Reality Impaired

2011-09-10T01:44:00.000-07:00

I met drummer Bill Rieflin this way after a Chris Connelly show. (Though technically, this was when I was still under Trent's tutorship and was not spinning that night.) It was a brief conversation:

"Hi, I'm Bill. What's your name?"
"Phil."
"Ahh, rhymes with Bill."

A satisfied smile spread across his face, he nodded, then meandered away. Years later in Seattle I was in the Target next to my apartment and as my wife and I were getting ready to leave I spotted him checking out some pants. I debated going up to him as I certainly wouldn't expect him to remember. In the end I circled back and had yet another odd conversation with him; it was longer and I don't recall the exact details:

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to disturb you... but do you happen to be a drummer?"
Eyeing me suspiciously, "I have on occasion played the drums, yes."
"Is your name, Bill?"
Eyeing me more suspiciously with a cocked eyebrow, "I have been known by that name."

I recounted our first meeting, to which he responded that it had been a rather demoralizing tour. I expressed my admiration of his work and thanked him for his time.

Those Nights in Clubs and Smoke

2011-09-10T01:26:00.001-07:00

Spurred by an old Sisters of Mercy song stuck in my head, I start having flashbacks of those ancient days when I actually went outside my home on a regular basis to things like "clubs" and "bars". Anyone who knows me well enough is aware that I used to be a gothic/industrial club DJ back in Phoenix. This was before the rash of people who thought they were DJs simply because they had a bunch of MP3s that they could cobble together as a playlist. No, I was of the legitimate variety with thousands of dollars buried in a CD and vinyl collection that ended up being pawned off during the darkest days of the dot-com bust and my various bouts of unemployment. I had learned from the previous house DJ of The Nile in Phoenix; whom I took over for, how to string songs together as an undulating wave of tempo and style. Anyone who happened to enjoy what I did can credit Trent for teaching me well.

Before and during my time as a player of other people's music, I went to a lot of small concerts and club shows. As I sit here now I can see brief glimpses of most of them. Unscrewing the light bulb above our booth so our clove cigarettes gave off a more dramatic visual effect from the candle on the table while we watched some godawful opening act who wore nothing but saran wrap crooned about shit and waved around a baby doll head on a stick. That night we were there to see The Wake "Tall tales of death and horror... exotic witches brew".

Another night, trying to impress the unbelievably hot goth girl by taking her to see Eva O Halo Experience with the very first tour outside Colorado by opening act Seraphim Shock (before he went all garters and nylons). (I'm re-living some of that night at the moment by spinning through 'Angel of Death'... "Take me please and flyyy awaaaay".) You know, I think I still have that 4 track demo tape by Seraphim Shock buried here somewhere. It was signed and everything. I was like, cool and stuff.

The Electric Hellfire Club opened for Christian Death and they were awful. Death themselves weren't that great, but they had a slickly produced stage act. Old-schoolers will recognize that as the Valor era and spit a curse appropriately. Though, I can't help some fondness for 'Sick of Love' and 'Church of No Return'.

En Esch of KMFDM was really friendly, but Sascha was kind of a dick. Chemlab and Sister Machine Gun opened and a group of us hung out with two of the Sister guys after the show. We played pinball because they were really into pinball. Then we went to a adult store because they were really into porn. I mean they were really into it. They were poring through domestic and imported porno mags the way I scanned through every single disc at Stinkweeds; my favorite local independent music store. Then Denny's and a strong suggestion to limit our egg consumption. Weird night. The first time I had seen KMFDM, I'm pretty sure someone dosed the big water cooler and I had my first preview of what an acid experience would be.

The opening act for Pigface was so loud that my headache lasted for days. I was young and impervious to ear damage of course. We all hoisted a guy over our heads until the asshole security guards hauled him down to the floor by his neck and his boot impacted with my forehead. Found out later that was a guy I had known from the local BBS's, but had never met. ( Hi, Jay). After security formed a wall at the front of the stage, we engaged in battle. The crowd surged forward to crush them into oblivion and they pushed back. This ebb and flow lasted the remainder of the show and during one song, En Esch gripped my hand and we pulled back and forth as he sang. I got to say "Hi" to Ogre of Skinny Puppy. As my old friend Kevin Gabler and I made our way back to the car, I was bruised, covered in a thick, filmy layer of sweat and cigarette smoke, and had a massive, throbbing pain permeating my skull meat. It was one of the best nights of my life.

