it was 11:15 in the evening, 45 minutes till midnight, binky mcsmithers leaned against his car looking at the stars. He pulled a pall mall from the pack and lit up.

as he inhaled the first draught of smoke, the tip of his cigarette CRACKLING with it's "birth", binky thought about his childhood, how he liked to imagine great adventures, and was told by those around him to "grow up" and how he was wrong in how he was thinking. Binky didn't argue. he didn't like to argue. he realized the ones who speak the loudest and the fastest were the ones who won the arguement, regardless of who was correct.

halfway into the cigarette's "life", which is also halfway to it's "death", binky blew smoke rings, and as the undulating rings of smoke floated
up
up
up
toward the stars and heaven, disipating as they rose skyward, binky thought of his life as an adult. He would share his ideas and dreams, fantastic and unrealistic as they might be, with his wife, who would point out the flaws in his plans and tell him how wrong he was, tell him how wrong his thoughts and feelings were. His daughter would tell him how wrong he was, speak to him with no respect at all. At work, he was told how wrong he was, and even though he managed to obtain a reletively high position at his office, his co-workers, bosses, underlings, all treated him with little to no respect. he was the butt of thier jokes, a mere amusement, never to be taken seriously.

Binky realized, in the gameshow of life, he was the all time worst contestant in history. any time he rang in with an answer, he heard the dissonant BZZZZZZZ of the wrong answer buzzer, and the flashing red X would flash onscreen to show those who may be hearing impared that Binky was wrong.

Binky realized his words were just ammunition he provided others to shoot him down with, cut him down and put him in his place. if you were having a bad day, you could always step on binky to elevate yourself. that was his job in life.

As the cigarette burned to the end, reaching the small printed words "pall mall" right against the filter, binky decided he would no longer play the game. He would no longer offer others the chance to show him how his thougths and feelings were wrong and not worthy of respect. Binky dropped the cigarette and as he ground it out with the tip of his shoe, binky decided he would live the rest of his life and never

ever.

ever.

talk.

again.

the day after

Another Halloween came and went. It didn’t feel like Halloween, probably cause I live in Arizona and there isn’t a crisp biting chill in the air and maple leaves are not all over clogging drains and gutters and rotting in the yard. I assume Christmas will not feel like it either. Sweet.

I didn’t have too many candy beggars knocking at my door, extorting candy out of me in fear they will terrorize my house with soap and toilet paper and eggs and such. The cool thing is, all the kids had costumes, unlike some places I lived where 15 year olds come asking for candy dressed as “a student” or “a rap artist.” Fuck you, at least pretend to give an effort.

I don’t understand the parents who bring infants, dressed in some dinosaur or tiger pajamas. The kid doesn’t even know where he is, and is sleeping in the car seat you are toting around. You come to my house and show me you have a kid and you want me to give you candy? Save the money you spent on gas and buy your own damn bag of snickers, moron.

And if a car pulls up and kids get out, that is just cheating. Like you aren’t fat enough, at least work for the candy. It’s like getting shaken down by the candy mafia. Makes me lose hope in mankind. Trick or treating has gotten jaded and there should be national rules that must be followed. Kids should have “trick or treat” classes in school, so everyone knows the protocol and dos and don’ts. That would rock.

But then you have the damned Christians who want to boycott Halloween, cause it’s evil. Getting dressed up as Batman for free Hershey bars *IS* doing Satan’s work, sure, I can see it, but then you should also not participate in Christmas, which originally was a celebration of the winter solstice. At the very least, they shouldn’t have a Christmas tree, as evidenced by this next bit I copied and pasted……
[The Norse pagans and Celtic Druids revered evergreens as manifestations of deity because they did not "die" from year to year but stayed green and alive when other plants appeared dead and bare. The trees represented everlasting life and hope for the return of spring.
The druids decorated their trees with symbols of prosperity -- a fruitful harvest, coins for wealth and various charms such as those for love or fertility. Scandinavian Pagans are thought to be the first to bring their decorated trees indoors as this provided a warm and welcoming environment for the native fairy folk and tree elementals to join in the festivities. The Saxons, a Germanic pagan tribe, were the first to place lights on the their trees in the form of candles. Ancient Romans decorated their homes with greens at the Festival of Saturnalia, their New Year and exchanged evergreen branches with friends as a sign of good luck. ]
Blah blah blah. It’s not like they will listen. I’m just saying….hope everyone had a spooky and fun Halloween.

