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est. 02.27.02

tmh superfriends:

September 2002

All things considered, I couldn't be better, I must say.
i'm so e/n i could spit. | Thursday, 09.26.02
You dumb bastard.
Time for some good old fashioned typically e/n unfocused rambling about stupid crap. The list will be numbered because I am just that anal.

1) This is the coolest fucking thing I've ever seen, at least in Lego form. Even better than the Lego monorail I placed on my wish list for 10 consecutive Christmases as a child. Even though you probably needed some sort of doctorate in engineering to operate the thing, it didn't stop me from bitching and moaning when I didn't see it sitting next to Castle Grayskull, the Ewok Village and talking ALF.

2) Although none of you will care, Casey Orr, better known as Beefcake the Mighty, better known as the bass player from GWAR, has left the band to spend time his family. Casey Orr also fronted the GWAR sideproject, X-Cops, as Sheriff Tubb Tucker. Zach Blair has also retired, but the role of Flattus Maximus has changed so often that I didn't even know who was under all that latex. My obsession with GWAR runs deep, as I've been listening to them for close to a decade now, and not once have they let me down. Especially when they taught me that every day could be "necro-bestial anal butt sex" day. Or the time Oderus' penis crashed that hijacked plane in Pennsylvania. They're the greatest band of murderous space junkies the world has ever known.

3) Beat it. This one, too. Same here. But never this one. Fucking goombas.

4) Every site sucks except for this one.

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of Valvoline.
The greatest highway in the world sucks balls now. | Monday, 09.23.02
Once upon a time there was a country named "America." Then the dinosaurs were killed, and cave-dwellers were sick of walking everywhere, so they invented primative roads that lizards and wooly mammoths could cruise about on. Once the pilgrims came and whiped out the cavemen, they stole their primative road technology and built highways for as far as the eye could see, which wasn't very far at all, since glasses weren't invented until the late 60's. In summary, highways are still a pretty big deal, even today in the year 2000 and 2.

Right here in New Jersey sits a very special kind of highway. In fact, it's the highway that time forgot. While highways (and even their confused counterparts, bi-ways) the world over were maintained with a fresh coat of gravel, or newly painted lines, this highway was held together with rat fesces and twigs, much like the caveman roads of the Cretacious period. I'm talking about New Jersey's most famous highway named after Atlantic City's most popular card game: Route 21. (FUN FACT: Route 21 also goes by the name McCarter Highway, named after the very first hitchhiker to be killed in New Jersey, William "Phyllis" Highway III)

Actual footage of pirates "keeping the peace" and "erasing the hate" from Route 21.
Highways are put together so well these days that even people with Downe's Syndrome can drive cars on them with the greatest of ease. You can feel safe on the New Jersey Turnpike, or heck, even the Garden State Parkways because you know that deep in the bushes and shrubbery lurk State Troopers ready to give chase and anally rape traffic violators with a broken broom handle. I like that feeling. However, Route 21 never offered that type of warm fuzzy feeling in your belly. The road was taken over by pirates a few decades ago, and not friendly "space pirates" ala Han Solo and his furry pal Chewbacca. I'm talking bird on the shoulder, eyepatch wearing, "arrrr matey" pirates. It falls just out of jurisdiction of surrounding towns, such as Belleville and Newark, and has become a haven for body dumping and bootlegging of Episode II videos. You don't even need a driver's license to drive on Route 21, or even a car for that matter. You could ride a fucking bottle of liquid soap if you were so inclined, and no "police officer" would pull you over, since they were all forced to walk the plank. Because, y'know, pirates do that sort of thing.

And we, the collective group of folks who drove on Route 21 daily, loved it! Sure we sacrificed our safety, or the simple pleasure of driving on a road that could support the weight of a car, but who cared? No one did, that's who. The pirates never hurt anyone, except for people who tried to steal their treasure chests filled with booty, and they were dealt with quickly and efficiently. But, much like all good things in life, the fun had to stop. Someone upstairs hired, get this, police officers, to, check this out, patrol the highway for, are you ready for this (?), people who break the law. Can you believe this bullshit, man? Now I have to obey local speed laws, wear my seatbelt and drive with the doors closed, or "Joe Police Officer" will pull me over with his sirens and guns and donuts and whatnot. Gone are the days when I could drive to Newark for a vile of crack and be back in time to watch Seinfeld reruns and 7:30.