A lot of those were best nights of my life. In those moments where I'm not a misanthropic curmudgeon, I miss those moments the most. In my early twenties with little responsibility, no direction, and the ability to stay awake for up to 36 hours at a time. Packing into various bars that hadn't known what exactly it was they had gotten themselves into by booking acts they didn't really understand. Though I'm sure they were thankful that goths were often content to sit back and feign disinterest as opposed to the average drunken machismo they might face for the typical college band. Filling my truck with up to 6 cases of CDs, my mixer and other gear, and heading deep into Mesa to set up at the dirty little club we all adored. Occasionally catching the end of some concert I had little interest in, or meeting bands back stage as they were getting ready to leave while I was waiting to set up.*

I also took that hot goth girl to see a special preview of 'The Crow' where the band Machines of Loving Grace sat 2 rows behind us. Then there was the time Kevin and I took her to hang out at Ken Jackson's place and we watched my copy of Skinny Puppy's 'Ain't It Dead Yet?' on video. I wish I could remember her name.

*Detail fragment

Sickened

2011-08-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

Feeling a little sick at the moment. I'm riding the bus home from work, happily tapping my fingers to the rhythm of Information Society's cover of Numan's "Are Friends Electric?" And staring blankly out the window. Suddenly in my field of vision are a couple of guys standing at a stop on the other side of the street. The one facing my direction has his shirt clutched in hand, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. In the peripheral of my immediately focused vision are a variety of tattoos, but I can't make out their detail. The majority of my attention is drawn to his bulging, pale white belly... upon which is etched a giant fucking swastika. Not the proper religious symbol from the East. I have never claimed to be a pacifist, but I understand the wisdom and greatly admire those who practice. It is my failing in this regard when I desperately want to beat the people that represent the grisly filth of Nazism and hate to an unrecognizable pulp. I become guilty of my own hatred. I try to avoid thinking that it's justified in the face of some asshole with a swastika, but it's difficult.

Marketing.

2011-08-02T08:57:00.001-07:00

Have you seen those ads for Miracle Whip? A while ago, it was the 20-something hipsters being rowdy and enjoying Miracle Whip. Now it's a newly wed couple arguing over whether their children will eat mayo or Miracle Whip.

I think I may have the next logical step for their advertising campaign. Keep in mind I have no idea how to actually write a script. I'm totally faking this.

INT: Household kitchen. Boring, grey decor featuring a boring, disinterested man.

CENTER [3/4 SHOT]: Man slowly and lifelessly spreads generic brand mayo on warm white bread that tears under the butter knife.

VO: [Dull as can be] It puts the mayo on the sandwich.

CUT TO BLACK

[PARTY MUSIC THUMPING. SOUNDS OF PEOPLE EXCITED, HAVING RAUCOUS FUN]

CUT TO PARTY SCENE

INT: Dozens of people are partying in a large, vibrantly decorated house.

FOREGROUND: A young, attractive man covered in a light sheen of glitter spreads Miracle Whip on fresh white bread. He is whipping his head to the beat enthusiasticly.

CLOSE-UP [HEADSHOT]: An attractive woman with a variety of facial piercing bites heartily into a white bread sandwich that appears to have only Miracle Whip as a filling. Miracle Whip gushes from the edges of the sandwich.

CENTER [3/4 SHOT]: Another attractive woman with bright blonde hair and a bountiful bosom in a bright red tank top is dancing. She pulls a squeeze bottle of Miracle Whip up from below camera frame and points it toward her chest. Miracle Whip erupts from the bottle as she squeezes copious amounts onto her face, neck, and chest.

VO [EXCITED]: Miracle Whip. This is not your parents' sandwich topping.

CUT TO PREVIOUS SCENE WITH MAYO MAN.

CLOSE-UP [HEADSHOT]: (Man sighs heavily).

CUT TO PARTY SCENE

FOREGROUND: An attractive couple slips into a bathroom with a plate of sandwich ingredients and a jar of Miracle Whip. They are giggling. One suspects they are about to do something nasty.

CUT TO BATHROOM INTERIOR [MID ANGLE FROM MIRROR CUTAWAY]: Disheveled, but mostly clothed, the woman is bent over the counter moaning in pleasure. The man stands behind her, thrusting, and making a sandwich on her naked back.

