Friday, May 30, 2003

If you want to see some particularly gory shit, visit
Fisk, who writes for the Independent, has been in Iraq since before the invasion and has seen and photographed a lot of stuff. You may not agree with his take on the war (I certainly do, but we all know that), but the pictures are hard-hitting. You can't deny that Fisk knows his stuff.
And for sheer gore, there's nothing like a little kid with his face blown off by a cluster bomb. Scroll down to "Victims of Anglo-American Aggression" for some of the ugliest shit you ever did saw, you fat cheesesteak eatin' bastard. Yeah, I mean you Tubby.
I am a big fan of the Independent.
Look at this article here, and say "Gee, why isn't this in US papers?"
Then say to yourself, "Oh that's right, no one gives a shit about this anymore."
Apparently, Paul Wolfowitz has officially admitted that the weapons of mass destruction rationale was a lie. or as Pauly Walnuts puts it, "For bureaucratic reasons we settled on one issue, weapons of mass destruction, because it was the one reason everyone could agree on."
Excuse me while I go barf now.
Oh, wait, I'm not done yet. Also turns out that the Bush administration shelved a report by the Treasury that the "$350-billion-but-really-$800-billion" tax cut will give us a deficit of around $44 trillion dollars. Ouch. That's gonna hurt. Oh, and also buried in the measure was a clause taking away child tax credits from working poor families. Don't want those working people to horn in on the rich folks windfall, right?
Jesus, when will you answer my prayers and call these fuckers home?
But seriously folks... oh wait, I am being serious.
I especially like how the Independent holds its nose when writing about Tony Blair. Can you smell the disdain in this headline?
Ah, the aroma of fresh snark.
And while i'm bringing up snark, Paul Krugman and Nicholas Kristof have great editorials for today, May 30, in the New York Times. I would link to them, but you need to register and the links expire quick.
Oh, what the fuck, why not. I'm hungover and feeling generous with my employer's time.
Pauls column here.
and Nick's is over here.
Ahh, my hangover is now complete. Before, I just had a headache. Now I have a headache AND I want to puke.

Thursday, May 29, 2003

Has anyone seen the way the Jessica Lynch story is brewing up?
FDirst, there was the stroy of her heroic rescue, the bullet wounds, etc. I won't link to those because everyone knows the drill here.
Shortly after that, CBS reported that Jessica "has amnesia" and remembers nothing of her rescue.
Then, the BBC dropped a bomb: in a special report, they said the whole rescue was faked. A hoax perpetuated by the miltary and the media. It was also reported in Britain's Guardian and the Independent. I saw the story in The Toronto Star and the Montreal Gazette.
About the only place I didn't see it was in the U.S. media, except once, in Ms. Lynch's hometown paper (Apparently, I'd missed Robert Scheer's editorial in the L.A. Times). Even then, the story was relegated to the Op-Ed page, as was Mr. Scheer's.
The Pentagon got very angry and denounced the whole thing.
The story finally made front page news today in the Philadelphia Inquirer, although as the Toronto Star reports "The parents of former American PoW Pfc. Jessica Lynch said Thursday they are not permitted to discuss details of their daughter's capture and rescue in Iraq." And Jessica's still got that convenient "amnesia."
The best amnesia money can buy? Or amnesia you can't refuse?
Who knows. All I know is that I feel like I'm living in some bad Stephen J. Connell miniseries. I mean, "amnesia"?
How old hat is that??

Tuesday, May 13, 2003

Bush Vows 'Justice' for Saudi Bombings

By Mike Allen
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, May 13, 2003; 12:10 PM

INDIANAPOLIS, May 13 -- President Bush promised "American justice" today for the perpetrators of the explosions in the Saudi Arabian capital that killed at least 20 people.
"Today's attacks in Saudi Arabia -- the ruthless murder of American citizens and other citizens -- remind us that the war on terror continues . . . ," Bush told 7,000 supporters at the Indiana State Fairgrounds. "The United States will find the killers and they will learn the meaning of American justice."

So does this mean we're going to drop MORE bombs? It's like bombs and Doritoes have become the same thing. Drop all you want, we'll make more!

