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If you were a dog..

Posted 4 June 2002, 6.20 pm by Villager

If you were a dog, what would YOU be?




Take the
test.

The Woodwork

Posted 4 June 2002, 1.31 am by The_Roach

Well, after a few months of hyping it up, The Woodwork launches today. Please take a minute and come check out our shiznit here.

Hurt the Bear!!

Posted 2 June 2002, 2.23 pm by Craig


Visit Site.

A Reader Submission

Posted 30 May 2002, 6.00 pm by Alexander

This is another great submission from Alfalfa... Enjoy!

Slowly the door opens, the rustling of grocery bags being adjusted over takes the creaking sound of the door. The sunny glow of mid-afternoon floods in through the opening door. Aurora stumbles through the door, kicking it closed with her right shoe's sole. Two heavy grocery bags filled to the brim reside in each of her arms. In one hand, that is clasped tightly around one of the brown paper bags, her keys are dangling, hung on a makeshift hanger around one finger. Her face is flushed like the color of a pink rose, from the effort of carrying the weighty bags. Her eyes are in a cold hard stare, focusing on something down the hallway into the kitchen.

Her roommates are gone at their classes and the house is empty. As she continues to walk through the hallway she sees more and more of that glaring light that she knows can only be reflected from one thing: metal pots and pans. In an instant her face morphs from a blank nonchalant stare into an angry, stony expression. Her face begins to redden and her breathing quickens until she is out of breath. Her grip on the bag tightens and the normally hidden veins on the back of her hands begin to bulge. She continues to walk slowly down the seemingly never-ending hallway. Her footsteps are even and barely make a noticeable thud on the hardwood floor.

Looking from far away it is difficult to tell that she is upset. Her attitude usually calms the mood and each movement of her body is graceful and slight. She still has her usual calm posture, her back is straight and her movements are slow and deliberate. She does look different; her face is twisting up slowly, like a rag, being dried out, slowly contorting into an unfamiliar position. Her eyes are becoming blood-shot and they are beginning to squint like the sun is shining in her face. Her jaw is dropped slightly as in shock. The spaces between her knuckles are fading into white as her grip tightens on the bags.

As she reaches the end of the hallway her eyes open wide. They guide her into the opening until she suddenly stops. Her blood begins to boil, and her heart races. Her hands begin to shake and are loosing grip of the bags. Her mouth quick shuts pursing her lips together tightly. Her eyes begin to search the room, taking it all in. The kitchen and dining area is a mess. Not one of those small takes-five-minutes-to-pick-up messes, but a devastating wreck. The kitchen looks like a truck just drove through it, spattering food all over the place. The white kitchen cabinets are covered with sauce, noodles, eggs; any food they had in the house remnants could be found in that kitchen. The floor had not only crumbs, but also whole chunks of bread, fruit, even meat that were stuck to the floor they had been there so long. She looked up at the counters, as her anger boiled inside of her. The counters once shined to a glimmering white had now since been destroyed.

The blue green countertop was covered with more than just dishes from the house. It had pots and pans filled with the remainder of the food prepared in them. There was old macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, spaghetti sauce and soup crusted all over the metal pans. There were cracked eggs just left on the counter after use, the remainder of their yolk having long since adhered itself to the counter. Dishes littered the place with leftover food remnants petrified to their surfaces. The glasses and utensils too had just been left carelessly after their use. There was even a glass half full of milk that was beginning to grow green mold from the once white milk. The whole kitchen was filled with oddly placed dirty dishes and left over food. Old worn sandals and socks sat atop the counter next to the plates, waiting to be picked up. The sink had been overflowed with dirty dishes ages ago and what had been put in there was stuck together.

She was shocked by the atrocious conditions her roommates had allowed their home to contain. If she cleaned this up it would be what seemed like the millionth time she had cleaned up after them. She suddenly dropped the grocery bags. The egg carton fell out and the runny yolks began to leak out the holes onto the floor. Canned food rushed out of the bags slamming up against the wooden base of the counter and legs of the table. The orange juice container's lid broke off and the liquid began to spread across the smooth surface.