CLOSE-UP: Miracle Whip being spread on white bread atop a live, writhing, human table.

VO: Miracle Whip. Mmm, yeah... Miracle Whip.

CUT TO PREVIOUS PARTY SCENE: The party has escalated to a chaotic orgy. Most party goers are in various states of undress. There is a donkey in the background. Everyone has a jar or bottle of Miracle Whip in hand.

OVERHEAD [FULL SHOT]: The crowd raises their containers of Miracle Whip towards the camera.

CROWD [YELLING]: MIRACLE WHIP!!

CUT TO PRODUCT CLOSE-UP. OVERLAY PRODUCT LOGO.

END.

One shot, one kill.

2010-06-28T08:21:00.001-07:00

With a look of grim determination on his face, Billy sat at the back of the bus steadfastly scanning the area for conflict. (I think I'll call him Billy... he looked like a "Billy") Billy appeared too young to have put in time with the Army, no wait, the Marines. Yeah, the Marines are cooler. Anyhow, too young to have done any kind of tour in the Marines, but don't say that to his face.

Billy looked tough. He looked like the kind of tough you read about in those journals. You know the ones I'm talking about; those American medical journals that discuss in great detail the case studies on the level of obesity among the average American. Billy sat squarely; no... roundly, into that 60lbs overweight category. Sure, he could fit inside a good hide, but maybe not one up in a tree. He could do a crawl towards a firing position, but the enemy might wonder why that hill kept getting closer. Just don't say that to his face.

Ready for any eventuality, Billy had only the best tools at his disposal. Strapped to his belt were no less than 4 of the most important tools someone in his capacity as a warrior would need. A 5 inch anodized aluminium LED flashlight. It could have been a MAG light, but probably not because those are more expensive. And not one of those rail mount tactical lights either, those are still a bit pricey. Next to that, his cell phone. One of those flip models in a little plastic carrying case to keep it secure when the shit hits the fan and everything goes F.U.B.A.R. On the other side of the light, a small nylon pouch with a velcro closure. You couldn't tell what was inside and that was the way he liked it. The element of surprise. You would be surprised that anything useful was in there. There was something else on the right hip, but it was obscured by his pudginess. You had better believe it was something important and useful though. He was prepared. When things went down, he would be ready. Ready to explode in a fiery ball of manufactured bravado that would fizzle into a squishy ball of impotence. Just don't say that to his face.

He had one if those mustaches. Not the Magnum P.I. kind, but the type you usually see on mall security guards.

Billy wore a shirt that explained it all. It was all official looking and everything. It had some leafy looking things around the edge, like the kind you see on official documents and stuff. Top secret documents. Yeah, like top secret kill orders for a target behind enemy lines. In the middle, a shrouded figure. A lone wolf. Death from afar. The sniper. Seen only in silhouette, but clearly outlined as a ghillie suit. The scope with its crosshairs would stare deep into your psyche. Nevermind that you shouldn't be able to see the scope, that was for like, effect and shit. Finally the statement, bold and powerful striking fear into the hearts of regular men. One shot, one kill. This was the final straw in Billy's backwoods shack of badass. Combined with all the other elements, this iss how you know that Billy is the kind of person with whom not to fuck... with, who... whom... yeah, don't fuck with Billy or Billy will fuck you up. Nevermind that all of this is just a front for an insecure, scared little boy that got picked on in school who will crumple as soon as things get too real. A fake macho facade that will get eaten by termites of fear at the first sign of real trouble. Billy would likely react the same way as the rest of us. No more brave or special than any other of the 13 people on the bus with him, including me. Just don't say that to his face.

Location : 22071-22299 Pacific Hwy, Edmonds, WA 98026,

Ye Olde HTC Dream, aka G1

2010-05-04T21:06:00.001-07:00

My slightly less older phone, it is dead to me now as well.

Star Trek and X-Men

2010-03-13T03:40:00.001-08:00

Of all the ridiculous crossovers... this one gobsmacks me the most.

Ridiculous Hummer

Tiny penis-mobile.

The Maw

2009-09-28T16:48:00.001-07:00

Testing updated Pixelpipe app.

PAX

2009-09-04T08:40:00.001-07:00

Home for the next three days.