I was waiting in line at CVS when my friend Kenny walked in. He had big shadows under his eyes and looked sick. "You alright?" I asked. "Yeah, I'm sick alright...Look... you're going to hear a lot of things in the next few days, and since I have you here, I just want you to know there are two sides to everything. Oh, and I'm not going to be playing that gig at the Green Line today," and with that he shuffled out of the store leaving me feeling bewildered.
This didn't last long, because I was already on my way down to the Green Line, which was bustling with people sipping coffee and people there to see some music. There was also a marked tension in the air, clusters of scrappy West Philadelphia anarchists in deep and hushed discussions about something that had happened over the weekend. I sat on a stoop drinking coffee and looked up at my friend Dan. "I've been in New York the past two nights," I said. "Did something happen over the weekend?"
"Oh... oh, you uh, you haven't uh.. heard what happened?"
"No," I replied. "Did it involve Kenny?"
One of the anarchists, a friend of mine named Bill, glanced over. "Yeah. Kenny raped Maureen."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's quite an accusation," I said warily.
"Well, that's basically what happened," said Bill. "The other night, Kenny raped Maureen."
I sat down on a stoop and pondered this for a minute. Another anarchist, Rhoda, was waving her arms around and sputtering angrily.
I squinted up into the sun at and asked, "ummm... did anyone report this to the police?"
"Oh, and what good would THAT do?" Rhoda retorted. "Hmmp, the police."
I puckered my lips like I do when I'm thinking and absorbed this. "I bumped into Kenny on the way over here. I don't think he's playing." The two looked surprised. "That's disappointing," said Bill. "There was going to be some sort of confrontation. I think Maureen was going to come and say something."
"Has anyone..? Oh never mind," I said getting up. I walked down to the corner and looked at a groop of children playing in Clark Park. It was one of the only truly beautiful days we had in an otherwise rainy and cold spring. A trolley came rattling down Baltimore Avenue. A bird tweeted somewhere. As these things were happening, I turned around saw my friend Robert walking down the the street. He was scheduled to play with Kenny. "Hey man," I said, waving him over. "Listen.. I have to talk to you and get to the bottom of something." "Sure," he said, and we sat down on a stoop a few doors down from the Green Line.
"So what the HELL happened this weekend?" I asked.
Robert looked down the street and then up the street before meeting my eyes and saying, "Well... Kenny fucked up. And he fucked up BIG TIME."
And then the details came out. Kenny and Maureen had been chatting it up after a gig, both of them really drunk. Kenny invited Maureen to stay at his house no strings attached. They went home together. Kenny, in typical guy fashion, made a move, which was rejected. He made a second pass, also rejected. Maureen then woke up in bed with Kenny, her panties around her ankles.,6903,953497,00.html
I enjoyed this article on the failure of the United States' military to find the "weapons of mass destruction" that our war's legitimacy hinged on, as well as the infighting that has followed. I also agree with the conclusions: that if we find nothing (and as I write, our inspectors are now headed home empty-handed) there's going to be some sort of diplomatic trouble (though given the Bush administration's attitude toward diplomacy, I don't know what can be done).

I am sorry to say that it is almost assured that this story will not make much of a splash in the newspapers or the television news here in the US. There is far too much jingo, far too much "rah-rah-rah," and far too little independent thinking going on in the US media.
Two weeks ago, when the head of the BBC expressed his shock and horror at the level to which US media, including such giants at the New York Times and the Washington Post, had sunk to, I thought to myself, "Well, now he knows how I and millions of others feel." Millions of anti-war protestors, the largest since Viet Nam: ignored, downplayed, ridiculed, or written off. Clear evidence that the administration and its friends are profiting directly from the war (Carlyle/Bush, Halliburton/ Cheney, Global Crossing/ Perle, Bechtel/ George Schultz): the allegations are either ignored or relegated to the furthest reaches of the back of the sports section. And now as the search for weapons becomes more and more of a failure, our media wants to pay less and less attention to Iraq. Why admit you made a mistake when you can just ignore the story and wait for it to go away?

I have written a number of writers from the Times (and to a lesser degree at the Washington Post, which cleverly and cowardly conceals the email addresses of thier writers) about their coverage in the hope that I will be proved wrong, but I doubt that this will happen. After all, this is the newspaper that decided Americans shouldn't see the pictures of Iraqi casualties; as the self-appointed arbiters of truth, there is little incentive for the Times to admit they were wrong. This is pandemic of course to American commentators: witness Tom Friedman, Bill Keller, and Frank Rich, as well as Richard Cohen and EJ Dionne at the Washington Post and a host of other "reluctant hawks" quietly and quickly backing away from their earlier support of the war without admitting they screwed up. It is the journalistic equivalent of having your cake and eating it too.

