Category: event

These are current events, anniversaries, local happenings, etc.

Meet the Author

If you read this site and you’re here right now, this message is for you. I write some books sometimes. I write real good, to. And people are starting to take notice. No seriously though. My buddy Spencer is the director of the public library where I live. And he thinks I write good to. So the library is going to host a Meet the Author night at the library, and I’m the author you get to meet! I know, I know, most of you have already met me. But it would still be fun for you to show up and pretend we haven’t met. You could walk up and shake my hand and act all star-struck and whatnot, and I could introduce myself, and people who don’t know you will think I have a ton of followers who have never met me. Followers who read authors who write real good.

Exciting times though, these are. Spencer will be ordering a large stack of each of my three novels to give away at the signing. Apparently the night will start with my lecturing for a bit about the perils of living in 3D, followed by some advice on being a writer in this here Metropolis and not in LA or New York. You don’t have to live there to write, you see. Following that will be a question answering session. I will be asking the audience a series of questions and seeing how good their answers are, in other words. At least this is my perception of the definition. And then I’ll sign some books. And that will pretty much be it. Well, aside from the after party at the Broken Anchor Pirate’s Pub.

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Six Pints for Doug

Okay, let’s just get this on the record. It’s funny, I can no longer find anything about it on the Internet anywhere. Does this mean that we are the only ones left participating in the tradition? I can’t imagine that. Let me know if you can find anything about it. Maybe there are local groups who could join forces or something. I don’t know. Anyway, I just want to put this on the record for anyone who is interested in getting into this tradition.

Do you like music? Do you like beer? Do you like friends? Do you like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Do you like websites? Well if you answered no to any of those questions, you’re probably not reading this website, because you wouldn’t like it. If you have not read the book I mentioned, you should go ahead and put that on your To Be Read list. Seriously. If you like my site, you would probably enjoy it. You would probably enjoy it anyway. But then, once you’ve read it, you’ll have a better appreciation of who Douglas Adams was.

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First Day After The End Of The World

We had a party last night. The invite said “Apocalypse Party. What better way to go out than hanging with friends, with a drink in your hand!” I guess we ended up with about twenty people over there. I served from my two kegs full of homebrew, and people brought various six-packs and variety packs of beer. Which I guess is cool, because now I have probably twenty unique types and brands of beer in my BeerFridge. Twenty that I’ve never tried. Pretty cool, I say. But what about the real question here?

Why didn’t the world end?

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Happy Birthday, The Bug!

Today is my youngest daughter’s birthday. It is also, however, comma, the ten-year anniversary of the death of Douglas Adams. So which do I write about? Well, duh! How much can you say about a two-year-old’s birthday? Seriously? Who cares? I mean, I can’t think of– hang on… I’m being told by… What’s that? I am? No? Oh. Okay. Never mind. Apparently we’re uh… Let’s… Well, let’s just back it up a bit.

So as I was saying, of course I’m going to talk about The Bug’s birthday! I mean, how exciting! She’s two years old! And!… And!… Two! Can you believe that? Okay! That’s it!

On a serious note, it is pretty crazy how quickly time flies. Remember when I wrote this column on the day she was born? Yeah dudes. Two years ago. Now she’s running around, talking little baby talk, saying things all cute, climbing up stuff, pulling things off shelves, tearing the pages out of books, spilling milk all over the couch… Okay. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about her.

No, but seriously, she’s a good little girl, well-disciplined and well-mannered, and possibly the sweetest little baby the world has ever known. I mean come on, guys, how many two-year-olds do you know who say “Bless you!” when you sneeze? And she’s been doing that for six months. She’s such an angel, I don’t know how I’m going to live without a two-year-old in the house once she’s grown up. Both of my girls are princesses. And this one, just like her older sister, is a girly girl. I mean, there is no doubt she likes girl things. Everything is pink.