She threw her keys against the window and rushed over to the sink. She grabbed the dirty plates and threw them up against every wall like Frisbees. She didn't even wait to hear them shatter before throwing more. Each time she threw a plate she threw it with more and more force as the anger welled up inside of her. She slammed them on the ground and kicked around the remains as she rushed to the counter top. She grabbed all of the pots and flings them to her right and left, their liquid spewing out while soaring through the air. Aurora picks up the half full glasses and throws their contents out in a half circle splattering the liquid against the walls and windows. The sound of crashing and shattering glass could be heard so loud like a symphony played on full volume.

Her eyes avert to the table and she sprints over to it. She grabs a vase filled with wilted day old flowers. She grabs the flowers and begins ripping them apart and throwing them down. She stomps on their remains and smashes their vase on the orange juice covered floor. Her eyes wildly search the table for something to destroy. They settle upon a breakfast tray and she slams it against the refrigerator ten feet from her. Aurora continues to recklessly throw every dish in sight. When there are no dishes left, she grabs the two sandals and stiff worn gym socks and begins to shove them down the disposal one and at a time until they are ripped into shreds and have become barely recognizable. She dashes to the counter and swipes all of the old newspapers letters and their phone onto the ground and then flies over to the table. In one clean wipe of her hand she removed every remaining utensil and all of the place mats.

The floor looks like a war zone, her fallen broken groceries are mixed in with old food, shattered glass, newspapers, torn flowers and her keys, covered in a soupy mess where they fell when she threw them. She turns to the refrigerator that sits as shrine filled with pictures, she madly swipes off all of it decorations with blind fury. She then opens it and begins to pull out ever item and throw it and smash it all to bits around the room.

As if on command, Aurora dusts her self off and surveys her work. Her eyes are open in shock as if she cannot believe what she has just done. Looking with this newfound perspective she is able to see a hypocritical situation she never wanted to create. Sighing heavily she turns to walk down the hallway. As she turns the corner she looks back, almost as if she is pausing. She returns through the rubble to find her keys, after having found them coved in shards of class and egg yolk she stops by the sink to rinse them clean. Having cleansed them, she slowly forces her legs and mind to walk herself down the hallway, and out through the front door.

Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Posted 30 May 2002, 4.04 pm by Craig


That question was actually used in a University of Washington engineering mid term.
Visit Site.

I Have Nothing to Say

Posted 29 May 2002, 5.50 am by Berly

I’m not feeling very postastic lately. Writing about having nothing to write about is overdone and predictable. And so goes my latest offering to the site I love so much.

I’ve gone through my notes, looking for inspiration. Instead, I find fragments which entertain me for a split second - but fail to blossom into anything I’d be satisfied with. I’m going to post the pieces here - perhaps someone reading them can adopt them and use them as their own.

“The air is thick with dust, but I don’t know that until it settles on my car.”

“That is about as productive as washing the bubbles off of soap.”

“Even a scar fades over time”

A friend of mine called me one night, he was going to kill himself:
Him: “I am just tired of life being so empty. There is nothing here that I want.”
Me: “Ok. I should call the authorities because I believe you might take your own life.”
Him: “NO, DON’T! I have too much to lose!”

Overheard in my very own office:
“Ah ha! And THAT is why the aliens don’t land here on Earth!”

Driving home late one night - so late that I had most of the freeway to myself - I saw something off to the side I had never seen before. It was a giant cross, lit up with many lights. And next to it, was a giant disco ball. I don’t know if it was for some outdoor Christian boogie fest or what, but it surely struck me as an odd sight.

I met a lady one day who went in for a facelift and came out with a pulmonary aneurysm.

My friend Rebecca has been convicted of drunk driving twice now. She currently spends her weekends in jail - serving her debt to society piecemeal. Her last weekend of jail time is approaching. There will be “a huge bar-b-que and plenty of drinking” to celebrate.

