Features IX: the acronym is FIX.

Feature #90:

If anyone's in need of a bucket of mucus, i think i could probably produce it for you in about half an hour. I've never seen what ragweed looks like, but the damn crap makes my nose the closest thing to a sticky Brita filter. I'm not all too sure what that last metaphor meant, but i'm sticking by it.

Oh, for anyone who is sorely missing the poll of the week, i've once again discontinued it. I'd really love to have a reliable poll on here, but this latest one has been giving me awful html trouble to the point where the only way i could fully post this page was to re-build it and delete the original. I don't know computers all that well, but i know that getting rid of the poll fixed things, so that's how it stays for now. Sorry.

This isn't going to be the largest feature update i've ever put together, but like always, i have my excuses. Classes, magazine, work, already late on the update, spent a day in Maine, so on and so forth. Thus, here we go. Hope you enjoy.

1. What a lovely view
2. Lyrical language game
3. Michael Jackson is disgusting

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1. I took this picture a few days ago in the small coastal town of Wells, Maine. I thought it was worthy of some attention because, while the cemetary was indeed rather close to the ocean, i can't help but wonder what kind of a beautiful ocean view one expects to enjoy while dead and buried six feet under ground. Perhaps i'm just not poetic enough to appreciate the sentiment, or maybe we can chalk this up to my lack of experience in being dead and buried, but i feel fairly confidant in saying that the view from a dark coffin is exactly the same whether its buried next to the ocean or next to a landfill. This isn't to say i'm advocating the neighborly alliance of landfills and cemetaries, because honestly, i think most of our garbage has a harder time biodegrading than our loved ones do. All the same, an ocean view cemetary seems a bit much. To each their own, i guess. (quick side note: it's perhaps quite ironic that there's no reasonable way to say "To each their own" in the past tense, which was what i wanted to end this little commentary with.)

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2. I did this a little while back, and i think people enjoyed it so i'm doing it again. There's no prize involved here, for this is merely for personal amusement. I plugged the choruses of four famous songs into altavista's online translator, then had it go from english to french to german, then back to french and back to english. In the process, the context was completely lost and what you have is a garble that slightly resembles the original song. If you can get them all, you may consider yourself a musical genius and i promise that, in the event that you ever recognize me on the street, i'll give you a well-deserved pat on the back. Answers are below the letter of the week. Enjoy.

a) speak the baby about the sex speak you and about me speak about all the good things and the bad things which can be

b) I do not want to turn over to the bottom of this cloud. That me all this time to discover taken that I have the need, ouais.

c) I do not preach the dad am with deepest in the problem. I do not preach the dad were a losing sleep. But I have want to say the made up spirit. I keep my baby.

d) That'll, C-with-D. the day, where him which was still known as to examine. Yes that that ' know ll is day, if it me makes the cries that you said yourselves to leave go, it that it be a line, because that that ' ll or the day, where me die.

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3. I hope that nobody reading this page had attended the Michael Jackson tribute, because i'd be ashamed to have you as a reader. Anyone who throws their own tribute show and has the audacity to charge up to $2500 should be dragged out into the street and shot. I don't mean to be extreme here, but there are people dying of hunger all over the world and you'd think someone who has had such a successful and lucrative career as Michael Jackson would perhaps recognize that buying a new sports car or, in Jackson's case, a new skin tone and monkey, would be low on the world's priority list. But anyway, here's little chunks of what the Associated Press had to say about it:

A who's who of the entertainment industry showed up Friday night to honor Michael Jackson and celebrate the 30th anniversary of his solo career.

The concert began nearly an hour late as Jackson -- dressed in a white spangled jacket -- was escorted to his seat with Elizabeth Taylor. Sitting next to him was Macaulay Culkin, and Jackson's parents, Katherine and Joseph.

What a motley crew! On his big tribute night, he's sitting next to Elizabeth Taylor and the kid from Home Alone. Taylor i can somewhat understand, considering his desperate grasping for any shreds of class, but Culkin? He's just a little boy... oh, wait a second, now i get it...

