7/21/2003 - Don't read this \by Shmike

You.

You there!

Just what do you think you're doing here? Don't you see that the last real post was in March? Know what that means? It means this site is dead. It means go away. I'm sure you have better things to do. Paint a self portrait. Go jet skiing. Do it. Do something.

Go now. Off with you.

Away!

Stop reading moron. I told you that this site is dead. Go visit something with blood still pumping through it's cyber veins. Hey, want some porn? It's your's if you stop reading right now! Promise. Just fuck off.

If you insist on wasting yuor time then here are the archives:

Page 1, page 2, page 3 (what you're looking at now, more or less).

I hope you're satisfied.

3/24/2003 - Chicken \by Shmike

It's seems the cat's out of the bag, and if you didn't notice the bucket of chicken in the upper-right side of this website, check it out. It contains a song by my former band, which, for the sake of simplicity, we'll say was called Hero (we actually were never really sure what the name was in the end). Since the lyrics are kind of fuzzy and hard to make out I figure I'd post them here. Here they are, in all their absurdity:

Hey Colonel Sanders!
What's a matter?
CHICKEN?
I think you are......

At a place called
KFC, There's the colonel.
KFC, the colonel (the colonel)
the colonel.... chicken strips
KFC, the colonel (the colonel!)
side of corn, side of bisquits
KFC, The Colonel
Shaved his hair all bare
KFC. The Colonel.
No more hair anywhere

KFC. The Colonel. (The colonel!)
KFC. The Colonel. (The Colonel!!)

No more hair anywhere
The colonel..... yeah
KFC. The colonel. (The Colonel)
Side of corn. Side of gravy and a bisquit
KFC. The Colonel.
Honey barbequed chicken strips
No more hair anywhere. (anywhere!)
Anywhere. (anywhere!)
No more mess on the beard
KFC. The colonel. KFC had no hair
No more hairnets for anyone! The colonel shaved them bare.
No more hair. No more mess. The colonel said so. The Colonel said so!
The colonel said so! the colonel said so!

Nine percent was saved.
No more hair nets, no more hair.
The colonel had no hair.
No more mess on the beard.

No more hair....
No more sauce....
no more mess....
five cents less....

There's more after that, but's it more a less just variations on a very obvious theme. what's sadder is that's it's probably one of the few actually songs we made that were somewhat amusing. Ah well, rock and roll forever.

3/6/2003 - Hiatus \by Prozack

I’ll be updating more…

No, seriously.

And Shmike and I are planning on revamping this turd of a site.

Again, I am serious. Fuck you if you do not believe me. It should be happening within two weeks, although it should only take us a two days. We’re lazy/busy. Let me remind you this is the same reason why we have yet to join The Procrastinator’s Club. Although the fact that there actually is a club like that is complete and utter bullshit and if you need to ask why, well, think about it for a minute. Heh, it is all in good fun.

P.S. Shmike is the emo kid that makes pb&j samitches

3/2/2003 - Asterick dash asterick \by Shmike

I got a new guitar amplifier. Click here to see it. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it? Huge also, perfect for droppng off cliffs onto unsuspecting roadrunners, or shooting from comically large slingshots. I guess you can use to play guitar very loudly as well. This will probably be the second to last piece of musical equipment (excluding strings and cables) until I'm either in good band or dead. I doubt, however, that music will be a lucrative pursuit for me, so I'm just buying these things for my own enjoyment. For the most part, I'm going to leave the music making to those who do it best, or at least seem more naturally inclined towards it.

Apprently making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while you're insanely high is very "emo". I should have known, really.

2/17/2003 - Merry President's Day \by Shmike

...and speaking of cows.

2/9/2003 - Jet Black \by Shmike

This isn't the much talked about site face-lift, this is merely here because it's been a while since there's been some great visual change around here, and that's odd for me. Not my style, ya know? As for the redesign, I doubt that'll happen soon. It should have been done before the year changed, but here we are. With school added into the mix, things have become more complicated. Any free time I get I don't feel like spending working on the site. I can, however, assure you that it will be ready before this year ends. You have my word.

I've been emo-ing the night away, even dawning a pressed black dress shirt and tight jeans. Must look good for my computer moniter. Comb hair, cut fingernails, brush teeth, nice nice. Really, it isn't that bad. It's been a while since I've been significantly sad, but the feeling is hardly anything new. I've been trying to use sound waves to break this crust in my brain, anything from NOFX to Cap'n Jazz to my beloved Smashing Pumpkins, but it's still there, so it looks like I'll just have to ride it out... or scream.

While I'm here I might as well write. The song on my playlist (Jets To Brazil - I Typed For Miles) seems to agree, and my floor has accumilated enough dross give me an idea. I'm going to look about my room and pick out objects to write about. i'll try my best to make it interesting.

First thing is this bottle of ginseng extract, which happens to be sitting next to an empty carton of Green Tea (with ginseng and honey). The pills I don't use often. they're good for boosting creativity and thinking when I'm in a lull, not by that much though. In greater doses they're also good for giving you headaches, like an anti-thesis to Tylenol. As for that carton... yes, a carton of Green Tea, just like Hi-C comes in. My Grandmother buys me packs of three. I kind of wish she didn't because they just end up turning into extra trash. My Grandmother is not very eviromentally concious.

There is a dart board behind my printer, missing most of the darts. The ones that are still there are being used to hold up a piece of paper that has "52 Teenagers" printed on it in wacky green letters. 52 Teenagers is a band that existed a few years ago, composed of fellows by the name of Matt, Josh, and Rusty. Music was played, demos were made, fun was had. Later on I joined in.... then we broke up. Actually, we didn't so much break up as we did dessolve. I still owe Matt a dollar and change for ice cream from one of our last band practices. Someone make a note of that. This was one of the two ill-fated bands I've been in.

The PS2 stands like a monolith on the edge of the desk. A $300 dollar monolith. A $300 monolith that I never use except for the occassional DVD. Sometimes I get in a sort of rut, where i convince myself that I'll begin to play videogames avidly once more. I never do. My reason? I always feel like I'm wasting my time. Don't get me wrong though. I really don't think that videogames are as mind-numbing as some make it out to be. In fact, I sometimes think that an addiction to videogames is a sign of intelligence. Think about it. ther are puzzles to solve, reflexes to be honed. Consider an RPG, which requires hours of dedication and management skills. This is to all those concerned parents and stern-faced teachers counting the rising number of children with ADD: give gamers a break.

I have two shoeboxes full of paints, brushes, markers, and pastels. Ican't paint or draw for shit, but I do it anyway. Why? For the simple joy of harmless creation. "Art is not the goal but the occassion." -Hugo Ball, Max Ernst, or some other dead Dada artist.

On the shelve of my desk is a clock, and it reads 3:25. Too late. It's time I wrap this little therapy session up. i intended to write more, but If i stay up much longer the Old Man will get up and start grumbling until I retreat to my bed. Goodnight, everybody.