For me, the greatest (and saddest) hypocrisy has been seeing the New York Times express their horrified surprise that Halliburton's contract is bigger than was initially reported and that they will be running the oilfields after all, followed by their shock that we're occupying the country. "Oh my word! It seems the Bush administration has pulled a fast one on us again! For shame!" This tells me either A) the New York Times thinks its readership is stupid; or B) that the New York Times reporting and editorial is stupid. Neither is a flattering reflection of the Times. Think about it:if an ordinary person like me can read the news and put two and two together, in effect saying "hmmm... the Bush administration has ties to all these oil companies and military/ industrial companies; we're the largest consumers of oil but have relatively small reserves; Iraq has very large reserves; the very companies that the administration is tied to are those that would financially benefit from an invasion of iraq, and are in fact lined up to profit from reconstruction. Hmm. I wonder if something is going on here?", but the reporters at New York Times/ Washington Post/ LA Times/ ad nauseum, with all their resources cannot, then there is something gravely wrong with the caliber of American journalism. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, our media forgot their role as questioner and has taken up a new role: regurgitator.

Monday, May 12, 2003

"Hello, Senator Santorum's office."

"Hi there!. My name is Brendan Skwire. I'm a Republican living in Pennsylvania and a constituent of the Senator. I voted for Senator Santorum before, and I plan on voting for him again, but I need his advice on a matter of some importance."

"Sure, what can I do for you?"

"Well, I've read his comments to the AP about the homosexuals, and I'm sure there's lots of food for thought there. And I understand his distinction between homosexuals and homosexual acts. While
I'm not gay, my wife and I are nevertheless concerned, because... well, I think we've been practicing homosexual acts. I just want to make sure that we're not homosexuals ourselves, and that we're not doing anything my Senator would disapprove of. Could you
tell me what specific sex acts Senator Santorum endorses?"

"[chuckle] Well, uhh.. the Senator hasn't given us a list of approved acts and he was only commenting on.."

"Like, sometimes my wife and I have anal sex, which is something I know the homosexuals do. Both my wife and I enjoy this, and I don't want to give up putting my penis in her rectum and thrusting until I ejacualte in her bowels. I guess I didn't consider that this was
a homosexual act until it was brought to my attention by the senator. Is it OK for me to keep putting my penis in my wife's anus?"

"Sir, Mr. Santorum was only commenting on the right to privacy.."

"Yes, I know and that's why I'm concerned. I'm a Republican because I believe in small government and keeping the government off my back.. And I'm worried that the police are going to be bursting into my bedroom while my wife and I are unwittingly commiting
homosexual acts. Please, tell me what we can or can't do. I don't want to be breaking any laws. What about oral sex or analingus?"

"The Senator does not endorse having the police come into your bedroom, he was only commenting on the law the way it applies to the Texas case."

"But he said so, he said there's no right to privacy. I read what happened to those two men in Texas. The police came into the wrong house looking for drug dealers or something and found the two men having sex and arrested them. Now look, just because my wife and I like anal sex doesn't mean we've brought the labrador or the kids into the bedroom, but the Senator DOES say it's a slippery
slope. I love my wife, but I don't want to turn into a pedophile! Now please answer the question: is it OK for my wife to continue licking my scrotum (I think the gays call this teabagging)?"

"Sir, sodomy is illegal in texas.."

"Yes, but I read that it's only illegal for two men, and not for a heterosexual couples; isn't that a case of equal protection?"

"Well, Mr. Santorum deosn't think the federal courts should be getting involved in what he believes to be an issue for the individual states."

"That's interesting, because one of the reasons I supported Rick is because he stands for states' rights. If he thinks it's an issue for the states, why did he side with the federal government when it came to similar legislation relevant to personal behavior, like the
assisted suicide laws in Oregon or the marijuana co-ops in California? Both of those are states' rights issues too, aren't they? That seems kind of inconsistent, doesn't it?"




"Look, Miss, I think you know by this time I started this call to bust Santorum's ass (so to speak) but let me give it to you straight (so to speak). I can tell from the sound of your voice that you're probably in your late 20s or something, and since you're working in a senator's office, I'm assuming you went to college. The fact is you and I both know people who are gay, and we both know that Santorum's characterizations are false. That's true, isn't it now?"