The show got off to a rousing start with a dance-packed performance by Usher, Maya and Whitney Houston, doing "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" from Jackson's 1982 megahit album "Thriller."

This may be a terribly cheesy transition, but if you really wanna be startin' somethin' special, this is not the way to do it. Am i the only one who would rather attend a week's worth of bingo night at the retirement community than sit through something like this?

But only moments later, it took a bizarre turn when Marlon Brando appeared onstage sitting on a couch. He rambled for a couple minutes about child abuse, starvation and disease.

People started to boo until Brando mentioned Jackson's name and said that Jackson was donating money to build a children's hospital in Florida.

This is amazing! Just what i was talking about above: nobody caring about poverty because, damnit, giving Michael his $2500 is far more important. I don't mean to drill this point home, but can we take a moment to acknowledge that the crowd booed until Brando let them know that Michael will be building a children's hospital and thus will still be touching the lives on little boys? Sure, it's a different kind of "touching," but i'm sure it's satisfying him for now.

The first of two heavily hyped concerts in Madison Square Garden had other scheduled appearances or performances by Gladys Knight, Eminem, Destiny's Child, Yoko Ono, Jill Scott, Alicia Keys, Shaquille O'Neal, Chris Tucker and Samuel L. Jackson.

"Michael doesn't do nothing small," said Rodney Jerkins, who produced much of Jackson's upcoming album, "Invincible."

Yeah, he "doesn't do nothing small" except for little boys. Alright alright. Enough of this. I just beat a dead horse like it was going out of style. I beat that horse like it was that stupid american kid in Singapore a few years ago. I beat that horse like Michael Jackson thinking about little... ok, i'll really stop this time.

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Feature #91:

Another feature, another few days late. I am always late. I'm sure you've noticed that by now. When i go to work, i'm on time. When i go to class, i'm generally on time. But damnit, when i try to update this webpage, i can't even get myself thinking about it until the week's about over. What i need is some free time. If anyone knows a very rich individual who wouldn't mind paying me to run this webpage to the point where i could afford to concentrate on nothing else BUT this webpage, please speak up. I do want to update more frequently. I really do. Thanks for sticking around.

On a brigher note, my allergies have almost gone away. The worst part about allergies isn't really the constant nose blowing or the awful noises you're forced to make -- it's sneezing constantly, because everyone around you feels compelled to say "bless you." Perhaps one "bless you" is nice, since it fulfills the automatic societal response, but it's just plain uncomfortable after that. I don't want to make people have to say that over and over again. I want to sneeze and act like nothing happened. My sneezing should be my problem but, by design, it can't stop imposing itself upon everyone else. As my sneezing continues, people's "bless you"s get somewhat muddled, perhaps a bit impatient, as if i were requiring them to respond and had gone a bit too far in my demands. Sneezing makes you no friends, i tell you. All it gets are a bunch of insincere blessings, and snot. Plenty of snot.

New subject. I've said quite a bit in the Pic of the Day about the terrorist attacks on the 11th, so i'll save my breath now. All i'm going to bother you with is a hope: by the time i update this next week, i truly hope the world isn't at war. Judging from Bush's fanatical speeches, i just don't feel safe anymore. Cue dramatic music.

But, really, forgetting about all this for a while is a good thing. It can't consume us. For that reason, it's high time i launch into this week's feature.

1. Turning death into food
2. Worms!
3. Three bad jokes
4. Frustrating news

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1. Within the same week, by pure coincidence, i was given two gifts that both amounted to acknowledging death by turning it into edible paraphanalia. While i do appreciate and enjoy them both, i thought it would be appropriate to take a quick objective and mature look at them:

"ALAMO CRACKERS"

The back of this box of crackers says: "Remember the Alamo!" was the battle cry of a new breed of settlers in search of independence. "Remember the Alamo... Crackers!" is the cry of a new breed of "snackers" in search of a treat independent of the rest.

