I got a couple of interesting pieces of spam last week.  The first told me about how aging can be reversed, the second advertised pills to increase your ejaculation 581%.  Hey spammers, if you are reading this, I would like a pill that can reverse my ejaculation while increasing my aging by 581%!  Get on it, and I may one day click the hyperlinks in your little barrage of emails.

Well, I can now hear the sound of the vacuum downstairs, which indicates that it is time for me to get off my lazy ass and get hoppin' in the bathroom / kitchen / grocery store.  Happy Old Year = Happy New Year.

In the meanwhile, sit back and click your ass off.  Why not?  The French have been doing it in droves.  For your edifitainment, I have updated the (underused) "Features" section over there...  No there...  Just down a bit...  That's it!

12.05.01

It is the first week of December, and all is right with the world.  I flew to Chicago last weekend for routine reconnaisance, staying in a quaint little room in the Hampton Inn overlooking Six Flags.  While most details of my mission must remain secret, I can say that I ate twice at Max and Erma's, twice at the surprisingly Chinese Ming's of Gurnee.

I saw a gallon bottle of Heineken at the Liquor store, but I did not buy it.  Instead, I got a glorious 6-pack of Guinness draught, all of which I consumed in an evening filled with $12.00 movies, limited cable television options, and inventive ways of opening beers in the absence of a proper bottle opener.  I tore open the first bottle in 4 minutes with keys and a pen--the brute force method that left Guinness on my pants leg.  I got the second bottle opened in under 2 minutes using the dresser drawer, and spraying about 4 ounces of Guinness down the front of my sweatshirt.  The third bottle posed a lesser challenge than the previous two--opened in half a minute on the bathroom door, with only a few splatters on my undershirt.  Bottles 4-6 were opened and consumed in short succession using the nightstand, which, as it turned out, is just a big, fancy, wooden bottle opener. Further stains to the clothing never materialized

Thanksgiving happened, massive amounts of food were prepared, massive amounts of food were ingested, massive amounts of food were digested.  There were a couple of food comas, the most severe arriving after lunch Saturday.  That was the last meal I ate for 36 hours.  Occassionally I swear off drinking after waking up with a nasty hangover.  Sunday I swore off food.

The studio, or at least an operational shell thereof, is now assembled and active.  After getting everything together, I immediately broke the international cease-music and began putting a little number together.  I have listened to it several times now, and it definitely needs a few adjustments and a modest reworking, BUT the raw version is available if you should like to download it.

We are coming up on Week 12 of the Football Season, and Matt's goal of 70% is beginning to look more and more like an impossible thing.  This development is welcome if you are into pay-per-view pleasure specials, which Matt and Loretta will broadcast if his picking percentage finishes below 70%.  It should be noted, however, that Matt is soundly beating The Idiot (20 games back), and still in contention for the Coveted Cocksocket Cup, only 10 games behind Dave.

Anyway, follow the action in the latest edition of Matt's Sports Beat.  Dave's picks, even if unpublished before tomorrow night's kickoff, are certifiable, timely, and will be available no later than Sunday.

Ciao

11.26.01

The studio is partially constructed, all the way live, and I have been tinkering with a new song.  It has been eight months, several trials, three tribulations and 1 visit from Matt since I have been able to "lay down the shiz(nit)".  Anyway, the track is in rough form, but I am posting it now in an effort to solicit feedback from you, the young and sexy cocksocket masses.  Click here to get the first incarnation.

. . . created to satisfy the necessity and power with decision of the woman at the time of having a sexual relation because the woman must itself protect but who the man

I have been toying with the blogger website, which offers a pretty simple and intuitive means of publishing whatever crap you happen to have in your head at whatever particular time you happen to be doing whatever it is that you happen to be doing.  You can customize the look of your Weblog to a great degree, and (best of all) you can immediately publish to your FTP server.  This means that I can basically spread mental diarrhea all over.  Any place.  Any time.  And I will be keeping it here. 

There have been many, many Black and Tans consumed here over the last couple of weeks.  I would like to give a shout out to Dave's dad and Dave's dad's friend Ken for providing the Guinness spoon, without which each Black and Tan would be better described as a "Black" or a "Grey".  I am updating the Amazing Crap page to include a fascinating and disturbing article (lifted from Epicurious.com) that describes one chuckle-head's journey toward the perfect BnT. 

Finally, the Monkey even chimed in with a quaint, if terse message. 

10.10.01

The beer I am drinking is called Shiner Bock, and it is the last of the beers that live here.  It has cowered in fear, hiding in a remote part of the refrigerator for five straight days.  It is not out of anger, not from fear or envy that I have chosen to crack this beer open and put it down.  I am not a jealous man.  Quite the contrary, it is my absolute amazement and wonder at its majesty that drives me to demonstrate to myself, 6-pack after tasty 6-pack, the fantastic yet elusive essense that exists in every bottle.

And there are other elements at work which delight my mind so.  There has, for example, been a refreshment in the house of Tufu.  And this update is especially welcome when one considers the number and difficulty of the tasks that King Tufu must perfect in a day.  Word up, King Tufu. Your shit is tight.