It’s funny – when we painted her room, before she was born, when she was still just an “it”, we painted it an ugly shade of brownish snotty green. My red-haired wife picked the color out and I had nothing to do with it. I have no idea what she was thinking, either. We tried to pretty the room up with little pink letters that spell out her name, but I think she knows. She knows the room is the color of a flu patient’s snot. She’s a good sport about it though. She forgives.

So welcome, Laynie, to the terrible twos. I should have welcomed you about a month ago when you started the pre-game festivities, and started acting like you were two already, destroying my entire house. But all is well. I still love you. And you’re far better than any other child I know of. Your terrible-twos are like most other kids being their best. So I’ll take it.

Happy birthday, Bug. I am honored, privileged, and blessed to be your father, and likewise – to have you as a daughter. Here’s to many, many more.

25 Years Later: Chernobyl

Tomorrow marks the 25th anniversary of the tragic disaster that ruined Chernobyl and affected the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. I’ve read the story many times over the years, fascinated by the insane breakdown of events that put them in that predicament, and it gets more interesting every time I read it. But it also depresses me greatly.

The greatest weakness in the system was humanity. We caused the catastrophe. Humans are a stupid, self-serving, arrogant bunch. And that arrogance changed Chernobyl and the surrounding towns – basically making them unlivable for the next thousand years. That’s when it will be safe to move back. But there will still be radiation for up to seventy thousand more years.

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SpaceBrew in Hibernation Mode

Good morning, SpaceBrewers! Just a quick note to let you all know that we’re coming into the winter season here at the Brew. It sort of lines up with the winter season the weather patterns follow. But what that means is that we spend less time in front of the computers and more time in front of a fireplace, or wrapped in the stinky, rotting carcass of a Tauntaun.

In the end, and in the interest of sparing you all from minutae and random hogwashical white noise, we will be cutting back our writing to once a week apiece. I’ll be writing on Mondays, Haycomet will write on Wednesdays, and we’ll continue to write our award-winning collaborative column, Bacon Talk, on Fridays. So just basically cutting out Tuesdays and Thursdays gives us, well, something like two days we can relax.

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Here’s To Tradition

Well we did our annual remembrance of Doug Adams on Tuesday night, with a few minor changes. Now the tradition is to setup six pint glasses and fill them all, then you drink them all. Not much to the drinking part. You can slug them if you want, or you can savor them. Either way is fine, because in the book, Ford Prefect slammed his and Arthur Dent sort of just sipped on it. Hell, he didn’t even finish his three before his house got knocked down.

Well we’ve got some new blood in our crew now. Stout and I have been practicing this ritual since the year after Douglas passed away. Well now we have Two-Step and Siege in the group. Two-Step sort of has to be there since she’s my wife and all, and I really sort of don’t like doing anything without her these days. The whole “existing” part of existence gets pretty shitty when she’s not around. And Siege, my newest partner in crime, has decided to become a member of the Brotherhood. Well, that is after we invited him to. Not just anyone can decide to get in, you see. Anyway, yeah, so there you have it. Our two newest members of the group.

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No More Goodbyes

I promise – no more farewell letters. I do think it’s important to let you all know when I plan to take a hiatus. But if you look back through the history of this site, you’ll find several ‘goodbye, this is it, no more columns’ type columns. It’s getting to be like the little boy who cried. A very relevant imageAm I rite? I have never lost the passion for writing. I just sort of go through seasons. It’s actually quite annoying, because that’s the way I am with all of my hobbies. Camping is conveniently appropriate, because I don’t like to do much camping in the winter. But I find myself going through periods lasting months where I don’t even pick up my guitar.

I do plan on writing some more here. Maybe even frequently. We shall see. I am presently contacting several people I think would fit in well here among the pages of the Brew. I think you’ll be hearing some more from Captain McRight and maybe even Stout. But I’m also lining up some new writers from whom you’ve not yet heard. We’ll see what happens. I’m not counting my wolves yet. We will have some good fresh content up here though, you can take that to the eggs.

