams is that you have to keep them alive, even if they never come true. Especially if they never come true.

So visitation was last Tuesday, and the funeral was at 9am Wednesday. I couldn't go to either one. I sat in Memphis the morning of the funeral and questioned everything around me more than usual, and missed other people I'll never see again. I was ready to walk out to my car and go by 8:22, but I just couldn't get in my car.

For some reason, I needed to find that damn pink radio. I knew exactly where it was. It was there on the same shelf, deep in the closet with all the half-unorganized, mostly useless junk in it. It was up high with the cord folded neatly and tied up with a red twist-tie from a loaf of bread a long time ago. I have to admit, I almost threw it away once when I was cleaning and straightening. What was the point. Dreams are too much damn trouble, and the dreams I have now look nothing like the ones I had seven years ago. What a shame, I thought in the end, so I kept the pink radio. It didn't take up much space anyhow. And I respected it because Jim gave it to me, and he tried to make me never forget that I had a dream.

So I got it down, and knocked a few things over in the process that I wish would've broken so I could get rid of them, but no. I just walked around to all the outlets and held the radio out to them each, and wondered where in the hell I could plug this damn thing in. It just doesn't fit in anywhere anymore, does it. Who the hell am I, and what a damn shame, I thought. So I put it in this uncharacteristically clear space in the kitchen, on the counter. Why it was clear, who knows. For some reason I just needed one clear countertop with a bunch of nothing on top of it. And there it was. So when I plugged it in, I thought about what he said, about the fire and all. And I half smiled. Question was, did it even work anymore. I haven't turned it on in seven years.

My God, who cares, I thought, stop thinking. It's 8:27, let's get this going. So I did, and I turned it on and glowed brighter in the dial, but only slowly. I remembered it had to warm up before it worked. I sat down at the squeaky kitchen table and just stared up at the stained glass heart I hung in the kitchen window. It was still and red and cold. Coincidentally or not, the radio was tuned exactly to a station. The call letters were WMPS, I think, "the music of your life" the announcer said.

So it goes silent, then I hear the opening chords of a familiar song. I'm not sure what it is, but it's one of those songs that I'm fairly sure I hate, I know that much. So life and God, like only those two can do together, produced this tragic comedy of love and hate, joy and sorrow, while I have a "well, dammit, it's good enough for me" moment:

"Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone
Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song
I just can’t remember who to send it to...

"I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain
I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I’d see you again..."

I hate James Taylor. I really, truly do.

"Been walking my mind to an easy time, my back turned towards the sun
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it’ll turn your head around
Well, there’s hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come,
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground..."

One thing I hate most about James Taylor is that you can't come out to anyone that you hate him without catching three, distinct shades of red hell over it. But, that's life, and there you have it. Anyway, it was beyond a choking laugh and touching moment to me. It felt like life just died and turned into a dream.

The funeral began at 9am. I would get past this, but I'm not getting in the car. I sat back down at the kitchen table again, one minute til. Go ahead, I thought, do it again. "It's 9am at WMPS, the music of your life." This time, it's Nat King Cole. And this time, something died in me and flew away. But at least I didn't feel alone anymore, not for awhile.

"Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through for you...

"Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That’s the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what’s the use of crying?
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile...

"That’s the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what’s the use of crying?
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile."



I will miss my friend every day from now on. He was one of the best people I have ever known, and I damn fine dreamer.

If you're still reading this, don't forget, you need to dream. It's the music of your life. And besides, if you don't, it's just another day going light and dark over and over for no reason.




(And if you are ever googling up Sam-e as a natural mood enhancer, you'll find this little guy in the mix. I gotta say, he is a natural little mood enhancer. I think I am addicted already.)