Now, logistically, people in search of crackers wouldn't be crying to remember them, which is generally something you'd do after already experiencing said crackers. But aside from that, consider that Ozzy Ozbourn was officially banned from Texas for taking a piss on the Alamo. The uproar had come because the Alamo is essentially a place of death, and urinating on it just wasn't the most tasteful way to go about things. Yet here i am, eating shortbread in the shape of the this place of death. What, preytell, is the difference between eating and pissing? If anything, my bowels are going to be more offensive to the Alamo once the Alamo-shaped shortbread passes through  my system.

Now, i'm not saying that i'm offended by these crackers, because i'm not. They're really quite tasty, to be honest. But, it suprises me that a proud state like Texas would be willing to carry Alamo Crackers. I can't quite see the connection between delicious shortbread and mass murder. Are we to expect yummy Pearl Harbor cookies? Perhaps some "Custard's Last Stand custard"? Maybe "Battle of Bunker Hill Breadsticks" has an elegant ring to it. I don't know.

Mike's Favorite Blush

Granted, the situation here is rediculious to begin with. Mike was a chicken in Colorado whose head was cut off but, by sheer luck of the knife, managed to live for a good few months without anything atop his neck. Fruita, Colorado, has embraced and exploited this strange tale for all it's worth, holding annual Mike the Headless Chicken festivals (for more info, click here) and selling all kinds of absurd paraphanalia. The small print of this particular item has this to say: A unique blend of 100% Colorado grown grapes gives Mike's Favorite Clush its special flavor; enjoyable by itself, or accompanying fish, cheese, fresh fruit, or -- heaven forbid -- fowl. The wine is named in honor of Mike, who is said to have enjoyed Carlson Vineyard's blush wine until his untimely end, when he chocken on a corn kernel. He must have run out of blush wine...

First off, is anyone really comfortable drinking a bottle of red liquid in honor of a chicken whose head was cut off? I think that, had this bottle been given to me full (it had already been drunk, thankfully), i would have felt somewhat vampirish about drinking it. What's really so odd about this Mike the Headless Chicken stuff is that he seems to be celebrated far more in death -- as if the choking death of a chicken is more impressive than its ability to live without a head. Sure, "chocking the chicken" jokes may be boundless, but this product really is encouraging us to drink to someone's -- albeit, a decades-old chicken's -- death. Hooray for death, have some alcohol! Or am i just thinking this because i'm a vegatarian? Not-so-sad death apparently equals drink. This may be in stunningly poor taste, but pass me the Osama whiskey.

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2. We all have worms! Worms in people! Worms in people! Empty your colons! Read THIS! (thanks to my girlfriend lisa for being paranoid to discover this. well, thanks for making me paranoid. thanks for nothin'.)

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3. You didn't ask for it, but you've got it. Three bad jokes!

Q: What is a dentist's favorite musical instrument?
A: A tuba toothpaste.

Q: What do you call a fly with no wings?
A: A walk.

Q: Where did Napoleon keep his armies?
A: In his sleevies.
(please note, this one actually made me laugh. i am such a sucker for bad jokes.)

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4. Ok, so this isn't funny at all. America needs to stop being so compulsively obsessed with sheltering its children. Movie ratings, V-Chips on the television, all sorts of age restrictions, television watchdog groups, and now a refusal to let kids express their worries in art class.

Art teacher suspended over pupils' terror sketches
By Shana Gruskin
Sun Sentinal

BOCA RATON · Last Wednesday, when America was shuddering from the nation's worst terrorist attack, Patricia Bowes' art students were supposed to be sketching their life stories.

But, the Addison Mizner Elementary School art teacher said, the children were distracted by what had happened the terrible day before -- when four hijacked commercial airplanes destroyed national landmarks, killed thousands of people and rewrote the country's history.

So Bowes, who has taught art and music in Palm Beach County for five years, said she gave the students creative license.

"I said that if they wanted to draw on some of the events that took place [Tuesday], they could."