Note to Trans and others who don't have halloween...you aren't missing much, it's lost it's fun over the years. but if you were to ever come to the states, drop by anytime, i'll give you free candy...

happy holidays

Everyone here at Saddle Sore Review would like to take a moment to wish everyone out there a Happy and blessed Halloween.

As you gather around your Halloween Tree, singing Halloween Carrols, lovingly insert razor blades into candy apples, dance naked around a bonfire, however you celebrate this special day, remember those who sadly cannot enjoy Halloween for whatever reason,

and laugh at them, those poor suckers.


Happy Halloween

i like things that are measured in dollops

Gather round children, and hear tell of the tale of Captain Ignatz the Rude, the fierce hot air balloon pirate who was the "scourge of the skies" in 19th century Europe.

the year was 1804, napolean was looking for alternate means of supply routes, and decided to test the feasability of the nascent technology of hot air balloons. with its success, soon everyone was lemming up and hot air balloons were as common as a fat drunk shirtless guy at a NASCAR event.

one man, known now only as Ignatz the Rude, operated outside of social norms. Some say he was french, some say he was portugeuse or that he came from bavaria, no one is completey sure. Ignatz grew up, not in a poor family with a hard life, as these stories seem to always go, but in a middle class family with pretty much an uninteresting life. His father worked at a button factory, making buttons, and his mother ran a small bakery where she sold her wonderful homeade jellybean pizzas (pepperoni pizza with red, pink and orange jellybeans, that, when baked, melt into little puddles of sweetness and mix with the spicy pepperoni grease for a taste sensation that is out of this world). Ignatz was intelligent, and bored, and we now know he turned to a life of crime on the high skies merely for something to do.

Ignatz became famous when he pulled off "the great hot air baloon robbery of 1805." to thawrt brigands and highway robbers, france was using hot air balloon trains to transport gold and money, and one sunny day during a routine gold run, ignatz and his pirate crew floated out of seemingly no where, boarded the hot air balloons filled with gold, and took every bar, floating away before the french bankers, mouths filled with brie and baguettes, could do anything about it. amazed at the ease of this crime, ignatz tried agan three days later, when, while floating over what is now lichtenstien, he boarded a dutch hot air balloon, conscripted those who were willing and dumped the rest out, and added another balloon and booty to his hot air balloon pirate fleet.

flush with his success, ignatz went on harrasing hot air balloon traffic, often mocking the pilots as he robbed them blind, earning the notorius moniker "ignatz the rude." although their were some who tried to capture ignatz to make the skies safe and capture the large reward put on his head, ignatz was too cunning, to quick, too much like the wind and never was caught, making him the most successful hot air balloon pirate. ever.

the life of a hot air balloonist is a lonely, harsh one. spending months and years in the sky with no soft touch, wet lips, warm embrace, or flowered smell of a woman, the lonliness of the sky takes it toll on a man, and not many men can bear that hardship for so long. also working against ignatz was time and man's nature itself. soon, modern technological advancments that were bound to happen sooner or later came into play. the age of the horseless carriage and the steam engine blew in like the east wind, and hot air balloons fell by the wayside.

and Captain Ignatz the Rude, the worlds most daring and celebrated hot air balloon pirate, floated off into obscurity, like the clouds he made his life amongst.