I urge everyone to write to their local congressman (or congresswoman if you live in some freak state) with the subject line: Give Route 21 Back to the Pirates, you Imperialist Yankee Dogs. Be sure to threaten their lives and curse... a lot. And fuck the postal system while you're at it, deliver your letters straight to your congressman's house. In fact, better yet, just move in with your congressman or woman (tell him or her some sob story, like "your're my long lost sibling, and our mom just died") and quietly suggest they give Route 21 back to the blood-thirsty pirates. Pirates were the foundation of this country, let's give them what they deserve. Thank you, won't you?

Reality show will pick presidential candidate.
Anna Nicole Smith's body found at Turnpike rest stop. | Friday, 09.20.02
Yes, I'd like to hand in my letter of resignation from the human race. It's just not working out anymore, and I've been looking over some literature from the "National Society of Humans who Choose to Live Among Bears and Ponies in the Forests of America" (NSoHwCtLABaPitFoA) and I feel that my contributions to society would greatly serve their cause.

That's right, I'm leaving the human race. Why? Because the FX Channel is going to host a game show in which the winner gets to run for president in 2004. Our only saving grace is the fact that three people in America get the FX Channel, but unfortunately, I'm one of them. So, coming soon to a television near me, the most exciting and action packed 22 minutes of television, American Candidate, brought to you in part by Hooters and Tide. When it's got to be clean, it's got to be Tide. Jesus Christ.

Since I'm a blazingly heterosexual male, the idea of reality-themed television shows curdles my sperm. You want some reality? Are your lives so unrealistic that you have to watch television to satisfy your craving for something real? Here's something realistic: you've landed on a desert island, and you have to battle a bunch of strangers for cash prizes. My god, it's like they've taken my life and turned it into a television show! Just last week I held a tribal council in my backyard, and I had little old Mrs. Abromitas eliminated from the block. Pack your bags grandma, this is reality!

Personally, I didn't vote for Bush, but I based my decision solely on the fact that he's a big dumb retarded rich guy, and Rachel told me she would break up with me if I voted for him. See, I have the power to make completely uneducated choices involving the future of my country. Hooray for America! Unfortunately, so does every other citizen in America, and they all fucking love their reality shows! Boo for America. It's bad enough our country is currently run by a maniac cowboy, do we really want to be known as the country run by a game show contestant?

If FX goes through with their plans for world domination, I'm going to have to pull some strings and get my own reality show started: American President Killer, brought to you in part by Aflac insurance and Hostess Cakes. In the event that the contestant from American Candidate actually wins the election, I will ship 3,000 convicts to an island, drop enough weapons and ammunition to blow up the world, and let them go at it. Whoever is left standing will be absolved of their criminal record and will be given a clear shot at shooting the president in the neck. Tell me you wouldn't watch that. Seriously. Fucking convicts killing and raping each other for months on end, surviving on the blood of their fallen brothers and supplies from the Hostess corporation. Allright, FX, you've won this round, I'm watching your stupid show. But I've got a crate filled with Uzi's and Ho-Ho's with your name on it.

It's my birthday... my b-b-birthday.
or "I've got a six-pack and I don't need you." | Sunday, 09.15.02
"it'smybirthdaytoday... I NEED THIS DRINK! GET AWAY FROM ME! can'taguy getadrink aroundhere... zzzzzzzz
"Happy Birthday to me... happy birthday... to me..." Oh, hello there. Sorry, I was just singing a little tune to celebrate a big important holiday that will soon be upon us. What's that? You want to know what holiday I'm speaking of? Oh, I couldn't. No, I musn't. It's nothing really. JESUS CHRIST, GET OFF MY DICK AND I'LL TELL YOU! On September 17th, an amazing transformation will take place. I'll grow (more) stomach hair, (more) facial hair, and I'll be able to (legally) start my quest towards constant intoxication. That's right, 21 years on this beautiful planet I like to call "Earth." 21 years.

Some people have said that life truly begins at 21, but I beg to differ. I tend to believe that life began once my mother held me for the first time, smiling as she looked into my big brown eyes, and I urinated on her. What did she say when that happened? I mean, did she just throw me on the floor and wipe herself off with my father's shirt? Or did she just shake the hell out of me? I'd go with the former, because if some fat child peed on me, my gut instinct would tell me to throw it on the floor. But in my defense, 9 months is a long time to hold it. And it's not like I had the coordination to hold my penis and direct the flow onto the wall or into a potted plant. So fuck you for judging me.

