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As you can tell, I’ve totally revamped the site. I got this template from a place called Elated – they’ve got a bunch of cool website templates that you can customize. You might want to check them out. And please, let me know what you think.

I still plan on becoming Emperor of the Universe. I’m expanding my influence on this petty rock as we speak. If you’d like to learn more about how I plan on doing this, well, then, click here.

 

Care to know what Nicky was like when he was a kid? Do you really give a shit? Yeah, most people don’t. Still, to know a man’s past is to know a man….

 

As usual, I've got a list of links for people to check out if they like. Some of these are funny, some of them intellectual, some of them personal. But hey, you can click on them and surf the web like me! Woo hoo!!

My IT Tip Of The Week has a new home - HERE ! Want to know a little more about the computer you're using to view this webpage? Then come on in....

Finally, the character of a person can be gauged by the company he keeps. Check out some of my friends here.

"Great minds have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre spirits." - Albert Einstein


"Come to the edge," he said. They said, "We are afraid." "Come to the edge," he said. They came. He pushed them - and they flew. - Guillaume Appolinaire

"Do, or do not. There is no 'try'." - Master Yoda


"But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil." - William Shakespeare, Richard III (Act I, Scene III)

 


 

So I've been hearing some rumblings in the field about how I never update my website. It's not like I don't have anything else to do, like, you know, hang out with friends in real life, or maybe read a book, or watch a movie, or jerk off so much only air comes out when I spooge. But no, some people constantly remind me that I have shirked my duties as a presence on the Internet.

Not like I don't have enough guilt going on in the first place. Shit, I was born Catholic, for crying out loud.

So I'm now updating. I'll try to be a little more consistent. I promise.

12/18/03

It's December 18th. I'm at work, and my cell phone has not stopped ringing all day. I'm getting hit from calls and text messages by just about everyone I know. And they're all social. I haven't received a single business call on this phone in a week, and I'm fairly confident that I won't receive any until after the New Year, at the earliest.

You know what? These phones are a fucking curse. That's exactly what they are. They're Demons From The Abyss, sent up by Satan to help us sell our souls. They sit on your hip and when they do their little customized ring-tone, and they vibrate with their little dance like R2-D2 on a dixie-cup of China White, we all just play Johnny-Jump-Up and scramble with our little fingers to figure out who wants to get in touch with us now. "Oooh! I got a text message! I must be special!!"

Are we such a pathetic society that we all need devices on our hip to feel important? Has our feeling of self-worth degraded that much that we have to make ourselves feel appreciated with the aid of a telecommunications device? These little Social Pacemakers have bound us into a form of addiction, where we're all slaves to the RingTone.

I suppose for some it's a matter of convenience; "I need my cell phone so people can get in touch with me." But why? Please - are you that important that you need to be reachable 24/7? If so, then you had best be making at least seven figures a year, have three houses, and some big-titted monster as a French Maid. Otherwise, you're deluding yourself - you're not so important that you need to be able to take a call at 2:30 in the morning when you're stumbling out of a bar, completely shitfaced, and your ex is trying to call you for one last hookup. Honestly - on the grand scheme of things, that's just not that fucking important. And neither are we.

Hang on. My cell phone is ringing again.

Previous Stuff


My Trip To Maine


So I had to go to Maine a while ago. Yeah, you know, that big-ass state up at the top of New England? Right next to that 51st state, Canada? Yeah, that one. My sister lives up there, and I had to go up there to visit an old family friend who lives up there as well. Jo-Jo and Nick, my mom and dad, went up the night before, so I was going up on Sunday by myself.

No big deal, right?

Right.

So I get in my car. I got $13. Look at my gas tank - whoops! Gotta slap some go-go-juice in there. So I stop at the gas station. $10 goes in the tank. Here's some math for you - I got $3 left. It's early in the morning, so I figure, hey - I'll pony up for a coffee. Check out my luck! There's a Dunkin Donuts right across the street! $1.98 for a large regular - and since I'm such a stand-up guy, I give the chick behind the counter the last two cents for a tip (mighty white of me). So now I got a buck.

Livin' laaaaaarge an' in charge, I tell ya! So off I go. I hop on the highway, and start my drive. It's about two hours to my sister's house, and I got the top down on the Jeep because it's such a nice day outside. I'm feeling good, just driving, and I start cruising through New Hampshire to Maine.

And then I see it...

THE TOLL (insert scary music here)

And all I have is a buck! Great. So I drive up to the toll and it's only a dollar. Thank God - I can cover it. So I keep driving, and I drive through New Hampshire and I get to the Maine Turnpike.

And hit another toll.

&*%$!!! Now what am I gonna do? Ok. No big deal. I got... charm? Charisma? Something. I drive up to the toll and the lady standing in the booth goes, "A dollar fifty, please."

Now I'm f---ed. So I smile at her and say, "Ok. I got a problem."

"What's that?" she says.

"I got no money."

She sighs (she's obviously heard this before) and says, "You got a license?"

"Yup," I reply.

"You got a pen?"

"Yup."

"Gimme 'em."