One day I was walking down the sidewalk, in a town I don’t live in. I could see ahead, there was a kid fiddling with his skate board. He had jet black hair. I could only see that particular feature of his, until I nearly reached my destination. I turned to walk up the stairs at the same moment he looked up from his skateboard. He had the bluest, most captivating eyes I’ve ever seen. They were quite simply - beautiful. I quickly looked away, so I wouldn’t stare. I heard him ride his skateboard a ways down the sidewalk, away from me. I turned to look after him, and he turned back to look at me. I smiled and walked through the door. I couldn’t believe how a child’s eyes had taken my breath away.

The meaning of li.. your name.

Posted 28 May 2002, 10.01 pm by Villager

This site gives interesting definitions and histories of thousands of names.

My name means Valley. Beat that ..

First Aid

Posted 27 May 2002, 9.15 pm by Jake

It's a dark and rainy night in the heart of the city. A light fog surrounds all of the ratty dark buildings so that the lights inside shine a dull, blurry yellow.

A young man pulls his car into the nearly deserted parking lot of Big Bob's Porno/Novelty Hut. It's not hard to find a space, there are only about 4 cars surrounding the building. He looks out the window at the spattering rain as it dribbles down the windshield, and watches a couple more customers arrive. He pulls the hood of his poncho over his head. He takes a deep breath, opens the door, and makes a mad dash for the building.

Once inside, he removes his hood. The patrons stare at him and whisper. One man turns to another and quips, "It's that retard janitor from the high school. I wonder if he's here to buy fag porn." The young man just steels his gaze forward to the new releases section. Only if people understood. He wasn't ALWAYS like this. It's not his fault that the wreck had caused his mother to almost have a miscarriage. The impact from the drunk driver's car jolted his brain while he was in the womb and he came out mentally retarded.

The door-chime jingles, and an older, bearded guy with a pissed-off expression walks into the store. The young man glances at him and keeps on perusing the aisle. He's looking for "Bukkake Queens Part II" and is dismayed at the fact that he hasn't come upon it yet.

Suddenly, there's a disturbance up near the register. It's the pissed-off guy with a beard. He's brandishing a pistol and demanding the money. The woman at the register, presumably Big Bob's wife, stares at the attacker with a horrified gaze. She opens the register, almost mechanically. One man near the register steps forward as if to disarm the bearded, shouting man, yet the bearded man wheels around and presses the gun to the side of his head. "No fuckin' heroes in here, Chief.", the robber quips and glances back at the woman. He snarls, "Get that money in there, you cunt!"

The young man is near the back of the store, and he thinks that he might have a chance at getting away. He slinks along the side wall, around the bondage toys and chains, past the lubricants and lotions, and he is stopped dead in his tracks.
BOOM.
The bullet tears through the side of his neck. The retarded young man gasps and gurgles as he claps his hand to his jugular vein. The blood rushes forth like a fountain.
In a panic, the bearded robber tears the sack from the woman's jittery grasp and bolts out the door. A man near the retarded boy yells out, "We got an injury!"

Big Bob yells from the back, "I called 9-1-1, an ambulance will be here in 40 minutes. They can't hoof it in this weather!" The man walks up to the retarded boy and says, "Jesus, Bob! This little bastard's gonna die in 40 minutes!" He looks to the shelves and a grin breaks out on his face. "Got any duct-tape, Bob? I got a plan."

The retarded boy looks up drowsily at the few men crowded around him. Another man is next to him on the floor. He's sponging blood away from the wound. He picks up something in his hand, and in the dull light the boy can't figure out what it is. As it gets closer to his neck, he realizes.
It's a dildo.
The man inserts the dildo into the gaping wound. It's large enough to fit inside and block a majority of the blood flow. Big Bob hands the man a roll of duct tape, and the man wraps it around the shaft of the dildo to keep the blood from leaking out. He wraps it several more times to block the leakage...and they wait for the ambulance.

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This is in response to the poem 'Business Girls' by John Betjeman. It's ink washes. I was attempting to depict the grime and toil of the subject matter by using a widely recognised symbol of business life - the train.


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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 ?

* Alexander wonders if this still works

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Articles posted are copyright the respective authors and may not express the views of akpcep.com. All other content ©Alexander King 2001-2019. ver 4.0
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