I was finished posting for the day when I saw this site, an orgy of audio samples of every conceivable type, other than orgies, naturally. Hear one orgy and you've heard them all. Yawn.

Maybe I WON"T go as the hulkster this halloween after all.

Some information we could all use. All of us that sit around on the computer, anyway.

A great sense of 'humour' in this page, all about Jesus. If you skip everything else, look at this. The style is suspiciously like that of Mil Millington, but maybe that's just how Brits develop, lucky bastards. Mil is one of my web heroes, along with Jim Goad.

I failed my damn written test for the driving license today, so I celebrated by driving the twenty miles back to my urban enclave in heavy traffic. How else are you supposed to get back and forth? Why do they have to put the centers for driving so far from the centers of population? Why does James Lileks still have a column? These and other questions, never to be answered by anyone. My father offered some sage advice once when he said "people ruin everything". I'll take the test again tomorrow.


I predict that there will be an ad campaign soon that focuses on anti-style. Instead of dressing celebrities in, say, twenty-dollar jeans from old navy, there will be someone -- ironically, of course -- extolling the qualitative virtues of the product. Hitting it with a whip to show its toughness, in case of jeans. "And see this double-stitching? It's TOUGH!! Arrgh!!" That kind of thing. It's really inevitable. You heard it here first.

When I worked at a funeral home, I had NO MONEY and got an old girlfriend flowers from a pall. She sort of knew. It was awkward, but I'd do the same thing again anyway, because girls need flowers more than dead people do.

Oh my god, a comprehensive analysis of Endor holocaust. Die, Ewoks. Die, for turning Star wars into a puppet show.
The internet is ridiculous because "what would uncle jesse do" has had over four hundred thousand page views.
SFgate gets it right again. This time in the hotseat: Revolve. Read all about it.
U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

I bought a car. It looks exactly like this one, but as far as what year mine is, I really don't know.

Need an egg separator?

This lady just can't believe the ads that are in seventeen magazine! See the resemblance to Dr. Laura?

Ok, our Russian friends, a long time ago, took a different approach to being a global superpower. We land on the moon, which is effectively for show, they buid a space station, whose value is beyond measure. We use shuttles, they use rockets. The story about the cloning I posted yesterday demostrates how far ahead of us they were in biotechnology, or at least one of them was. Now, it appears that long ago they developed a pill that would help them drink someone under the table, ostensibly to aid them in espionage. Here's the story. I wonder how many other stories there are about the advances that have been made in science that we have yet to hear.

Cute little hippopotamus.


Check out this really bizarre story about cloning.
This little guy is still around, despite sugar plantations.
Was it this good when you were thirteen? What if you made child pornography of yourself, and then tried to sell it once you were eighteen? It would probably be illegal, and I'm not suggesting anyone should do it, but it shouldn't be illegal. That's absurd. We have to have some kind of rules about sex and young people, but, like all other rules, they can be made to be too strong and unrealistic. That's the key thing with rules, with government, with law; the goal should be to stay out of the way of the people who are busy being free and using that freedom to promote social justice, tolerance, and to question zealotry, not to mention doing whatever the hell they want to. The law, governments, and nations, are not means to ends, because there is no end to human and cultural development.


Long ago, I had a job at a hotel downtown. Some days I bartended, some days I did room service, but mostly I waited tables in the morning. Showing up at 5:30 A. M. and making very little was bad enough, but they made us watch videos and take "classes" to make sure they fulfilling OSHA's and other agencies' requirements. We had to sign forms after each thing we watched to help them not be sued for various reasons. For example, I had to take a test to see if I knew when it was time to cut off a customer who had too much to drink. I got a certificate for passing that test (whee!) that I immediately filed in the nearest wastebasket.
Once I had to watch a video, test not included on this one, thank christ, which taught the right way to take a shower. I couldn't believe it. Use soap. Rinse your body. Use a towel. Wear deodorant. Stick, roll-on, and spray are all acceptable. All the way through dressing for work. It was one of many low points in my foodservice career. (Another one was when one of my customers -- they made us call them 'guests' and instructed us to treat them like a guest in our own home -- changed her baby's diaper on a table at TGIFriday's. It was a baby boy. Ain't life sweet?) Many contingencies were not allowed for on this seemingly over-complete video, such as when you really need to blow your nose at work but don't have time to cross the kitchen and get a paper towel. Do what I did, and simply use a slice of bread. Wipe the crumbs from your face and Bob's your uncle.
I forgot all about this humbling experience until I ran across April Winchell's multimedia collection, the first part of which is an audio program made for new employees of Kentucky Fried Chicken. It really makes me appreciate what I've got. Sometimes a tear almost comes to my eye when I think about fast food workers. Many lifetimes pass each day between the walls of these establishments which people visit to eat food they probably don't really enjoy. The amount of man-hours it takes to run all the Taco Bells, McDonaldses, Burger Kings, Wendy'ses, Jack in the Boxes, KFCs, et cetera, astonishes and depresses me.