"[chuckle] Sir, I really can't speak for the Senator, but if you'd like a letter, I'm happy to take your name."

"Oh? But you work for him, you'd figure he'd give you some kind of speaking points. Ah well... look, here's my name and address. Please tell the Senator to get in touch, because I don't want to be gettin' all gay with my wife. I'm looking forward to a detailed letter about sex practices endorsed by Mr.Santorum."

"Well, I'll be pleased to pass along your comments."
I'm here at the ranch right now. I'm waiting on my carpenter, who typically shows up late or forgets to call. I don't mind really; he lives
down the streeet and it's not an essential job. He's building the access hole to the roof. What I SHOULD be doing is pulling linoleum in the kitchen, but instead I'm baked and procrastinating. Well, this is not exactly so; I am doing some writing, refining the stuff on the blog into articles I've gotten published in the Independent, a monthly newspaper down here.

The Independent is such a rockin' publication, and if I've gone on about it before, forgive me. It's not set up Village Voice or NYPress tabloid style. It's printed on broadsheet and looks like a newspaper out of the 1900s with all the cool fonts and margin ornaments
you'd expect. It's a good 4 inches wider than the NY Times, like almost 2 feet wide!

Doug Stanhope:

Sometimes I'm a fucking idiot. I'm dating a hot, smart, sexually adventurous woman, and yet I find myself with that typical male itch of wanting to bang other women. A lot of this I'm chalking up to the fact that it's spring and the Penn students are walking around in
full flower. Also, my internet is down and so my release valve (ie, internet porn) isn't an option right now. And man, I DO love women.
Most of the time I'm so aware that I've got a good thing going, I just sit back and appreciate it. I dunno. People are complex. A friend of mine who's also involved with a woman gave me this whole "but do you love her?" lecture a few weeks ago, and I all I could muster in response was "I don't fucking know, it's only been six months, dipshit!" The more he went on, the more I realized he was projecting his own doubts about his relationship with his girlfriend onto me. This is a guy who met his girl about when Melissa and I started dating, and within a few weeks he's got this whole thing going on between Maine and Philly. They're talking about getting married when he gets out of school, which is fine if that's your thing. Hey if you fall in love and it's the right person, go for it, just don't expect your model to be mine.
I was reminded of this conversation last week when I was listening to the Christian radio station; ever listen to that? The music always sucks and the preachers are usually downright scary or incoherent, but it's kind of fun to listen to in a background noise kind of way. Occasionally you get somone who says something that makes sense. This one fellow was going on about marriage and what marriage means; his conclusions were skewed WAY out of my orbit, but one thing he said that struck me. "The first few weeks/months/years of a relationship [and Preacher Casey was talking about marriage exclusively] you are head over heels for that person, and they can do no wrong. Over time however, you find yourself seeing the flaws and imperfections and begin to think "why can't she be like this," "why is he this way," "it would be better if" And I thought about my friend giving me this lecture about "sacrifice" and being "able to accept things about another person" and that eventually "you will have to make these sacrifices
too" and all I can think is...well, i don't know. "Fuck you" is a little too harsh to say to a friend who's overstepping his bounds. Maybe, "dude what the fuck are you talking about" is a better reaction.

Look, I love Doug Stanhope as much as the next guy, but I can't open his FUCKING WEBSITE at work because of all the naked bitches. Serious!

Thursday, May 08, 2003

How Spain is dealing with public protest
Man, if I was Spanish, I would be chomping at the bit to eject Aznar from office.

Tuesday, May 06, 2003

So is Lucy with us or against us?

Lucy E. Parsons, "To Tramps," Alarm, October 4, 1884. Also printed and distributed as a leaflet by the International Working People's Association.

The Unemployed, the Disinherited, and Miserable.