all my powertools

so here is my cool idea....first i will find a reletively good restaurant that is popular, then i will open up a restaurant within one block and my menu will have the exact stuff on it, but everything will be called a different name....then, whatever people order, i will call up and order from the other restaurant, pick it up, and serve it as if it were my own. whatever i pay for the food, i will charge one or two dollors more. all drinks will be from my own bar.

this way, i don't have to hire a bunch of cooks, i don't have to pay for food, cooking expenses, all that stuff, i just have to serve food to people, so much less work, and i will be a good restaurant.

another idea i just came up with is this....you know how all this working on computers makes people's eyes hurt and makes you go blind? what they need is a computer that talks to you, like a speak and spell, but with a waay more sexy voice, a lot less like steve hawking. anyway, then you could rest your eyes and listen to what you had to read. this would eventually result in people's eyes being strong but going deaf, which sucks, but would be better than being blind, cause then you couldn't look at porn, and you would stub your toe on a table leg when you walked across the room, and a stubbed toe hurts really bad......

so i got a new computer and it kicks ass and now i am playing doom 3. yes, i am waaaay behind the times, but i love the doom, i have to play it, and i finally am able to thanks to my new computer.

off to kill demon aliens......

i accidently swallowed my hand

music makes beautiful soundwaves, thumpin, screeching, rocking, soulfull, adreneline rush inducing soundwaves. if they could figure out a way to convert soundwaves to energy, or better said, transform sound into harnessable energy, they could make a car that runs off music.

then, instead of getting low grade gas or high grade gas or turbo charged nitro burning funny cars or whatnot, your power/speed would be directly proportional to what you listen to. hip hoppers would be thumpin along to fiddy cent, old peole would still be driving slow listening to chopin or benny goodman, punkers would be speeding along with old skool suicidal tendencies, hippie surfers would cruise with jack johnson, etc etc.

i could have a misfits and gwar powered car. YES!!!!!!

taking this principle, though, since music does create sound waves, technically, in space you could propell a ship with them. what a cool story that would be....a spacecraft full of people, maybe going to a new planet, maybe just commuting across the galaxy, breaks down and the poeple are going to die, but some young kid saves everyone's life with his ipod, which helps propell the ship "all across the universe" (a beatle reference for you all to enjoy) and back to safety.

that would be cool though, wouldn't it?

thou shalt not molest aliens, says exodus 22:20, new american bible

sunday sunday sunday, weather kicked some ass, had a good day really. i was surfing around the internet, like all the kids do nowadays, and i joined some kind of community thingy, like a myspace type of deal, and i honestly don't know why i did it.

i want to create a virtual little town, much like trans did with her little island, only the town would have it's regulars like sunshine the happy goth, afro cat, instant justice man, the snacktruck guy, and it's regualr places like Shooters Steakhouse and Mosque, and the cockring kiosk in the mall. but really, what would i do with it? i could make it a collective, like, open it up to whoever wants to write something in it, or...not.

you know those homies figures you get in gumball machines at kmart and walmart and such? well, i got a bunch of them, and i want to use them in a live action comic strip type deal, maybe do a skit with them, like, take pics of them arranged and put captions on them and all that. it would be the "saddlesore playhouse players" and there would be little skits and tales and such, staring the homies, the little ninjas, and some other little figures i have collected over the years. (they aren't dolls, they are ACTION FIGURES!!!!)

yeah, but i don't quite know how i'm gonna pull it off.

see, i have all these ideas, but i seem to lack in the implementation department.

today i ate at a place called pollo feliz (the happy chicken). what the hell was the chicken so happy about? i mean, i was eating him. anyway, i had the most tastiest roasted pepper ever, as a condiment. i bit into it and it was sweet, and smoky from the roasting, and then BAM it burned like acid and i was in supreme pain. then i ate the rest of it. wow, that kicked ass, really. no point to that little vignette, just wanted to share really.

