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Has this guy gone crazy?!

Posted 17 March 2003, 4.08 pm by Craig

Visit Site.

Ghettoify yo'self!

Posted 15 March 2003, 7.09 pm by Alexander

From now on I shall be known as Sexxmaster Kawfi.

Click here to find out your ghetto name, then post it in the comments yo.

Last Shining Moment

Posted 13 March 2003, 3.21 am by Jake

“Have you ever wanted something so bad, yet it was just out of your grasp?” The man shifted in his chair and lifted his glass of bourbon to his lips. “You wanted to take it, to control it, but it never, ever happened?”

The fat man’s eyes danced nervously behind his thick horn-rimmed glasses. Beads of sweat formed on his bald head. He stammered “S-s-su-sure. Everyone’s had that at one point in their lives.” The bearded man looked at him, took another sip of bourbon, and puffed on his cigar, lost in thought. “That’s the way I’ve been with life,”said the bearded man. “I took many things for granted and have regretted them, but it’s not going to happen anymore. I will be understood. I will be noticed, respected, feared.” The bald man looked away for some sort of diversion….a waitress, a bar patron, anything.

“Pay attention to me, Hans.” The bald man shifted his gaze back to the bearded man. “Listen, John. This is fucked up. This is beyond fucked up. I don’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve been hanging out with, but you’ve changed. I used to think that you were a pretty rational guy. Since about three months ago, I got no fuckin’ clue who you are anymore!! You’re a weirdo! You’re an asshole! You’re just different!” John chuckled and stroked his beard. “Nice to see that you’re still fond of me after all these years, Hans. And I thought we were friends.”

Hans glared back at John. “Yeah, well, friends don’t start talking about weird shit and how the world owes them! There’s life out there, man! There’s things to be done! You don’t sit here and be jaded about how everything was, and you especially don’t carry a fuckin’ grudge! Times are changin’, man! Embrace the future, for God’s sake!” His rapid-fire statement seemed to catch John off guard. Hans wiped the sweat from his bald head, and John promptly slapped his hand and ripped it down to the table in one swift motion. “Goddamn it, Hans! Listen to me. I don’t need you spouting things off about my ideas and plans. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t somewhat confide in you, you slimy little sack of dog-shit! Look at you sweating like a slave! You’re scared, just like the spineless little girl that you truly are! Now if you’re not going to keep your mouth shut, Hans, I’m going to have to do something about it! And chances are, you’re not going to like it. Now, are you willing to shut your sweaty, fat, frothing little trap and let me explain what I want from you? If not, the results won’t be pretty. I assure you. I promise, you. What’s the call, Hans?”

Hans squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Okay, John. What do you want from me? How can I serve YOU? How can I make life easier for YOU? Just let ME know, I’ll be glad to help YOU.” John slapped Hans across the face with a quick right backhand. Hans quaked in his seat, and John moved closer. “Shut UP, Hans. If you don’t shut up right now I swear to Christ that you won’t make it out of here in anything more than a Tupperware container.” Hans did the smart thing, and shut up. “Now. In this briefcase, I have approximately $100,000. I want you to take it, along with this backpack. I want you to go down to the Federal Building, and put this backpack in Locker 113. It’s in the Public Archives. You’ll find the key in the briefcase, along with the $100,000. Now, don’t open this briefcase until you get into the Public Archives. Trust me. Don’t do it. After you put the bag in Locker 113, you can walk away with the briefcase full of cash, no questions asked. Just do this one favor for me, Hans, and all will be fine for you in the world.” Hans shifted again in his seat, and nodded.

Hans walked into the Federal Building with an odd twitch in his gait. He nervously squeezed by a Security guard, and used the ID card that John provided for him in order to get into the Public Archives without being searched. He rushed into the file room and shut the door behind him. He leaned up against it and breathed an exasperated sigh of relief. He walked over to the locker and set the backpack on the floor. Turning around to a nearby table, he set the briefcase upon it and entered the combination to unlock if. 666. He opened it and saw nothing but stacks of neatly cut and banded newspaper. His mind screamed FUCK as he looked from side to side. Up in the corner of the top of the case, there was a small LED attached to a black box the size of a pack of cigarettes. Inqusitively, he touched it. A beeping noise began to whine from the box, and his bowels turned to water. The backpack began to beep as well, and started to vibrate against the locker. He heard the faint metallic buzzing, and had time enough to get down on his knees and pray before the backpack exploded.

When I was yer age . . .