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Introducing SpaceBrew Radio

Well, it finally happened. I finally branched out into the final facet of media into which I had not yet tapped: radio broadcasting. I’ve been on television, I’ve made records, I’ve written books, and I’ve been writing my life on this here site for some ten years now. But I’ve never had my own radio show. Well, now I do.

I don’t expect it to be anything big. I’d like to think we’ll get ten or fifteen listeners a week, but we’re really just here to have fun. So here’s the format: talk/rock. Nothing fancy. See, I don’t have an ASCAP or BMI broadcast license to play other people’s music. At least not yet. I don’t know if I’ll go there. I don’t need to get licensed so I can play music you can hear everywhere else. But I wouldn’t mind being able to play a song or two if we’re talking about it or something. Anyway, I may or may not grow into that.

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Farewell, old friend.

Yesterday, one of my favorite authors of all time passed away at the age of 66. He had been privately battling cancer. Michael Crichton wrote some of the greatest science fiction stories I’ve ever read, and more times than not, I found myself wondering if they were reports on events that actually happened. The Andromeda Strain and Terminal Man, for instance – both written like essays on actual events – yet, not at the expense of thrill and good storytelling.

In his later years, Michael began politicizing his writing to the point I almost couldn’t stomach the read anymore. State of Fear was one, then Next was really not even worth reading, in my opinion. I don’t want to use this space to bash Michael’s writing, but to say that it was evident he had an agenda. Maybe this explains some of that.

At any rate, he will be remembered well, and missed. I will have to add yet another date to my calendar where I drink a short of scotch in remembrance of someone. Rest in peace, old chap.

Well, my guy didn’t win.

I’m deeply saddened tonight that my candidate didn’t win. We had every chance, it seemed like, to step forward with a voice that would carry America into the next four years with a positive celerity and ensure peace and stability for the future of life as we know it.

I had great expectations that we would step forth and raise our hands in support of the next great leader, but majority ruled in favor of the underdog. The dark horse. And what saddens me the most is how close we really came. That’s right, friends and patriots. We came close enough to smell victory’s sweet, yet pungent aroma. And we elected the wrong guy.

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Happy Independence Day!

Old GloryHappy Independence Day, friends. Many people will tell you “Happy 4th of July!” today. And you’ll probably say it a lot. You’ll be asked what you’re doing for the fourth of July. You’ll ask people what plans they have for the fourth of July. But hardly anyone will say the words ‘Independence Day’. And I think it is important that you do. Let’s remember why we celebrate the fourth of July. Let’s remember why it’s fun to watch fireworks. And please, most of all, let’s remember those who have fallen making this a holiday.

Please salute, hug, or thank a veteran today. Have a great, safe holiday, friends. God bless America.

Happy Space Day

It’s a new month, dear readers. And this might just be the month we’ve been waiting for. Let me tell you a few reasons why today doesn’t suck, to start with. Number one, it’s May. Spring is definitely here. It’s been gorgeous outside. Anyone who doesn’t believe that hasn’t seen me driving around all week. I’ve had the top down and the doors off all week! Oh, well, or maybe you just don’t live in Texas. It’s been gorgeous here.

I took the first three days of this week, and Friday of last week off. So I had a six-day weekend in which I could do a lot of driving around with the top down and the doors off. I don’t get great gas mileage in the Jeep, but hey, gas is pretty cheap these days, right guys? :shobon: Right? So that there is proof that today doesn’t suck. Today is Kinetic Kim’s birthday. She would have been thirty-two today. Happy birthday, Kim. That, of course, means I’ll pour myself a couple of fingers of scotch tonight in her memory.

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The Epitome of Abandonment

I’d like to talk about something that has bothered me for quite some time. Twenty-three years, to be precise. On the 23rd of April in 1985, Coca-Cola made their big announcement that they would be changing their formula. Remember that? Well, Katy, you’re excused from this since you weren’t born until a couple of years later. But the rest of you, do you remember that? Let me remind you – or enlighten you – whichever is appropriate.