Offering that choice led to Bowes' suspension, she said.

A parent of a second-grader called the school to complain. Bowes said she spoke to the parent and tried to explain why she had allowed the children to express themselves, but to no avail.

On Thursday morning, Bowes was instructed to leave the school.

She is now working from home, with pay, while the incident is being investigated, said Nat Harrington, school district spokesman.

Carol Crilley, principal of the school, declined to go into details about the incident because of the investigation. She did say she met with her staff Wednesday morning and, following the school district's directive, instructed them on how to approach any issues raised by the terrorist attacks.

"We focused on giving the kids information if they asked and getting on with business as usual," she said.

Bowes concurred that teachers were told to stick to the curriculum. But she said they also were told to answer any questions students may have. She said that's all she was doing.

Parents whose children were in Bowes' class disagree. They said their children came home talking about bombs, about death and about how to kill someone with a knife.

"We got some phone calls from parents and we act always on those phone calls," Crilley said.

Harrington said teachers were told to honestly answer any questions students may have but to make sure they were appropriate, based on a child's grade level. If children needed more help, teachers were told to refer them to school psychologists who were on hand Wednesday.

"Common sense and good judgment and good professional training is what we relied on for the most part," he said.

Bowes said that by allowing the children to draw freely, she was trying to help them make sense of what happened.

For children, and some adults, art is as much a form of communication as talking, said Kerry DeBay, an art therapist at Hospice of the Palm Beaches Inc.

"Often, kids, depending on age or development level, ... don't have the words or ability to verbally express what they're feeling," she said. "So giving them an outlet such as art-making or any other creative modalities -- movement, music, drama -- gives them alternatives for expressing their experience."

DeBay declined to comment on the Addison Mizner incident because she didn't know the specifics. But she said that, in general, adults don't have to be professionals to allow children to express themselves in whatever form is most natural for them.

"We don't professionally supervise our kids when they talk or when they play with their dolls. When they're drawing in day-to-day life they're drawing whatever they're thinking," she said. But the danger comes when someone who's untrained in art therapy tries to interpret what a child is drawing, or uses it to diagnose a problem, she said.

Bowes said she wasn't trying to be a therapist, just an art teacher.

Feature #92:

It seems that every recent feature starts off with an apology for my lateness. This one is no different:

Sorry for not updating for two weeks! WheatBread, the student magazine i'm ed-in-chief of, took an incredible amount of my time this past week. Finally, it's out to the press, which affords me the oppertunity to actually do some work for my classes, read the newspaper, and update this page. Ahh.

So last week i wrote "by the time i update this next week, i truly hope the world isn't at war." And wouldn't you know it, we're bombing Afghanistan. Damnit.

In other news, i had lice. Everyone in my apartment -- well, sans my friend who shaves his head -- had lice. I went throughout all of grade school without lice, and now, senior year in college, i get it. Rediculious. It really wasn't too big a deal though, despite the girls of the household who freaked out and washed everything that could fit into the damn washing machine. Me, it wasn't that big a deal. I read somewhere that "Houses don't get lice, people do." I kept trying to tell them this, but they didn't listen. If the whole couch could have fit in the machine, it would have been in there. I mean, they were only eggs -- it wasn't like i had bugs in my head. We put some stinky medicated shampoo on our heads, wrapped it up in plastic wrap, waited a while, rinsed, combed with a fine-tooth comb, blow-dried, and called it a day. Stupid lice.

Well, let's get this over with, shall we? I have a far calmer schedule this week, so hopefully the next update will be on time. If you don't believe me, i don't blame you. Here we go:

1. Bush and Osama go see Freud -- sort of
2. A porn spam of a different sort
3. Wheresgeorge is brilliant brilliant

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1. I wrote this a few hours ago and don't really know what i think of it. It's kind of stupid, there's no real point or direction, but there is something i appreciate about it. And yes, all the quotes are real. I had the two speeches in front of me. Here it is:

A psychoanalytic dialog between Sigmund Freud and a male patient named Alexander, in which Alexander's speech is taken solely from the texts of George W. Bush's and Osama bin Laden's post-October 7 Afghanistan bombing speeches, except that "America" will be changed to refer to Alexander's mother and "the Taliban" will be changed to "Susan."

by Jason Feifer

[Knock at the door]

Freud: Come in.