Posted 10 March 2003, 10.14 pm by Alexa

A little while ago, I went into the local record store to return a CD. Not even opened. Tight and secure in it's clear wrapping. I talk to the man at the counter who has yellowish sweat stains that are more than apparent, on his 'Styx' tee shirt that is 3 sizes to small for his round body. I tell him that I need to return the CD. He asks what’s wrong and I tell him I got it as a gift but I already had it. He looks me up and down and says "Well, since you don't have the receipt, I bet you probably just burned it and wrapped it up again. You most likely didn't even get it from this store.". He reeks of onions and cheap cologne. Even though the CD still has the label from the store on it, the plump little man doesn't seem to care. So, one week later, I bring daddy in with me. No problem. Dad's a big man with a beard and slightly intimidating features.
I'm still debating if he didn't listen to me because I am a teenager, or because I am a woman. Maybe it's a little bit of both.

And sometimes I'll get a response to something I said like 'Yeah, when I was your age, I was shallow too'. Sometimes I wish I never said I was 16. I bet most people would treat us differently if they didn't know our ages. In all honesty, would you REALLY lecture me on how superficial I am if I was three or four years older than you? Granted, most of you do have more experience, but in the whole grand scheme of things, twenty isn't that old. Don't get me wrong, I take the advice most times, but sometimes you make me feel so . . . little.

When you were 'my age' and your parents warned you about something or someone, did you listen? Probably not. Most people who are 'my age' think that there parents are idiots. (Sometimes they are right, but that’s besides the point). The point is, would you really talk down to me if you thought I was 40? Better yet, would you talk down to me if you thought I was a 40 year old man? I don't think you would.

Because as much as we swear we don't stereotype and we aren't biased, we all are.

Dirty Fan Male

Posted 9 March 2003, 6.21 pm by Craig

Visit Site.

Aural/Spatial Interplay

Posted 8 March 2003, 1.20 am by Acheron

Click me!

An intruiging concept and a good stress-reducer.

Ever wanted to be a Cam Whore?

Posted 7 March 2003, 4.24 pm by DemonAnton

Well have you?

Click away motherfucker

Killing Time

Posted 7 March 2003, 12.50 am by Aqua

I was about 13 when my brother died. He was about 12. He died of organ failure in his room in my mother's arms. His whole life was according to my mom, a miracle. It started the day he was born- he wasn't supposed to live past it. After that, he was supposed to die when he was 3, and again at 9. He could never walk, talk, or even eat through his mouth. My mom decided it wouldn't be right to make him live any longer in the pain he had recently found.

But this isn't about my brother. This is about god.

He died in Wisconsin after we had recently moved from Pennsylvania- my home for my entire life until I arrived at that endless land of ice and snow. We moved because of my dad's job. He worked at a naval base with computers. Then they decided to move to Maryland. It was either follow or find a new job. My parents decided to look elsewhere.

After my brother's death, my dad found out his kidneys were failing. One was completely dead while the other was well on its way. It seemed like a great blessing that we just happened to move to Wisconsin- the best place to be for kidney failure patients. However, it still took a year and a half before he got a brand new kidney. Any longer, and he wouldn't have made it.

Oddly enough, just as he got his new kidney, my dad got fired from his job. Another company from Sweden bought out the company and fired half of the workers. It was back to the east coast for my family again, back where we belonged, after Wisconsin's purpose was complete.

Miracles? Coincidence? Fate?

I should mention my family are avid believers in the christian god. I have since broken away from this chain due to various reasons and much to my mom's disapproval. She doesn't believe that I can witness the aforementioned happenings and deny there is any "force" behind them. Honestly, I sometimes can't believe it myself. However, these events, if looked at skeptically, reveal no evidnce of the christian god's handiwork being involved in any way. They could show possible evidence of a "higher power". Sure. But they in no way affiliate themselves with one particular god.

The point is, we will never truly know. We will never know for sure whether it was the christian god behind the bizarre coincidences in our lives, or Allah, or just plain dumb luck.

We will never know.

So why waste time trying to figure out if the bible matches archaeological records when no god is making themselves clearly seen any time soon? Why waste money on an expedition to the far reaches of the earth to find the ark or the lost city of Sodom? It's knowledge that will never be able to be completely confirmed.

This is how I live because of my own experiences. We're never going to know, so I don't bother trying.

We will never truly know until we die.

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Doggybag/baggy_dog is an artist living and working in Barga, Italy. Click here to read about this piece in his own words.

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80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?


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