Pepsi had such a great market share of the soda pop drinkers that it really started threatening Coca-Cola’s business model. So Coke decided they needed to change their formula to taste more like Pepsi. Ahem. Let me repeat that in case you didn’t hear me properly. Coca-Cola decided that the best way to get back in the taste race was to change their formula to taste more like Pepsi. Wait. What?

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National Golf Day

Let’s talk about golf for a minute. I know, I know, that’s a really long time to spend on the subject, and I might run out of shit to say about it long before the minute is up. But bear with me.

I used to play golf. And by play, I mean, drive a cart around and carry a bag of clubs, swinging at balls, marking nines on every hole… You know. Playing golf. My dad bought me a set of clubs when I was a kid. So I played with him all the time. I’d usually find myself moving my ball up to match his lay. I’ve obviously way outgrown those clubs by now, so when I play these days, I borrow someone else’s clubs. I usually play once or twice a decade. Last time I played 18 holes with Aaron was about three years ago, and the game took us almost eight hours.

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Sad Tuesday

Thank you all for coming by, day after day, to read the words of our SpaceBrew Writers. But sadly, I have to announce we are closing our doors. So this will be the final column. We had some good times, didn’t we

The Captain was arrested last night for driving under the influence of “something that smells a lot like scotch”. Moonshine has been kidnapped, and is only reporting in by cell phone text messaging every eighteen hours – clearly not often enough to write columns, and Space got bitten by a spider on his right index finger yesterday. His hand swelled up so badly that he can no longer type, play the guitar, masturbate or even type. He had someone type this column up for him

So please feel free to post comments here detailing your experiences – happy and sad – with SpaceBrew over the years. Let us know your favorite column ever. Let us know why you always come back. Your favorite writer. Whatever you want. Just let us know you were here. And maybe we’ll see you again in another life

Thanks, you all.

Cannell The Man

Shine and I ran up to the Barnes and Noble last night to meet Stephen Cannell. Again. Remember when I met him the first time? Yeah, he was just as cool. So I wanted to go in there and first of all get him to remember me. He has some family attachment to Spaceyville, where I live. He said last time I met him, “Oh yeah, I know Spaceyville! I’m up there all the time!” So on my post-it note I put ‘Brian from Spaceyville’ so maybe it would jog his memory. It did. He remembered me.

Then I wanted to pass him my book so that maybe he could read something good for a change. I kid, I kid. No, for real, last time we met he told me to mail him a copy. Well I never heard back from him. So I just took him a copy tonight, slid it across the table and said, “Yeah Steve, we actually have something in common. I design my own bookcovers as well.” He was like, “That’s great!” So he asked when I had finished it, and if I had anything else. I told him, “Yeah, I’ve finished my second novel, halfway through my third.” He complimented me and shook my hand. Then I got my picture taken with him. He grabbed both books and held them up for the photo. Pretty awesome picture, if I might say so myself.

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And a Happy New Year…

Looks like we made it into another century. I don’t even know what that means. I heard a sports commentator the other night during the football game talking about Testeverde, and how if he played for one more year, he would have played in four centuries. Centuries? Really? Last I checked, that still meant one hundred years. Right? I guess he meant decades. But if Vinnie’s thrown a ball in the 70s, 80s, 90s and these here the oughts, he’s already made that mark. Either way, it cracked me up quite a bit.

We celebrated last night by going over to a buddy’s house and drinking, listening to music and throwing the Frisbee. In the garage. Seriously. While we stood out in the garage with beers and cigarettes in our hands, we started tossing around the Frisbee. It was actually quite entertaining. We made up rules as we went along. “Now you can only use your left hand.” “Now you can only throw over-hand.” Stuff like that. Then we got bored with the Frisbee and nailed up a piece of plywood and began throwing knives at it to see if we could get them to stick. Our parties.