[Door opens. Alexander walks in]

Freud: Ah, Alexander! Just in time for our appointment.

Alexander: The winds of faith have come.

Freud: Always the poet, my friend. Please, lie down. Do you care for a cigar?

[Alexander takes a cigar, scratches his crotch, and lies down]

Freud: And so, where did we leave off last session?

Alexander: More than two weeks ago, I gave Susan a series of clear and specific demands.

Freud: Ah, that's right! Start having better sex or you won't let her drive the car. And have you thought of how the children will get to school if Susan can't drive the car?

Alexander: Infidels.

Freud: Infidels?

Alexander: Infidels, may God keep you from them.

Freud: Now, by infidels do you mean your children?

Alexander: Yes.

Freud: Oh, this is troubling. I see you heeded my advice and took notice of when the boys looked at Susan funny, yes?

Alexander: Yes.

Freud: Well, come now. We'll get to that later. What about these demands on Susan?

Alexander: None of these demands were met. And now, Susan will pay a price.

Freud: You're going to start charging your wife rent?

Alexander: Our military action is designed to clear the way for sustained, comprehensive and relentless operations to drive them out.

Freud: Them? I thought it was only Susan that you wouldn't let use the car. Who is them?

Alexander: Infidels.

Freud: Now you're driving your children out of the house? This is a bit rash.

Alexander: Hypocrisy stood in force behind the head of infidels.

Freud: Now now, please Alexander. Let's think this through. You think the children are hypocrites because they're looking at Susan funny, yes?

Alexander: Yes.

Freud: And what were you talking about last week?

Alexander: The military capability of Susan.

Freud: No no, besides that. What else did you say about Susan?

Alexander: The military installations of Susan.

Freud: Getting closer. Let me help you out. Susan said something about her father. What was that?

Alexander: "I'm willing to give him to you."

Freud: That's right. She was willing to give him to your mother, so she won't be lonely anymore. Your father passed away quite a while ago, don't forget. Remember how that felt? How do you think it must have felt for her?

Alexander: There is my mother, hit by God in one of its softest spots.

Freud: Exactly. Now Susan wants to help your mother, and what did you say about that offer?

Alexander: This is a precious gift. The greatest she could give. This young girl knows what my mother is all about.

Freud: Yes, that is what you said. And now, still all this hostility towards Susan! Tell me, friend. Why?

Alexander: There is my mother, full of fear from its north to its south, from its west to its east.

Freud: But why? Why fear?

Alexander: …

Freud: What have you told your mother?

Alexander: …

Freud: You have told her awful things, haven't you?

Alexander: …

Freud: You've made Susan's father look bad, haven't you?

Alexander: It is something that has justification.

Freud: And what was it? Come on, out with it.

Alexander: They will take that lonely path at their own peril.

Freud: You would disown your mother for being with Susan's father! Now Alexander, this is really quite disturbing.

Alexander: The name of today's military operation is Enduring Freedom.

Freud: Well let me speak frankly about this freedom you have, Alexander. It's clear to see that you don't want your mother with another man because, to be quite blunt, you want to have sex with your mother.

Alexander: …

Freud: Yes, I know, it is shocking, but it is not unusual. Think of your mother now. What do you think?

Alexander: I know my mother feels fear today.

Freud: Yes, I know. I know. But you feel fear, too. You feel that you are losing your freedom to have sex with your mother, just because Susan's father might have sex with her, too. But there is no need to endure this freedom. Susan's father is a very old man, and your mother is a very old woman. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Alexander: There can be no peace in a world of terror.

Freud: For your mother, so long as you keep feeding her fear, that is probably true. But, no. Where I am going with this is what you have in your mouth. It's what you have been sucking on. Sir, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes it is a giant penis. For you, it is a giant penis. Do you understand?