A word to the 35,000 now tramping the streets of this great city, with hands in pockets, gazing listlessly about you at the evidence of wealth and pleasure of which you own no part, not sufficient even to purchase yourself a bit of food with which to appease the pangs of hunger now knawing at your vitals. It is with you and the hundreds of thousands of others similarly situated in this great land of plenty, that I wish to have a word.
Have you not worked hard all your life, since you were old enough for your labor to be of use in the production of wealth? Have you not toiled long, hard and laboriously in producing wealth? And in all those years of drudgery do you not know you have produced thousand upon thousands of dollars' worth of wealth, which you did not then, do not now, and unless you ACT, never will, own any part in? Do you not know that when you were harnessed to a machine and that machine harnessed to steam, and thus you toiled your 10, 12 and 16 hours in the 24, that during this time in all these years you received only enough of your labor product to furnish yourself the bare, coarse necessaries of life, and that when you wished to purchase anything for yourself and family it always had to be of the cheapest quality? If you wanted to go anywhere you had to wait until Sunday, so little did you receive for your unremitting toil that you dare not stop for a moment, as it were? And do you not know that with all your squeezing, pinching and economizing you never were enabled to keep but a few days ahead of the wolves of want? And that at last when the caprice of your employer saw fit to create an artificial famine by limiting production, that the fires in the furnace were extinguished, the iron horse to which you had been harnessed was stilled; the factory door locked up, you turned upon the highway a tramp, with hunger in your stomach and rags upon your back?
Yet your employer told you that it was overproduction which made him close up. Who cared for the bitter tears and heart-pangs of your loving wife and helpless children, when you bid them a loving "God bless you" and turned upon the tramper's road to seek employment elsewhere? I say, who cared for those heartaches and pains? You were only a tramp now, to be execrated and denounced as a "worthless tramp and a vagrant" by that very class who had been engaged all those years in robbing you and yours. Then can you not see that the "good boss" or the "bad boss" cuts no figure whatever? that you are the common prey of both, and that their mission is simply robbery? Can you not see that it is the INDUSTRIAL SYSTEM and not the "boss" which must be changed?
Now, when all these bright summer and autumn days are going by and you have no employment, and consequently can save up nothing, and when the winter's blast sweeps down from the north and all the earth is wrapped in a shroud of ice, hearken not to the voice of the hyprocrite who will tell you that it was ordained of God that "the poor ye have always"; or to the arrogant robber who will say to you that you "drank up all your wages last summer when you had work, and that is the reason why you have nothing now, and the workhouse or the workyard is too good for you; that you ought to be shot." And shoot you they will if you present your petitions in too emphatic a manner. So hearken not to them, but list! Next winter when the cold blasts are creeping through the rents in your seedy garments, when the frost is biting your feet through the holes in your worn-out shoes, and when all wretchedness seems to have centered in and upon you, when misery has marked you for her own and life has become a burden and existence a mockery, when you have walked the streets by day and slept upon hard boards by night, and at last determine by your own hand to take your life, - for you would rather go out into utter nothingness than to longer endure an existence which has become such a burden - so, perchance, you determine to dash yourself into the cold embrace of the lake rather than longer suffer thus. But halt, before you commit this last tragic act in the drama of your simple existence. Stop! Is there nothing you can do to insure those whom you are about to orphan, against a like fate? The waves will only dash over you in mockery of your rash act; but stroll you down the avenues of the rich and look through the magnificent plate windows into their voluptuous homes, and here you will discover the very identical robbers who have despoiled you and yours. Then let your tragedy be enacted here! Awaken them from their wanton sport at your expense! Send forth your petition and let them read it by the red glare of destruction. Thus when you cast "one long lingering look behind" you can be assured that you have spoken to these robbers in the only language which they have ever been able to understand, for they have never yet deigned to notice any petition from their slaves that they were not compelled to read by the red glare bursting from the cannon's mouths, or that was not handed to them upon the point of the sword. You need no organization when you make up your mind to present this kind of petition. In fact, an organization would be a detriment to you; but each of you hungry tramps who read these lines, avail yourselves of those little methods of warfare which Science has placed in the hands of the poor man, and you will become a power in this or any other land.
Learn the use of explosives!
Dedicated to the tramps by Lucy E. Parsons