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The Great Dove Hunt of 2007

My Pop and I packed up and headed out early Friday morning, the last day of August, heading west. We followed my buddy Stout and his brother David out to the deer lease for opening day of dove season. Wait, that should be capitalized. Opening Day of Dove Season.

So we got out there Friday night and got everything unpacked and settled in at the lake house. We then sat out on the patio and tossed washers for about two hours while drinking beers like we were in a contest. The point of all this was to do as little as possible. To get away for a weekend out into the country – to do as little as possible… To disconnect. To unwind. It was so nice to be able to become one with nature. And the birds. The boids.

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Meeting another hero.

Remember way back in 2002 when I met Michael Crichton? Well, about two months ago, when I started reading The Plan by Stephen Cannell, I checked out his website and saw he had a book signing coming up, close to home. So I marked it on the calendar. Tonight was that night.

So I rolled up there with Stout and checked out his discussion session about the new book. About twenty people were there in the seats listening as he talked about how he made it in the business. Need credentials? He’s written more shows than I can count. Basically, he’s the fucing man. Anyway, after the discussion, he took one question (the guy asked a question that required a long ass answer, and Stephen warned us it would take a long time, and was real cool about it, then told it…) he started signing books. So I got my book signed, and I asked him, “Is there any way I can send you a book?” He asked what genre it was and whatnot, and said he typically only reads within his genre, and he reads slowly because of his condition (he’s dyslexic) but said yeah, send it on. He loves to read, and said he’ll get to it when he can.

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Happy Useless Commercial Holiday!

Yes, it’s tomorrow. Already. It seems like yesterday was Valentime’s Day 2005 and I was trying to find a way out of buying a bunch of crap for my lovely wife. My problem, before you start thinking I’m an insensitive prick, is not with buying her stuff. I do that all the time. I’d say three or four days a week I buy her stuff. My problem is that some dipshit named Ronny Valentino just suddenly decides there needs to be a holiday named after him and the world now celebrates it.

It’s not a real holiday. You know how I know? Because we all have to work! If you don’t get off work for the day, it’s not a real holiday. But secondly, the fact that it’s a nationally or globally recognized lovebirds day should not mean I am obligated to buy chocolates and flowers for my wife. She already knows I love her. But if I don’t, then I’m an asshole because all her hot teacher friends will be getting crap from their students and loved ones and husbands and gay lovers. “Oh, H24,” they’ll say, “Where’s your heart-shaped box of fattening junk food?”

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Finally, Hitchhiker’s Released on DVD

Today is a great day for mankind. And dolphins. Yes, my Earth friends, today was the release of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy on DVD. Please notice I’ve made a convenient link to the movie at Amazon on that image, so you can order your own copy of the film.

Hitchhiker's Guide DVD!This film I think was underrated in a big way. I don’t think it was the best film ever made, by any means. And I think there were parts that could have been done a lot better, had they not sucked the humor right out of them like an Arcturan Mega Vacuum. But I do think it’s worthy of watching, and – well, for me, owning a copy or two.

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Time for a New Orleans

Yeah, I’d just like to give a quick shout out to all our neighboring countries who’ve jumped right in to help us in this time of crisis. What’s up, Canada? Hey Mexico – how you doing? Hey Germany, how’s it hangin? Remember all them boats full of supplies and food and medicine and doctors and clothes and toys and blankets we sent in the wake of the tsunami last Christmas? Yeah. What’s up?

I’d also like to see some interior congregation of goods and services offering. I’d like to see a hotel chain like Hilton offer up ten thousand rooms all over the country – at cost – for some of the million families to stay in for a while. I’d like to see a Luby’s chain open up and say, “What’s up, New Orleansers, come in here and grab a hot cajun meal.” I’d like to see a Wal Mart or a Ross Dress For Less say, “Hey, chiefs, come in here and get some dry clothes.” I’d like to see gas prices hop up over four dollars a gallon so the oil industry doesn’t have to suffer.