District 9

2009-08-16T15:02:00.001-07:00

As important a piece of science fiction as Blade Runner to me.

fruit

2009-08-07T16:32:00.001-07:00

a portion of today's lunch

Sea Star

2009-07-15T13:05:00.001-07:00

Went on a tour.

Command & Conquer 4

2009-06-22T19:08:00.001-07:00

Interesting tidbits regarding a new C&C game in the works, apparently the last in the Tiberium saga. These notes came from a survey discussing possible elements of an upcoming game. So, these may or may not be part of a new game. I suppose of course that plenty of people already know this stuff.

Play in the first ever class-based C&C game – a new challenge for C&C and RTS players to master.

Interesting idea. I'm not very familiar with all of the other RTS games out there that may employ something similar. This is the first I've heard of something like this.

Play in the first RTS game with MMORPG like player progression in which you are rewarded every time you play. Every unit you kill in single player, multiplayer, or skirmish gives you experience points that allows you to level up your abilities and unlock new units, powers, and upgrades to your arsenal.

This sounds like the first real attempt at blending RTS and MMO. Yes, I am aware of Battle Forge, but that's bascially just a card game in disguise. Yes it is; now shutup. While Starcraft II is set to dominate the competitive multi-player market, this is something really innovative and I'm intrigued to see how they might pull it off.

Introducing the first mobile base in RTS games: The Crawler. Focus on the action as the Crawler becomes your all-in-one base, which can be deployed and redeployed anywhere on the battlefield for even more strategic options.

Hmm, we've had mobile construction yards in the past... I take it by the wording that this is literally a mobile base that would contain at least the core elements of a full base with a construction yard, power, barracks, factory, whatever. It may not have to be huge, but it would be kinda cool if it was. Oh, and if it could crush some enemy units beneath it simply due to its massive-ness, that would be good as well.

re: Nabisco Swiss Cheese Crackers

2009-06-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

According to what I've read, they have been discontinued. If that is indeed the case; why do you hate me?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi Phil,

Thank you for visiting http://www.nabiscoworld.com and for your interest in FLAVOR CRISPS Swiss Cheese Naturally Flavored Snack Crackers.

It's great to hear from consumers who are looking for our products because it lets us know how much you enjoy them. The tough part comes when we have to share the news that the product you're trying to find has been discontinued.

If products don't seem to be popular with our consumers, and demand starts to drop, a decision is made to discontinue the item. Once this decision is made, we stop making the product and the remaining supply is shipped from our warehouse to the grocery stores.

At this time there are no plans to bring back our discontinued products, but we are always cooking up something new to help you live and eat better so you may discover a new favorite!

Again, thanks for contacting us, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy our products.

Kim McMiller
Associate Director, Consumer Relations

~~TLXEA_19274445~~N

Moritat

2009-04-05T13:01:00.001-07:00

He rules the hardest.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Mignola

2009-04-04T22:34:00.001-07:00

He rules too.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Templesmith

2009-04-04T17:24:00.001-07:00

He rules...

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Drinks

2009-03-01T18:26:00.001-08:00

I've had a few drinks and I'm feeling fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

coffee

2009-02-28T15:19:00.001-08:00

we gets some

Posted via Pixelpipe.

So many years, so many stories...

2009-02-23T13:27:00.000-08:00

Surely it cannot be disputed that someone so sage and veteran of the music and television scene should be able to fill a respectable number of pages as Miley Cyrus, right?

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/books/2008767856_zboo23miley.html

Really? A memoir? At 16!?!?!

If she had escaped a war-torn country overrun by warlords or some ruthless dictator to become a huge singing sensation despite missing both her legs I might be more forgiving of an autobiography. Girl ends up on a tv show and a tween singing career because her father had some small percentage of earlier success to afford her the greased-palm deals and great multitude of circumstances lessened in difficulty to become some temporary "big deal" to other tweens?

Hmm, no... I don't think so. Unless of course, it's a 12 page pop-up book. Or coloring book. It makes sense to me that such a choreographed and arranged public existence would be best suited by a coloring book.

Fish Desk

2009-02-18T13:46:00.001-08:00

I continue my fish desk at work.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Mmm...

2009-02-16T09:03:00.001-08:00

Breakfast.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Failure to the highest degree.