frustration simmers under my skin, i have these ideas and "creative" urges, but i can't seem to harness them and get them out, and if i did, they would not be to completion i fear. dammit.

movie review: DOOM

i saw DOOM the night it came out. it wasn't all that crowded, but then again, i live in a small town now. after paying $6.25 to be allowed to see the film and $7.00 for a bottle of Nestea Iced Tea which had a shitty sweet bitter taste that i suppose passses for the flavor of "brisk" and a bag of popcorn that closely resembled styrofoam packing peanuts, i took my seat in the theatre. alone. solo.

i have no problem going to the movies alone, it makes a bit of sense as you aren't supposed to talk during a movie and you watch tv alone so what's the big deal, but there seems to be some stigma attatched to movie watching and dining out alone in the states. i was cured of that in japan, where everything is done alone. anyway, other than being the "wierd creepy guy at the movies alone" and thinking about how americans, for all our "look how independant and solo i am" try to do things in groups, where other cultures based on groupthink, like the borg that is japan or any other tribal/cliqueish society, often cherish the solitude. i guess everyone is looking for some kind of balance.

oh, the movie.....so i smelled what the rock is cooking, and it smelled ok, but he has cooked better things i think. i really like the rock, he is intelligent, has a great sense of humor and timing, and, i'm not gay, but you gotta admit, he is quite pleasing to the eyeballs. well, he is SARGE, leader of a small quick reaction team of marines who have to go to mars to contain some kind of problem. the the problem gets out of hand, etc etc etc.

the movie moved slow, perhaps in an effort to build suspense and interject plot, but it really wasn't a "thrill a minute non-stop cavalcade of action packed excitement." the pacing could be a bit better. the plot was simple and the character development was not too much but you learned enough about each character so they weren't just a hollow meatsack walking around.

the sets and costumes were pretty damn cool, and although they were going for a dark feel, it wasn't like some movies that were just so dark you can hardly see anything. the music was almost non existent, but when it was there, it was pretty damn good. i think there were only two "songs" in the whole movie. i will look for the soundtrack, but they are gonna put a bunch of music that wasn't in the movie on the soundtrack, or they are gonna have a sountrack that is a single with one B side.

all that said, there was a bit of a twist (at least to me it was a twist. you might be, and probably are, quicker on the uptake than i am, but i went into it with a certain expectation so when that wasn't the case, i had a small pleasant surprise. but then again, i got it half way through the movie, i might be making something out of nothing). also, there is a five minute sequence where it goes from third person view to first person shooter, in an homage (i wanted to use the word homage, "h" is silent for maximum pretentious fuckishness) to the original game. this not only kicked major ass, but it wasn't dragged out, and was done just enough to make it a perfect touch to the movie. good job boys!

overall, i liked it and enjoyed it. maybe you have to be a big fan of DOOM, (which i am) to really really enjoy the movie, i dont' know, but as a fan, they did a passable job (i am a huge fan of "firefly" the cancelled tv show, and i LOVED the movie serenity, which had a bit more action and excitement than DOOM did honestly). it didn't suck. it reminded me a lot of the resident evil movie. actually, now that i think about it, it did have the same kind of pacing as the game, so, yeah, it was a pretty damn good movie. it did leave a possibility for a second movie, and if a second movie comes out, hell yeah i'm gonna see it, cause, well, it's DOOM for chrissake.

now they need to make a movie out of Duke Nukem and Twisted Metal. THEY would fucking rock.

i got a magical haircut, and now, thanks to my hair, allows me to understand animals

you know the "swiss miss," the little swiss chick on the package of swiss miss instant hot cocoa? well, i *hate* to be a gossip, buuut......

her real name is Svetlinka Klergenhergenbergen, and she started out, like many legitimate actresses and celebrites, in porn. it's true, she was in a porno with, of all people, the quaker oats guy and mrs butterworth, the maple syrup lady.