Alexander: No.

Freud: Ah, well, I see that our time is up!

Alexander: But…

Freud: No buts.

Alexander: But…

Freud: No buts. Remember what I've told you. Remember?

Alexander: In the months ahead, our patience will be one of our strengths.

Freud: That's right. Now goodbye, Alexander. Be good to your mother - but not that good.

Alexander: May peace and God's mercy be upon you. May God continue to bless my mother.

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2. So, i've gotten two of these e-mails, one from "Bank of Thailand" and one from "Bank of Trinidad." I can just about always spot spam mail before i open it, and this was no different. Yet, because it came from the "Bank_of_Thailand," my curiousity got the best of me. What could a spammer possibly be evoking the Bank of Thailand for? Well, read on...

Subj: Notification for Money to be Receive?
Date: 10/8/01 8:53:39 PM Eastern Daylight Time
From: Bank_of_Thailand@excite.com
To: knulprek@aol.com

Dear,knull,

This email confirms that you may have received a $16,000.00 Commission Payment for September 2001

TRANSACTION INFORMATION:

Amount: $16,000.00
Item/Product Name:
Number of login 200/day X 30 days = 6000
Item/Product Number:
Minutes average by user 20 minutes
Total: 6000 surfers X 20 minutes = 12 000 minutes
Amount per minutes up to $0.50

THIS IS A KIND OF EMAIL YOU SHOULD RECEIVED AFTER FEW MONTHS

Could be nice, don't you think ?

Ok, so at this point i'm thinking two things: 1) My name isn't ",knull," and i'm surprised they assumed it was, and 2) Here's a lot of crap that i don't understand, and i'm surprised they'd assume this is what would draw me into the rest of the e-mail. But hark! Here comes the personal introduction...

Hello!

I want you to be the first to take advantage of a brand new opportunity service that blows away the competition. Now you can get monthly "tens of $1000's" by offering what people WANT!

Oh yeah? What do people want?

Why don't you become a SEX Site Webmaster?

Wait, a WHAT?

Get a 'XXX' Adult web site from us and we'll make sure you make money. You don't pay for your site until YOU earn over $10,000 a month from it. If you don't we'll give it to you for FREE.

See now, firstly, if it's so guaranteed to make money, why aren't THEY running it instead of me? And secondly, how was i possibly targeted for this? Unless you're Osama bin Laden and haven't been near a computer since "terrorism" meant hitting random people with sticks, you're going to get e-mail porn spam. But to actually get e-mail "you could be the guy sending out the e-mail porn spam" porn spam, well then, this is a mailing list i can't imagine how i got on.

All our sites are fully featured and contain the best legal content available.

Alright, this is just icky -- like i was reading this thinking "well, this is a great oppertunity, but i sure hope i don't have to manage underage porn!"

And what about making those "tens of $1000's" without selling, experience, administration, stock, investment or having to answer the phone EVER again. No one else have seen offers this kind for long time. Why waste your time and money elsewhere?

Yeah, you'll never answer your phone "EVER again" because you'll probably receive either disgusted insults from every female (including your mother) you've ever met, or you'll hear "sir, we have a warrant for your arrest" on the other end.

Please check out this great new opportunity.

You'll be glad you did!

Sure i will. I think i'll stick with happyscrappy.

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3. When i was in middle school, i used to write my address on dollar bills and then a little note saying something like "If you get this bill, please write me." It just seemed like such a neat concept, that these little pieces of paper get passed around the world for years and years and there's a potential for people who got the same bill to contact each other. For instance, i just found this penny from 1926 in a cash register. 1926! People were just getting introduced to radio back then. Hell, people could actually buy something with that penny back then! How great would it be to take a look at who spent that penny throughout the years? Say what you will, but i think it's neat.

