Monthly Archive: March 2002

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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And they were none too happy.

She’d blown past us at the intersection. I looked out my window and shouted, but she didn’t hear. I told Flavio to speed up. We were on the way back from lunch, and now we sat stalled by a stop light. She was two cars ahead and one lane to the right. We couldn’t get her. Damn!

“She’s gorgeous, dude. You have to get up there so you can check on her,” I shouted. Before lunch I had said, “Should I bring my camera? In case we see anything happen during lunch?” He’d said yes. “Cool. You drive. I’ll shoot.” So I rode shotgun to Quizno’s.

Now we’re at the stop light. I’m shaking my head like a box of rice fidgeting. The camera! Yes. I reached back and unzipped it from its pouch and pulled it up. Cocked it, readied and focused. She cuts into our lane and turns left ah

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The Ever-Elusive Airplane Crash

I live near an airport. Well about ten to fifteen miles away, I suppose. But it’s the third busiest airport in the world. An international one. Thus planes are constantly flying right over my house, and generally pretty low, on their way to landing. My supposition is that these aircraft are somewhere between five- and ten-thousand feet. It’s quite common to be awakened by the sound of the engines screaming through the night, directly above me. Especially when I have my windows open.

So I started thinking last night about the plausibility of a crash landing in my bedroom. Here’s the control set I theorized under: The world as we know it will not end, ever, but will last infinitely. Aircraft will infinitely be flying over my house, as they are today, and the technology will remain fairly constant. Meaning they will still use conventional fuel and conventional thrust and drag technology. Assuming all this, my question was this: As long as they are flying over my house evermore, what is the probability that one would someday crash into my house?

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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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Space Saving 101

I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of governmentally invoked population control methodology. You know, like AIDS and stuff. You know that shit didn’t just happen. It had to be introduced. DNA structures don’t suddenly alter themselves to a detrimental deficit. Not even in African Green Monkeys. If that were the case, then I would expect all you idiots who believe we evolved from lower forms to seriously revise your theoretical foundations.

So anyway, I was thinking about these methods they use among other things, like conspiracy theories and the way people just disappear when they know too much. Shit like that. And I came up with an idea. Why don’t we shrink our problems away?

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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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