So I give her my license. I give her a pen. Now I have a line of cars behind me and I can see people getting a little frustrated. Oh well - I'm in a bind here, people, throw me a bone! So this chick at the toll booth - get this - WRITES ME A TICKET FOR A DOLLAR FIFTY!! She hands me this little slip of paper who says, "Here. Pay this within five business days."

A TICKET!! FOR A LOUSY BUCK FIFTY!!

So now I'm almost in the clear - but I'm still thinking ahead. So I look at her (and smile - gotta work that charm, kids) and I say, "Hey, I got a question for you."

"Yeah?"

"Any tolls between here and Exit 6a?"

"Yeah, there's one," she says. "It's fifty cents."

"Hey, thanks," I say, "..... got fifty cents I can borrow?"

She laughs. (It worked!, I think.) "You can just blow through the speedpass line. They don't have cameras up. They'll never catch you."

??? Ooooooookay, so I take my ticket, and I let her keep the pen. And I drive. Sure enough, Exit 6a, and there's the toll. So what do I do? Ghost-ride my Wrangler right through the speedpass lane. Woo hoo!! No cop, no stop!! (Sorry, Dots).

I get to my sister's house (a buck lighter and a ticket heavier) and there's Jo-Jo. And what does she say to me?

"Did you have money to pay the tolls? I knew you were gonna forget."

...

......

SO NOW, I have a ticket from the state of Maine. I'm embarassed. Why? BECAUSE THE WOMAN WHOSE WOMB I PASSED OUT OF FORGOT TO TELL ME THAT I HAD TO PAY A F---IN' TOLL TO GET TO MY SISTER'S HOUSE!!!

I still have the ticket. Haven't paid it yet. :)



Last story:

"Fart Now, Skidmark."


So last week, Rosato, this chick we call Chainsaw, and myself are sitting up at Dunkin Donuts. Go figure. We're hanging out outside and it's pouring rain out. I mean, it's POURING outside. But we're dry because they got this little sidewalk in front of the building that is covered by the roof, so it's all good. And we're just kinda hanging out, making fun of each other and insulting people we know behind their backs, because hey, they can't defend themselves and that's the best kind of insult to hit someone with, right?

So anyways, the three of us are hanging out and it's raining like some flood in the Bible, and then we hear this noise. It was like someone took a camel and threw its nutsack under a Humvee's rear tire and just matted the gas. Think of the sound the camel would make. Now, mind you, that's just a rough approximation, but it's along those lines. So the three of us stop and look at each other and I say to Dave,

"Um, Dave? Did you just happen to hear some feral animal cry out in agony in the woods?"

"Yah."

Dave's eloquence is unlimited. So we sit there and wonder what kind of mythical beast is gonna jump out of the woods at us, when we see her... Slickerwoman. This freak of nature is riding a bike - in a f---in' monsoon, mind you - and she's what made the noise! Nice! Now we call her Slickerwoman because she's got this slicker on. Not a raincoat, but a slicker. And it's tied so tightly around her body that the only part of her face that can be seen is her eyes. It's a wonder she didn't pass out from poor blood circulation.

So we're chatting still and then we hear "BONK" and the three of us are like, "Oh, no..." because we KNOW what happened now. No cars on the road, just Slickerwoman on her bike and a bonk. So Dave and Chainsaw double over in laughter and I'm the only gentleman in the crowd, so I go over and yep, just as I suspected, Slickerwoman hit a phone pole on her bicycle in the rain. So I notice she has a flashlight out, and I say, "Are you alright?" and she is staring at the beam of light from this 100000000 candlepower mag-light she had tucked under her slicker and she keeps staring in the light and looks towards me and says, "Ya, I'm fine!"

Well, Slickerwoman can obviously handle herself, so I make my way back to Dave and Chainsaw and we all have to go inside because we're all laughing too hard and protocol dictates that you really shouldn't laugh at a lady who hit a phone pole on her bike in the rain right to her face. So in we go. Then I realize...

I know Slickerwoman's secret identity!

Turns out that one day, I'm hanging out at Dunks feeling sorry for myself (go figure) and this lady comes up. She used to be a regular at Dunks before she had some kind of a nervous breakdown or got too heavy into Black Tar Heroin or banged her head against a curb from riding her bike into a phone pole or something, and she's all kinds of screwy now. So she comes up to me and says, "Hey, can you give me a ride home?" Now I'm a nice guy, I'm like, "Sure, hop in." Little did I know she was a f---in' bag lady. She takes about fourteen bags with her, so she stuffs 'em in the back of my Jeep and she gets in.

So we're driving to her house, about three miles from Dunks, and she goes, "This is a nice Jeep."

AND FARTS IN MY CAR.

...

Now I'm pissed. What, the only chick I can pick up is the Amazing Farting Slickerwoman? So halfway home, I'm keeping my emotionless gaze on the road and she goes, "Yeah, I really like your car."

AND FARTS AGAIN!!

So I reiterate this story to Chainsaw and Dave, and cap it off with, "You know what? Second time she farted, I shoulda just dropped a gear, brought it up to fifty, and opened the door and pushed her flatulent ass right out onto the road. 'There. Fart now, skidmark!!'"

 

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