Sadly, nobody ever wrote me back from my middle school dollar bills. However, aweek and a half ago, someone spent a dollar at the store i work at. As i was putting it away, i noticed a little note scribbled on it: "track this bill at www.wheresgeorge.com." I went to the site, plugged in the serial number and a brief description of the bill, and voila! I found out that the only other person to enter this bill (and, thus, the person who wrote that little note) was someone in Maine just under a year prior. How neat! I've since been entering all my money into this website, and i've gotten two responses so far. How cool. How cool. I can't endorse this site enough. Go now. Go often. Go enter all your money. This is the best (if not only good) thing about capitalism!

Feature #93:

Ok, so it wasn't perfect, but i did update somewhat soon after i should have. Not so bad, i say. Not so bad.

But, it's getting late and i really don't have much of an introduction to offer. In case you're wondering about my life, i was a little sick and now i'm not. I've been blowing my nose like crazy, and my ears are mysteriously feeling like i'm on an airplane at all times of the day, but i'm otherwise fine... except for the anthrax.

Just a joke. No anthrax. I hope.

Right. Here's this week's feature:

1. The dress for that special occasion
2. Anglo-Saxon crazyness
3. Australian goodness
4. More bad jokes -- but with a contest!

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1. I saw this on sale on ebay about a year ago, and saved the picture because it was just so weird. I even wrote the person who was selling it to ask what the possible function of this was, and they said they hadn't a clue. Anyway, for no particularly good reason, here's this:

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2. I'm taking a class called History of the English Language, which essentially should be re-named "Good Luck Learning Anglo-Saxon Suckers." In the course of this class, we've waded through a book called Sweet's Anglo-Saxon Primer (ninth edition), which explains the workings of the language in a paragraph form that is virtually indecipherable. In fact, the only thing that makes any inkling of sense in the book is its translated examples, where it explains some function of an adjective, for instance, and then gives an example of the word in an Anglo-Saxon sentence, which it then translates into English. What's so great about these sentences is that they're probably taken from Anglo-Saxon texts, since they all reflect the culture of these people that lived around 1,500 years ago. Unlike when you take Spanish and the example sentences are "Juan likes to go to school every day," these are all about killing and pirates and the kind of nutty stuff you'd expect from the Anglo-Saxons. Here, for your entertainment and perhaps a stronger , is a small collection of these examples:

he stole to land like a wolf

the army of pirates went back to their ships, and hid the head

they killed a young Briton of very noble birth

Edmund will never submit to Hinguar, the heathen general

if he cared about his life

provided that my people might enjoy (possess) their country

he dared not taste the head

if I am bound with seven ropes made of sinews

they assembled, all the chief men, and also the women ... and when they were most merry ...

I beg, if anyone wishes to copy this book, that he correct it well

he did not know what sort of men they were

deserving of death

England is not deprived of the Lord's saints

they were deprived of all food

they build a church to the saint in splendid fashion

and he thrust the prophet into their hands

buy yourselves oil

the holy head

thou bad and slothful servant!

go into my vineyard, and I will give you what is right

these last have worked one hour, and you have made them equal to us, who have borne burdens in the heat of this day

she used to cut the saint's hair every day

now I have gained another two

they had deposed of their king

his neck, which had been cut through, was healed, and it was as if there were a silken thread, red, round his neck, to show men how he had been slain

until he was covered all over with their missles

I told him that he was very aged

he told the impious man how he had been answered

it behoves young men to aquire some learning

lest you root up the wheat

as if he were tame

men wished to see how he lay

if a man's head is broken

these pirates will bind you alive, unless you save your life by flight

I gave orders that if any man was not armed in campaign order he should be killed

they shot at him then with spears

they fought against a heathen army

great is the God that Daniel believes in

in order that they should devour the man of God

I have never seen the city, nor do I know the pit

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3. America's War on Drugs is so stupid. I think it's fairly obvious to anyone outside of the government that it's futile, functioning only to ruin people's lives by putting them in jail for some kind of drug posession. It'll never eliminate drugs. Whoever said "never say never" doesn't know what they're talking about, because this war on drugs will never win.