2009-02-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Stephen Sommers,

I hate you. I hate you so very much. I saw the trailer for the G.I. Joe movie. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my soul there is a little boy, curled up in a corner in a fetal position, crying in agony at the thought of all the places you bad touched him. May you choke on a thousand freshly replaced 'o-rings'.

Sincerely,

Pretty much everyone who saw the G.I. Joe: Rise of Cobra trailer.

Khaaaaan!

2009-02-01T20:46:00.001-08:00

This is the "Khaaan" variant figure, found at Toys'R'Us.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Toys.

2009-01-31T14:32:00.001-08:00

Bubba hides behind Rorschach.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Earthquake, huh?

2009-01-30T08:09:00.001-08:00

4.5? Hah! It didn't even rattle my toys.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

Ye Olde Motorola V360

2009-01-29T21:14:00.001-08:00

My old phone; it is dead to me now.

Posted via Pixelpipe.

The War of the Euphemism

2008-09-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

Though it was far better expressed by George Carlin when he spoke to us about the journey from Battle Fatigue to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, that was 17 years ago. Things have not progressed well since then. I see reminders of this systematic tenderizing of the English language on a weekly, if not daily basis. For some reason, the pitiful by comparison example I saw this morning stuck in my brain meats long enough to prompt me to write this.

I am not a rich man. I do not always possess the available liquidity to only purchase the finest and smelliest artisan goat cheeses from local farms at the nearest self-important, eco-friendly, hippie market. Whoever Trader Joe is, and his bitter slut rival, Whole Foods do not see frequent business from me. If I'm out looking to pick up a bottle of Fraoch or ingredients for a special meal, I'll gladly don the appropriate sandals/shorts/fake tattoo of the Mother Earth on my leg costume and venture through their smug innards and pretend that I'm as special and important as their typicalpatron.

From time to time I buy the pre-packaged (wait a minute, pre-packaged? No, no... that discussion can wait another day. It is a slightly different George Carlin conversation after all) individually wrapped cheese slices from Kraft or the small variety of other "cheese" manufacturers. I recall laughing to myself many years ago when I reached the age enlightenment and discovered that my cheese was not technically that. No, it was Pastuerized Processed Cheese Product. Granted, I wondered aloud at what the fuck that really was and happily went back to ingesting the cheap yellow matter anyhow. Its reasonable facsimile of cheese-like flavor is enough for me.

Today I noticed a slight derivation from the previous description. Now it is Pastuerized Prepared Cheese Product. Well, thank God for that! I've been so tired of my food being processed by machines... now it's prepared! I imagine they've replaced all their cheese goop processing machinery with a selection of the finest Dutch cheese-preparing experts they could find. I am also ecstatic that preparation is no longer a process. I mean, that takes all the work aspect out of it, right? Perhaps I should start preparing things more often instead getting involved in some antiquated, mundane process. In fact, fuck processing. Fuck it right in the mouth with a brick.

I wonder how long it will take to proc... err, prepare their package description until it completely confuses the buyer into believing they are actually eating cheese. Safely Made Cheese Stuff? At some point, it's possible they may attempt to tap into that "edgy, sarcastic" hipness (is that the demographic I'm supposed to fit into here... I don't know my appropriate market placement) and fail with "It tastes like cheese" before they settle on the effective and simple, "Mmmmm, cheese".

2007-06-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

Ok, this is really pissing me off. My foot is killing me. I couldn't put my shoe on this morning it hurt so bad. So I'm missing another day of work because of it.

I don't get it. I take the medication dutifully and on schedule, I don't eat or drink any of the problem causing items, and even the random faith healer can't seem to fix it!

Oh, I hadn't mentioned the faith healer? Ok. I was on my way home (walking with my cane that day) from the Quiznos where I had stopped off to get some dinner for my wife and I. A guy in his mid 20's who worked at the place (I think he was the son of the owner) stopped me outside as I was leaving to ask me what had happened to my foot.

Strange question I thought, coming from a stranger, but I had gotten used to the question from people I knew so I told him the technical explanation. Crystalized uric acid deposits in the joint. He confessed he didn't know what that meant, so I gave a brief explanation. You see, I was trying to be polite and not tell him to fuck off and leave me alone. It's a thing I'm doing; trying to be polite... I'll let you know how it works out.