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The Pool Party That Sank

Yesterday we celebrated my hot cousin’s 20th birthday with a whole bunch of drinking, swimming, music and drinking, and a little sunburn on the side. The party was a wild success. We played water polo, pin the tail on the donkey, simon says, and a rousing game of marco / polo. A good time was had by all!

Space & Hot Cousin LaraSome friends of mine came over to assist in the partyship, and everything seemed dandy. Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, one of the pretty girls splashed a little too wildly and her top came down just a little bit. I’m not talking full boobal exposure – just a tad bit of nipple peeked out. And one of the other girls saw it and made a comment to some of the men who were sitting on the deck (and were not fortunate [as I was] to get to be part of the audience).

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Happy Birthday, Space

Last night, for my birthday, Mellowship let me get up on stage and play a few songs with them. It was exciting to be back up on the stage finally, with a whole band behind me. All my coworkers showed up to cheer me on and get their drink on. Here are the photos.

Day One

Today was the day. The first day of February, 2004. I woke up about eight-thirty and let the dogs out. Heather went to the bathroom, and asked if I wanted to go to church today. I said, “Yeah, as long as you feel like it.” She agreed, and said it might be the last time we get to go for a while. With the dogs out back, I lay back down for a while, and Heather came out of the bathroom and said, “Honey, I think my water broke.” We did the tests though, and it hadn’t.

Heather got in the shower to get ready, and then sat on the edge of the tub to shave her legs. I was drifting off again, rather nicely. It was about nine at this point. And a muffled yell through the bathroom door awakened me. “Brian! Brian!” I got up and ran in there. “Brian, my water broke!” I looked in the tub. Indeed it had. My mind got in Let’s Go gear, throwing things together and getting dressed. During this madness I managed to make it to a phone and call my mom to let her know, “The water is broken.” As it turns out, it was a good thing that I had called her, because she wasn’t freaking out like I was, and had a mind to call the hospital and get us a room.

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Midnight’s Park is Written

I’m done.

I finished late last night (early this morning). Holy cow, that was a task. I can’t believe it took me that long. All that procrastinating just made me want to keep putting it off. Well, I’m going to try and do better with my next book. Maybe I’ll shoot for three months, so it’ll for sure be ready by winter of 2005.

Standard procedure dictates that I now read over it and make changes to any glaring critical grammatical errors. Strunk and White say to omit needless words, which I do during this phase, and Stephen King says I should end up with 90% of what I have now. Cut the fat. That would be some eighteen pages worth of material. It hurts to cut that much, but it’s good advice. I’ve never seen that much to cut personally – maybe because everything I write is worth keeping, or maybe because I think everything I write is worth keeping. We shall see what happens.

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Celebrity Run-In: Michael Crichton

My sister called me this morning and told me Michael Crichton was going to be signing books at the Wal-Mart in Euless, and she’d heard about it on the local radio station. So we blazed out there after work and got in line. I bought myself a book as well as one for my sister, since she told me about it. He’s every bit as cool as I thought he’d be.

   

At first, while shaking his hand, I asked him if I could come around back and get a picture taken with him. His security guard said, “No, no, move on please.” Then Michael looked up as I was walking away and said, “Did you want a picture with me? That’s fine, come on back here, Space.” So I went back and got the shot. That was pretty bad ass of him. You know he probably wouldn’t just do that for anyone. But since he knew I’d be writing about it on a major website, he was cool with it. Well, that, and plus we’re old friends too.

Good Friday

As we all finish out our work weeks today and prepare to go home for the weekend, I would like everyone to remember what this weekend stands for. This is Easter weekend. Today is Good Friday, the day our Lord was crucified. He rose again on Sunday.

So how do we celebrate it?

Well, of course… It’s obvious, right? A big fat bunny that lays eggs. We celebrate the death of the only sinless man ever to walk the earth by lying to our children and generally spreading old spoiled mayonnaise on the bread of truth for them. No one tells their children about Jesus and the horrible thing that happened to him – but the good news that he rose again. Even if you don’t believe it, it sure would make the world a better place if we taught our children to love. Instead, we make up some bogus crap about a bunny that – well, I don’t even know what the hell the bunny does.