I listen, when I remember on Sunday nights, to a radio program called "this American Life" on public radio, hosted by Ira Glass. They have a great archive of their one-hour programs dating back several years online, and sometimes I listen to that at home. I missed it last weekend when it aired, so yesterday I caught up. The theme was romance, and there was a segment about the transgendered. The individuals in this particular piece were born women, but that wasn't good enough, so they wanted to be men. The way I look at sexual or any other social maladjustment generally is, if it keeps you from killing me, do whatever you want. I'll even clap for you. But as I listened, I heard something that rubbed me the wrong way.
An ex-female (damn, that's awkward) was explaining that before [he] had become a [man], she had felt that it was "edgy" to go to a strip club. Now that she was a [man], [he] was "just a jerk". That is so stupid it practically drools, for many reasons, but before I get into that, it is worth mentioning that I have heard the same comment, on the same show, from a different person on a different episode. It may be time to write a letter to them, because if they must repeat the same material verbatim, I'd like it to be some material which isn't so alienating. Bring me IN to the show, Ira. I happen to be a man, a real one, who is satisfied, even exhilarated, with the hand he was dealt in life. How boring, how passe, but my life all the same.
Number one, it isn't "edgy" to identify or to be identified as lesbian. It's exactly the same as everybody else, so shut the hell up about it already. You're a person, hurrah, you like sex, great, you like this person, or these people, or vacuum cleaners, what do you want from me? I'm not interested in your underwear-swapping, candle-making, feeling-sharing lifestyle. I'm more interested in what you can do for me right now, on your knees with your mouth open. Got a little carried away there. Sorry. And just to get the obvious, and probably most common "rant" (yuck) on the internet out of the way once and for all (you're welcome), I share the sentiment that I'm white, I'm a guy, and I sleep with women, so where's my edgy sociopolitical cause?
Number two, you're not a "jerk" if you're a guy that goes to strip clubs, or to use the other, older, this american life example, checks out women on the street and thinks about sleeping with them. That's what straight men do. They always have, and we should all be thankful. If they hadn't been doing it for however many thousands of years they've been doing it, brainwashed feminists wouldn't be here to bitch about it. Two words: penis envy. And by the way, just by getting a fake one stapled or whatever to your uterus-toting abdomen doesn't make it a penis. It makes you a scary freak. I'm not surprised that you didn't catch on to that right away when you were surgically whisked away to testosteroneville, which leads me to my final point.
Number three, and the saddest by a mile, how tiny someone's mind must be that it never occurred to them that they can get outside this "edginess" fetishization without cutting up their bodies. Create your own reality, change your voice, your appearance, but do not assume that I will take it as read that you have the right to tell me what words mean, what reality is, because the last person I want to hear that from is... well, guess.

The social stigma associated with people that get sex-change operations is still remarkably small, and I'll wager that trannies consider that an insult. Almost nobody cares about their trifles. What we do care about is that a perfectly good radio show is tainted with a bizarre story that has no bearing on the issues facing the majority of everyday participants in this "american life".
So, if you're reading, transgenderoos, which you're not because you barely exist, for a more accurate physical representation of what you truly are deep inside, I recommend you see a surgeon about the possibility of having an anus placed in the dead center of your face. And please. Stay away from my radio show.


When I was unemployed, I went to the coffee shop a lot. I'd go to one and sit there until I couldn't take it any more, either because of the music, or because I had had far too much caffeine. After I left, I wouldn't want to go home, so I would go to another coffeeshop. When I did this, a most unexpected thing took place. I saw people that I had seen at the other coffee shop. They were doing it, too. Moving from coffee shop to coffee shop is a pretty pathetic way to spend your time, especially when other people notice. I decided to get a job.

I almost forgot the coolest thing I've seen in a while, from Lab 360, whatever that is. Listen to a movie. Lots of good ones, and it's only a matter of time before some zealous windbag that makes money off of people with real creative talent sues the crap out of the guy running this site, so get it while it's hot.