it's a movie called "black pussy eating white eurotrash, " and there is this hot scene where he is doing her from behind, holding onto her pigtail braids like they were motorcycle handlebars, and she has her tounge so far up mrs butterworth's pussy (which is dripping with buttery maple goodness) i swear the swiss miss is licking mrs butterworth's womb. meanwhile, mrs butterworth is cheering the quaker oats guy on, saying "that's it, work that white eurotrash pussy, yeah, tap it good".

then mrs butterworth sucks the quaker oats guy off, and jerks him off onto swiss miss's mini marshmallows....

kinda wierd to see how they all got thier start and the different paths they took....

what, are they gonna tow *ALL* the cars?

i love to watch kabuki, i saw live kabuki three or four times when i lived in japan, it is so damn fascinating and interesting. i really really do enjoy it, and even though i have no real clue what's going on, it's ok, cause the japanese people don't really know what's going on either. one of the coolest things in kabuki is the KOKEN, the assistants. these are the ninjas onstage, guys dressed in black who are there, but "you don't see them, they aren't there." when an actor wants to sit down, BAM, the koken comes up and puts a chair under him. to signify a fight scene, the actor stamps his foot, then kicks off his sandle, sliding it forcefully to the rear, and the koken is there to catch it. no matter where the sandle goes, the koken is THERE! if the actor takes off a piece of clothing and throws it behind him, the koken is there to catch it. the guy is the actor's shadow, and is really cool.

so i was thinking, what do the koken do when they retire? what if i could hire a koken for myself, a guy dressed like a ninja who follows me around everywhere and when i want to sit, he is there to put a chair under my ass. i could come home, take off my shirt and throw it behind me and he would be there to catch it and put it away, or i could put out my hand and he would put a sandwich in it. wherever i went, he would be there, so i could be in the supermarket and just walk around getting what i need off the shelf and tossing it behind me without looking and he would catch it and put it in the cart. it would be a pretty good short internet movie, if i could film it.

pizza flavored ice cream

i saw this guy today with a t-shirt that clearly stated the guy wearing it was a "professional masseuess," as if chicks who saw this would ask him for a massage. i thought about asking him for one, just to see what he would say. i also thought about posing as a licensed masseur and asking to see his credentials and giving him a hard time about fals advertising and such.

i saw a license plate border thing on a toyota celica that said "official pimp mobile." oh really? so now the pimps are riding in two door toyotas?

i saw a guy with a t-shirt that offered some kind of sexual favor in a barely witty and double entendre way, i saw a guy with a t-shirt that...ad infinitum, ad nasuem, etc etc.

do these people actully think some chick will read the shirt and fall down with legs spread wide like the grand canyon? are they trying to show their (pathetic) sense of humor? yes, i am being picky and curmudgeonny, but really, are you that much of an idiot that you think those shirts are worth your cash and worth you walking around with them? are you *really* a "Female Body Inspector"? would any female, after reading your oh so clever t shirt let you inspect her body? you are as sharp as a bowling ball, my Spencer's shopping sad sack of a human.


how about you buy your t shirts from a store other than Spencers, Abercrombie and Fitch (i need to wash my hands just for typing that accursed name, i feel so dirty), or some other frat boy clothes outlet.

oh, and by the way, paying $25.00 for a faded shirt does not, in any way, give you some kind of street cred, you pathetic wanna be band wagon jumping feeble little shallow fucktard. you are too young to have owned or ever played an Atari game or listen to the Misfits or do any of the other things your brand new but oh so faded t shirt says you have done. how about you get a life and stop trying to pretend you had someone else's life.

fucking morons. i hope they all choke on a gourmet hand crafted bagel.

his fruit is don't mind

i am currently reading hyperspace, which isn't important just yet, but keep it in mind if you read this whole thing....

try to follow me on this....so it seems that the world of robots gets more advanced every day, and robots are becomming more and more realistic and human-like, moving like humans, AI, the whole shebang....