Monday, May 05, 2003

Taking the local trains (that is, SEPTA and New Jersey Transit) to New York City doesn't have to suck. It costs about half as much as Amtrak, and when it's operating properly, arrives perhaps a half-hour later, but at the same destination. What is it that makes the trip so unpleasant that i will, at least on my return trip, almost always choose Amtrak? One word: SEPTA. Their R7 Trenton trains are nearly always late, they're not properly coordinated with New Jersey Transit, the trains don't run 24 hours and offer spotty service, and the employees are almost alsways rude, uninformed, and surly.
Last week, I was on the train to Trenton, and it had showed up (typically) 10 minutes late. Because the window of opportunity to trnasfer to the connecting NJT is about 5 minutes once you get to Trenton, I politely asked the ticket collector if we were going to make the connection. She yelled at me. "I don't know, we gettin' there when we get there." I was taken aback.
As the train pulled into Trenton, I was standing in the vestibule with the ticket collector. "I know you're not in charge of the scheduling," I said, "but why is it that the R7 always seems to be running 10 minutes behind schedule?"
"It late this morning," she yelled at me, "It late when it come in this morning!"
"Well, yeah," I began. "But it's almost ALWAYS late. I take this line to New York almost every weekend, and it's always a gamble whether I'll make my connection."
"Well if you so worried, tak a earlier train."
"That doesn't make sense," I replied. "SEPTA runs one train an hour as does new jersey. Are you telling me that if I want to cathc a 12:03 train I should get up at 8:00 and arrive at 10:00 AM because SEPTA's unreliable? Is that what you mean?"
SEPTA's service is a joke and it's not a very funny one.
When I come home from New York after 8:00 PM, I invariably take Amtrak because SEPTA has a unique ability to make a 2 hour trip into a trip of over 3 hours. If you're unlucky enough to take the 10:08 PM NJT transit to Philadelphia, be ready for a LONG wait. The train arrives in Trenton at about 11:18, which is when SEPTA takes a break in their hourly service. It is a break that lasts until about 12:46 at night, which means that you miss last call.
Whether I take Amtrak or the local lines, I always bring a beer or two on the train. Those few times I have been stuck waiting for SEPTA in the Trenton station without my own beer, I've had to go across the street to the nearest bar, which is one I try to avoid. The bartenders are unfriendly; the crowd is middle-aged, suburban, and ugly; the prices are steep; and they're boycotting Grey Goose vodka, which is made in France and France didn't support the Iraq invasion. Quite frankly, what's annoying about this fact is not so if the barowner was really serious in boycotting the French, he shoudl remove all the French wine they serve and all the French cognac as well. Vodka isn't exactly France's big export. Yet the shelves remain stocked with Remy Martin and wines from all over France.
An observation: new Yorks subway stations are crawling with armed soldiers clad in camoflage and black berets, toting M-16s. This of course is to "ward off terrorists" and "make New Yorkers safer."
I can say that, from my perspective, these soldiers don't make me feel safer at all. They make me feel as if I live in a police state, which isn't so much hyperbole anymore. They also raise some questions. Camoflage is supposed to hide soldiers in the jungle: here in Penn station, it only makes them stand out. Also, those M-16s don't seem like the sort of thing that's going to ward off a terrorist who's outfitted him or herself with a belt loaded with dynamite. It may ward off someone trying to enter Penn station with an Uzi, but if a firefight was to break out between US soldiers and terrorists, civilians would only be caught in the crossfire: no one would be "protected." Call me a wacky nutjob, but I don't see some angry jihadist saying "I'd better not go detonate myself at Penn Station, because I might get shot." Once that guy decides to blow up his overcoat, no M-16 in the world is going to help. And a gun certainly can't detect someone who's probably going out of their way to be inconspicuous.
You know what would make me feel safer in Penn Station (and Smith-9th Street, and 14th Street/ Union Square, etc etc)?
EMTs and bomb-sniffing dogs.

Friday, May 02, 2003

It's a beautiful day outside, isn't it? The sun is out, the trees are blooming like crazy. One of the best things about Philadelphia is how long Spring lasts and how many flowers are just bursting out everywhere. The apple trees are my favorites: covered with bright pink flowers, the trees look like they've been dipped in cotton candy.
Even better than the flowers however is that, as The Onion points out regularly, spring is the time for the presentation of the breasts.
I work at the University of Pennsylvania, and my God, there are breats being presented everywhere. Big ones. Little ones. Indian breasts, caucasian breasts, black breasts, breasts of all sizes, shapes, colors, and ethnicities.
I am going to lose my mind. I feel like a cat in a room full of birds.
The gal who works down at the coffeeshop is looking better and better every day. hell, the freakin' nun with the cobwebs dangling from her rusty ol' twat is looking good!
If it sounds like I'm not getting enough, that would be a lie. I'm getting plenty. I just want more. and more.

Thursday, May 01, 2003

I haven't done any writing here for a few weeks. That's because I've been busy with the new house, moving in, and all of those other things. Also, the UncleFucker project has been taking up a lot of my time. Apologies for now, and I promise to write something later this week. Maybe.