So as I was saying, I gave a basic explanation and then he asked if he could pray for my foot. This is not the type of question I am accustomed to. Again, doing the whole polite thing I said he could. I was figuring that he was going to set aside 5 seconds out of his nightly prayers for my foot. I figured, sure go ahead. I don't believe it will work because I don't exactly believe in the whole God and Jesus thing, but it certainly wouldn't cause further anguish to my foot and it would probably make the guy feel good for doing something he thought would help. I may not believe, but he certainly does.

However, nightly prayers were not apparently what he had meant. Oh no, not at all. He crossed in front of me and dropped to a crouch. Then he put his hand on my foot and began to pray for it right there one the spot. All I could do; besides pause and take a sip of my drink, was to think about how this may possibly be the strangest thing to have happened to me in recent memory. I would say the strangest thing ever, but there are times I have only vague recollection of due to the drugs I was consuming at the time and I know some really weird things went on back then, so I can't say for certain.

After about a minute, he stood up and asked if my foot felt better. I paused and then told him, "Not yet, but we'll see how it turns out." We then went our separate ways while I pondered what exactly had just happened. I'll admit, it was soooo tempting to start wailing in pain and complain that my foot was worse than ever before after he had finished, but again I'm trying to do that whole "being nice" thing.

Getting back to the original topic though, not even he could fix my damned foot. I suppose that ordering a new, more fashionable looking cane was more fortuitous than I was hoping it would be. I had been feeling better over the weekend and through yesterday, but last night it started feeling a bit sore again. By this morning of course it had completely seized up and hurts like hell. I really hope I don't have to do the colchicine again. That was almost worse than the foot pain.

My god it smells like rancid goat ass!

2007-01-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

Perhaps it's my delicate American palette but the smell of the very expensive gifted meat greatly overpowers any flavor it may have. Opening the package became a surprise of almost impassable horror as my nostrils reeled back, angry at me for exposing them to the packed flesh within the paper. I know that the dry cured salami in question is considered a fine and incredibly enjoyable delicacy amongst others not so mundane as I, but I simply can't delight in something that smells of a corpse breaking wind.

http://www.salumicuredmeats.com/

I did consume of 3 slices of the Salumi Salami, but dared not even unwrap the Finocchiona. The only way I was able to adventure the meat into my hesitating maw was by cutting the stench with my sharpest of cheddars; my lowly, unrefined Tillamook Reserve. Even under those precautions I could sense the gastronomic enterprise that awaits me. While it cannot be said that the salami received an unwelcomed response from my tongue, it was not anything that I wish to continue going through such great preparations to experience.

It is with great humilty that I offer the vast remainder of our hardened stink-meat to one who may appreciate its power. Francisco, it would please me to have you enjoy my meat.

C22H25NO6

2006-09-12T19:09:00.000-07:00

Ah, liquid shit. Oh joyous relief in my big toe at the mere cost of having all dietary intake reduced to a frequent bowl-dousing explosion of liquified stool blown at high velocity from my rectum.

Isn't modern medicine wonderful?

Which brings me to my question. Where are my fucking nanites? I want miniscule bits of high-tech hardware coursing through my veins repairing everything before I can even become aware there is a problem. Or even worms. I would accept worms like those Fry had from eating an intergalactic truck stop egg salad sandwich as seen in an episode of Futurama.

It's getting close to 2007 and we're running out of time. In the late 1970's and early 80's we were promised a veritable wonderland of mind-blowing technology. Granted, the downside to all this was the fact that we would be forced to wear horrific gold lame' polyester jumpsuits. While I wouldn't be too excited about stuffing my fat ass into such an unforgiving material, I would suffer the indiginity for benevolent nanites or super-worms. When I think about it though, it seems obvious that the rest of the world would be spared the sight of my reflective fatness if I had my super-worms. Surely they would have me looking like Greg Louganis minus the gay in no time.

Sadly, nanotechnology of such nature is sure not to be seen within my lifetime. Or your lifetime. Or your children's lifetime (me; I have no plans to spawn). I'm sure it will eventually happen though. When it does, I want my frozen head to be pulled out of storage, thawed, and put in the best damn body possible. I'll need to be in good shape in order to appease our alien masters.

No reason whatsoever.

2006-09-11T13:26:00.000-07:00

Nothing here yet. Just checking it out.