we as a people love bodily functions, hence the popularity of burps and such. kids love dolls that pee and burp and poop and all that...."look how realistic it is" they squeal with disgusting and somewhat disturbing delight....

we love to customize our machines and gadgets, pimp our rides, hack our ipods, tweak our nic- nacs, remove the brakes from our bikes, customize our ring tones...

so, you probably see where this is going, no? one day we will have realistic robots who do our things, talk to us, whatever, and we will want them to be super realistic, and it's only a matter of time until they make a robot that farts. and THEN it's only a matter of time until we learn to hack and tweak our robots and there is downloadable customizable fart tones for our robots, so they can fart like a birdsong or beethoven or whatever, and the thought of a robot farting a song or a special sound makes me laugh like a wino staring at the lights of the inescapable oncoming dumptruck...

what does this have to do with that book way at the top of this post? well, i am reading that book about serious stuff, i have a modicum of intellect, and yet, do i write anything intelligent and witty, insightful, or worth anyone's time? am i thinking about the amazing universe around us, the things we don't know, all the mysteries and such? no, i am thinking about robots farting. i am a sad sad little man.

the illiad, the odessy, and oklahoma

after many many miles, and many many little debbie snack cakes, and much jet lag, etc etc ,blah blah, i am here, camping in a house, waiting until my things get here.

i have been in the states about one week. i have seen three movies: corpse bride, an excellent and cute little tale starring the voice talents of that heartthrob johnyy depp, and the sultry minx who i will always think of as the chick in fight club, helena bonham carter; serentity, a kick ass movie that i absolutely loved loved loved, because i loved the falied television show firefly and the chick who plays river is a hottie (in real life she is a ballerina, hence her graceful movements and flixibilty...mmmm, flexible chicks), i would see this movie again and again, it was spec friggin tacular; and willy wonka, another tim burton joint starring depp (Swoon) and HBC. eh, it had a few moments, but really, just like the lobster boy, reality television, or a threeway in church during a mass up in the balcony behind the organ with two choir chicks, it is a bit of an abomination against god and really shouldn't have happened at all.

i think i purchased about 52 books. a super kick ass independant bookstore that i found turns out to be closing due to lack of business, thanks to the damned internet and lazy ass people who don't read, and this is a sad loss, but i also picked up professional grade hand made quality bookshelves for super cheap, so there is the rose in that manure pile.

cell phones in the states are a complete rip off. if i make a call i get charged "minutes" (it is ALL about the minutes) and if someone calls me, I GET FUCKING CHARGED?!?!?!?!?? what heinous fuckery is that? and of course i get the number that used to belong to varoius people, so i keep getting this old indian guy and old indian lady wishing me a happy birthday and some guy named poncho (no kidding, his name is actually poncho) keeps calling for Father Louis. if only poncho knew....

huzzah, i am back in the states. the blogging assault i had planned will be much less a whirlwind and more a light breeze, at least for now, while i get my things up and running. only today, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth did my internet get hooked up. things are not as easy as they seem to make you think they are.

and i got a tattoo.... (no, i will not be showing it, sorry, but thanks for asking....

traveling

in the airport.....crappy internet machine at high prices.....gong back to japan for a week or so....no internet for about two weeks...then it will be a blogfest of hugemongous proportins..


.if. i. could. only. reach. my. utility. belt....

lissome waifs stole my hair

Tyrone Shoes satat his usual booth in the corner of "The Dirty Sanchez" drinking his usual shot of Johnny Walker Purple (a mix of red and blue) and thinking his usual thoughts. the words "girls in bikinis and men with martinis an old lady walking her dog, hikers hiking, bikers biking, death comes in on the fog" kept scrolling across his otherwise blank mind like the annoying ticker thing at the bottom of all the news broadcasts.