The first day back at the hospital was reeeeal slow, just like before I left. Apparently, right when they cut me off the first time, the nursing staff had a shit fit and called the company almost constantly with their every trifle. Most people were happy to see me, but a lot were just amused with the administration's legendary inability to smooth things out. I worked for eight hours, and all I did was yank once on a piece of plastic. My job consists of justifying my job, which is all talk. And talk I can.

Interesting link dujour will have to be the addictive puzzle game gridlock, which I solved as often as not by accident.
There's the outside chance that you may not have heard of samorost. All I will volunteer is that it is a game.

I didn't want to get near the subject at first because of mixed readership, but had the good fortune to find the best porn site ever. You've been warned. Picleecher.


Okay, I won the bidding war, got my old job back, which I start tomorrow, and gave my bro some help with his homework. It was a good night. The GF even came over to set up her new computer, which is cool because it has a big wide screen which puts my CRT to shame. Shame, I tell you.
You don't have it so bad. Check out and think about these final meal requests, from the state with more blood on its hands than the next seven states combined (for the year 2002), from our friends at the Texas department of justice. They keep it updated, so check back. It just gets worse and worse the more you think about it.
AND, if you don't already look at it every once in a while, the earth viewer shows you where the sun is up and down at any time.

I just about shit myself today when a lady threw me a figure of 38k a year to (potentially) start a job where they'll fly me around for 4-5 days at a time working on automated medication dispensing equipment. It went pretty well, and they'll be in touch. We'll see. Right now I'm helping (read: trying not to hurt) my brother polish some stories for a class where some zealous professor competes for the students' attention with classes that matter. Reminds me of a professor I had once, whose favorite movie was dead poets society (puke). Guess where that was? If you answered an all male prep school, ding ding ding! You win. What a load of dingo's kidneys. Between all this excitement and a bidding war on ebay, I'm going to need a nap later. Ta.

Trippy, dude.


I'm not a "sports guy", but I like watching sports. I like having a team that I want to win. By wanting a team to win, I actually think I'm helping them. I like post-season sports the most, tournaments, etc., and I especially go for high school basketball. In pro and even college sports, everybody looks the same, but with a high school basketball tournament, you wind up with the white team versus the black team. It's a little inflammatory, and everybody has to pretend not to notice. It's very funny.

Nascar rocks.

My date for the prom.

Ran into a guy last night who can do the best Tony the tiger "they're great!" that I have ever heard. What more can you really say about that? He was wearing a striped shirt. No he wasn't. I lied. Tee hee.

What the hell is going on this picture?


Clanta Saus is coming to town, better hope he doesn't stop at YOUR house -- with his signature cocktail of disappointment and frustration, sure to dampen even the most enthusiastic of holiday spirits!
Somewhere west of Evil, there is Clanta, with a bag over his shoulder, and a tale of woe in his heart. He's almost not a vagrant, he's vaguely over-sexual, and he's got an invitation to despair -- with YOUR name on it!
Let Clanta maim your sense of self-worth with cloying, overpriced daquiris, let Clanta in your home! Let Clanta be there when you fall apart!! Let him remake you in his image, a shadow, a stale basement, a sullen half-life!! He's got you in mind, all the time!

Santa is a bummer. Face it.

Hey, buddyroos, another great entry awaits! Aintcha just bubblin' over with excitement? Ready for real comedy fun for the whole family?
Well, check out this guy who sucks.

I am applying for unemployment, which is no problem, since it's my first time and I've always been a (ahem) dutiful taxpayer, and lo and behold, a letter from them containing every job I'd remembered and forgotten about over the last three years. These goverment types know everything.

The GF came over for a little monopoly last night, and she, like all the others, fell to the mighty power. Some have asked for the secret. But I will never tell. Bwahahahaha!! Do you doubt me?
I find your lack of faith disturbing.

And now one of the internet's worst places.


I am so excited about a special business venture that I am getting in on. I can't say anything yet, but it has something to do with the First Bank of Nigeria. Stay posted for more on this subject of big bucks for Dale W. Shipley, internet-millionaire-to-be!!!!
In other news, my apartment is cold because I left the windows open because I smoke because it's worth it. The discomfort only goes to reinforce my dedication to smoking all the cigarettes I can. Isn't that terrific?
Peeping-Tom scenario, porn free.