So here I am, 20 years and 363 days later, and the future hasn't really shaped out as I had hoped. As a young child in 1989, I was promised that the future would be full of hoverboards, time travelling cars and Libyan terrorists killing my insane scientist friend over some plutonium. And what do I get? Fucking skateboards with wheels, fucking non-time traveling cars and fucking terrorists that kill everyone. Thanks for getting my hopes up Back to the Future Part II. And what the hell was "Doc" Brown a doctor of, anyway? Did he get his PhD in "befriending teenagers and endangering their lives in horrible experiments"? I called thousands of colleges across the country, and not one of them offer a doctorate in that, except for William Patterson "University". They don't give a fuck what you do over there.

So, as turn the big two-one in the next few days, I'll be thinking of ways to make the world a better place. For you, for me, shit, for the entire human race. I'm a man now, and it's time I start giving something back to my culture. Everything inside of me is screaming out, "John!" they scream, "you may now begin your manly duties as a servant of the all-mighty God!" Luckily, I can now (legally) drown out those voices with lots and lots of alcohol. God bless America. And alcohol. But mostly alcohol.

A red snappah! Very tasty!
i got nothing, folks. | Friday, 09.13.02
today on thismayhurt.com...


Now I'm seeing colors, I'm getting higher.
I think I'll start a forest fire. | Friday, 09.06.02
If there's one thing my insane Environmental Issues professor loves, it's forest fires. I mean, it's almost suspicious. He's like Smokey the Bear's pretentious step-brother; a man whose mission is to spread the word on the joys of spreading hateful distruction to Bambis and Thumpers across the nation. If only Dr. Crow could use his knowledge of fire for the forces of good instead of evil, we'd... probably... have to run for our lives.

So when I stumbled across this happy little number, my overgrown eyebrows rose as if to say "my my my... isn't this interesting..."

Moscow choked in suffocating smoke from forest fires, which shut down incoming traffic temporarily at all three major airports and prompted warnings for people to stay indoors. Mayor Yury Luzhkov appealed to Moscow's 10 million residents not to panic, but the city meteorological service said the situation was serious with carbon monoxide levels more than twice the permissible level. -- Source: The Daily Mosconian

Very interesting... now I'm not going to name names (Dr. Crow, Environmental Issues professor and lover of forest fires the world over) nor am I going to shriek like a 12 year old girl and wet myself at the sight of the person whose name I didn't name. It just seems a little odd that my professor mentioned taking a short business trip to Moscow to "set that city on fire," and "burn that motherfucker down to the ground and piss on its stupid ashes." But, gosh, I thought it was just a clever metaphor. He's always spouting off hysterical comments like, "I'm going to alphabetically kill everyone in this class with fire," and "I hate communists, and I like to set them on fire in the forest."

Luckily, Mayor Yuri has assured the public that there's nothing to worry about, and he probably sounded like that guy that killed Apollo Creed. Christ, it's only creating dangerously high levels of carbon monoxide, an odorless and tasteless gas that kills little babies in their sleep. There's absolutely nothing to worry about! In fact, Moscow is strictly enforcing a "no nose-breathing" policy, in which everyone must inhale ridiculous amounts of the stuff through their mouths just to prove how fearless they are.

However, Alexei Lyakhov, some other fuckin Russian, believes Moscow is in some deep flaming shit from the flaming forests. "There is no reason for panic but the situation is serious, so serious measures are needed." He continued, "Also, I accidentally poisoned all the fresh water about a month ago, so there's something else we should look into with comatose-like interest. I think it was a month ago, or maybe 12 years, something like that. Whatever, don't panic, it's just water. We'll make more."

So again, I'm not naming names (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IT WAS MY PROFESSOR. I HAVE PROOF. HE HATES RUSSIA AND LOVES FIRE. YOU DO THE MATH!), and I really hope one day they catch the culprit who started those fires (HE TEACHES EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY, 4th PERIOD, HILL HALL!) but if you read between the lines, you may be able to figure out my stance on this horrible ordeal (AIM FOR THE NECK, I'LL DISTRACT HIM WITH AN EXOTIC MONKEY DANCE! THIS MADMAN MUST BE STOPPED!).



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