Tyrone's girlfriend, Clamidya Brown, a waitress at "Shooter's Steak House and Mosque" had been acting all wierd lately, ever since that bout of Toxic Shock. She would occasionnaly burst out a phrase in Estonian, even though she didn't speak that language and never knew anyone who did. Tyrone followed her around all day one day with a tape recorder, and managed to capture a phrase and bring it to a linguistics expert, who translated it. It turns out Clamidya's bursts of turret's in a foreing language were bits of a recipe for some wierd baked fish dish.

Tyrone waited with the patience of a coked up kid with a belly full of espresso the night before christmas. He had bought a lottery ticket, and he knew, KNEW he was going to win, he had a dream, a vision, a gut feeling, and his gut was never ever wrong, except that one time at that shady day-old sushi place....

150 million dollors. oh boy, what tyrone would do with that money. first off, he would get Clamidya whatever medical help she needed. then he would give her a million or two and tell her to never talk to him again. She was an ok girlfriend, but she had some quirks that rubbed Tyrone the wrong way. like how she always took her shoes off before getting into the shower, or how she always hung up the telephone when she was done talking on it.

Tryone had plans. he was going to buy a small town somewhere in asia. he figured with that much money, he could set up a free hosipital, throw a town wide fully catered party once a month, and be a benevolant dictator. all he would ask in return would be everyone's loyalty and for everyone in the town to fight to the death to defend him, if any government or whatever tried to get rid of him.

"that is where saddam hussein went wrong" thought tyrone. if that wacky arab had forgone just one of his 80 bazillion dollor palaces and given, say, 100 dollors to every citizen once a year, all the people would have been happy and not let him be taken out. they would have gladly put up with his frat boy sons and thier frat boy antics of raping and killing at will, or the occasional gassing of some kurds (really, who likes kurds anyway?) if they got free cash once a year. and tyrone wouldn't even kill or rape or any of that. he just wanted his own town. kind of like playing "Sid Meier's Civilization" only on a real life, 1:1 scale. and he could probably get laid by a hot and sexy asian chick, which would be a pretty fine bonus in tyrone's book.

tyrone thought about how cool it would be, what a great and loved man he would be, building schools and temples and libra ries and hospitals, and as he thought he mindlessly ate a complimentary bar pretzle, which he choked on. before anyone could get to him, tyrone suffocated and died.

the winning lottery ticket bunched up in his jeans was mistaken for an old recipet and burned with his clothes and no one has claimed that money to this day.

commiting murdercide

ok, so you are a 5'7" tall blonde with sparkly teeth, perky breasts and perfect skin. so you have a masters degree, you were captain of the volleyball team, you lived in Mongolia for 6 months building yurts and wells for the underprivalged. You speak two languages fluently and can quote Tennyson, Bukowski, and anything by Dark Horse Comics. You understand and can apply Hiesenberg's uncertainty principle in everyday life, you know HTML and Java and have your own webpage with hundreds of hits a day. You have a promising career and drive a sporty convertible and everyone likes you and you have friends who would take a bullet for you.... But do you do anal?

scott baiowulf

you know how dudes get a chicks name tattooed on thier body, then in less time than it takes a celebrity to avoid jailtime for a crime everyone else would get the chair for, they break up and the guy is stuck looking for a chick with the same name?

well, i was thinking.....what if i got a tattoo of a girl's name, then just spent my life looking for a girl with that name? then, when i found her, it would be like...destiny or something crazy, and i would know she was meant for me. it would be my way to force destiny, take control of my fate. maybe by commiting to a name before i even met the chick, i would invoke some kind of predestination thing, and i would meet her. then i would already have her name tattooed on me, so i would have that going for me.

well, i did such a thing. i got a name tattooed on my arm. it is a prediction. perhaps some girl will see the name and comment that it is her name, and we will talk, and she will find me interesting, and then we will have a cool story to tell everyone about how we met.

now all i have to do is wait until i meet a smart, sexy, hot chick with the name Beauregard.