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Storm’s Run-in with Tiffany

My associate and good friend Storm had a little run in today. Being a professional photographer, he “happened to be” at the Tower Records Playboy Signing tonight. so he caught some excellent pictures of Tiffany. Oh. My. God. I was just talking about liking Tiffany and that she’s in the new Playboy and everything then he suddenly comes along and sends me pictures of himself with her. Bastard.

I think she looks better in these photos than the Playboy ones. Well besides the fact that she isn’t naked, I mean, she just looks more natural. No airbrushing either. And those tits! I think the buttons on that shirt must have popped off. These are four of the fifty or so that he sent me. And of course, I bled the color out and pasted a tag on them for his benefit. But if you want to see more, you can carry your lazy ass over to his site and order the full size ones. Eat your heart out, kinetic kim:


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A Childhood Dream Comes True

Sweet goodness look at those boobs.I was sitting at a bar with my cousin and a friend this weekend having some beers, catching up on stuff. Well, we’re kind of regulars there, so we get on pretty well with the bartender. Anyway, she comes up and says, “Remember little Tiffany? The singer?” I was like, “Yeah. Of course. I used to adore her.” She says, “Well check this out,” and flops the magazine down on the bar. Lo and behold, there in front of me are Tiffany’s voluptuous breasts. I was disgusted. I can’t stand looking at women’s breasts, you know? Especially when they are that large and round and soft, and when I used to be infatuated with said person.

But it’s little Tiffany. Remember the pop singer from about 15 years ago (God, has it been that long?) who sang such hits as “I Think We’re Alone Now” and “I Saw Him Standing There”? When I was thirteen I was in love with her. I had Tiffany posters and her album, and many fantasies to boot. She was hotter than the lit end of a cigarette. I even went and saw her in concert, and some band we’d never heard of opened up for her. They were called New Kids on the Block. We saw her at the Six Flags Music Mill Amphitheatre. Oh what a show. And now this. Oh yes, my friends. My day has finally come. (So to speak.)

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Another New Year’s Party

Well I survived all the drinking and all the parties and all the people and all the bullshit that comes with a new year. On new year’s eve we had about 60 people over for a party of our own. We didn’t want to go anywhere, because of the danger out on the roads. So instead we had all our loved ones and friends brave the dangers and come to us. We had a big bucket everyone dropped their keys in, and no one left until the next morning anyway. Most people passed out on the stairs or by the fireplace, the couches… wherever they could find that wasn’t taken.

Some interesting people showed up this year. I should let you know ahead of time that yes we did go to Bob’s Bowl-A-Rama. We bowled until about 9:30, then took to the house, as our party was supposed to start at 10. Well, we picked up about ten people at Bob’s who wanted to come along. Some of them old friends, and some of them even more. Embarrassingly enough, three – count ’em, three – of my ex-girlfriends ended up being at the party. Phew. That was some scary shit. Mainly because now they know where I live. There were no real issues though. (Not counting the part where Storm had to run out and roll in the snow because Marie caught his pants on fire with the incense burner… I told Storm I wouldn’t mention that. Oops!) Oh, that and when George fell off my loft and landed in the beanbag. Those little white foam balls will take the next nine years to clean up.

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National Breast Awareness Week

Well, it’s Mardi Gras time again, gentlemen. And you all know what that means. I think it’s the main reason most men even attend a Mardi Gras festival. Yep. Tits.

When and where else can a man stand around on the street and watch girls lift their shirts and let their boobs bounce out just to get beads? You really can’t beat it. Course, I have never gone to Mardi Gras. I have been to smaller versions of the same thing, locally. Every year in Denton is the Fry Street Fair. And if you have ever been there, you know there are plenty of women showing plenty of booby. A lot of them fail to wear shirts entirely.

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