So, as they always manage to do, Australia has shown America up yet again. Take a look at this article from The Age. Whatever booklet they're talking about is probably pure genius, and it must have taken great courage -- the kind American politicians lack -- to put this kind of booklet out.

Government teen handbook under attack
By LARISSA DUBECKI
Sunday 14 October 2001

A handbook for teenagers that tells them how to evade police and use drugs has been distributed to secondary schools by the State Government, says the opposition.

The handbook, Stuff, produced by the Department of Consumer Affairs and distributed last week to all year 12 students, contains "active advice about how to frustrate police", opposition MP Andrew Olexander said.

"It goes beyond telling young people their rights. It gives them strategies on evading police," Mr Olexander said. "It is completely inappropriate for the government to be giving such advice."

But Consumer Affairs Minister Marsha Thomson said the handbook was designed for use by senior secondary school students and had been "well received" by schools.

Opposition youth affairs spokesman Ian Cover said he was concerned students in years 7, 8 and 9 would gain access to the handbook, which was also being sent to school libraries, council libraries and consumer agencies.

But Australian Council of State School Organisations president Rodney Molesworth said: "What the opposition is suggesting is that young people should be disadvantaged by not knowing the workings of our adversarial system. It's absolutely essential that young people be given this information."

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4. Here are two bad jokes. This was originally a contest to guess the punchline of the second joke, but it's over. Sorry, you missed the boat. More contests coming soon, though.

a) A guy was walking down the street when he noticed a little boy walking around with a piece of steak on his head. So he asked, "Little boy, why do you have a piece of steak on your head?"
"I'm not a boy," the boy answered. "I'm a fork."

b) Q: What did the aliens say, when they came to earth in search of soda?
A: Take me to your liter.

Feature #94:

Here comes WheatBread production week, so i'm getting this feature out as fast as i can. It ain't much, but it's something. Oh, since winter is approaching, i thought i'd share this plan i have: my girlfriend's dad bought me a bottle of courvoisier for my birthday as a joke (because i was going through a "Ladies Man" quoting phase), and taking a sip of this stuff will light your internal organs on fire. So, the plan is this: on an incredibly cold and snowy night this winter, i will walk out into the middle of the street wearing either nothing but boxers and shoes or, if i chicken out, a t-shirt as well. I shall then take a swig of this rediculious alcohol, and then run inside like the weenie i am.

Who's with me?

Anyhow, on to the feature.

1. Spanish is no bueno
2. People who love pumpkins
3. Squirrel singin'

1. I wrote this article for WheatBread, and it seems silly to take out all the inside commentary about Clark, so i'm just going to leave it in, especially since it isn't all that much. Basically, i'm stuck taking "Spanish 103: Elementary Spanish Intensive" this semester, and it is no fun whatsoever. Here's what i'm saying:

No Habla the god-damn Espanol
by Jason Feifer

I enrolled in Spanish 103 with the same mindset and level of enthusiasm that an ignorant and overly-curious tourist must have after entering a French resturaunt and unknowingly ordering a plate of bull testicles: I winced, held my breath and thought, well, let’s get this over with already.

I put this class off for three years of college, because the very thought of sitting through yet another spanish class made dropping out of school sound like a reasonable alternative. I spent three-fourths of my high school career taking Spanish classes, and I detested every uninspiring and aimless minute of it. “Hate” is a strong word, but seeing as I’m currently enrolled in Spanish 103, desperate times call for desperate words I hate Spanish. At first it sounds like English with a lot of o’s and a’s at the end of everything, and the next thing you know you’re failing tests There’s no middle ground with Spanish. No mas, I say. No mas.

But here I am, a senior with one perspective left to fulfill -- and it’s the one I’ve dreaded, the one I had always enjoyed the luxury of putting off. The way I see it, there are three guarantees in life: death, taxes, and the unwavering ability for a Spanish class to make me feel the intensified and torturous pain of each individual minute as it is ruthlessly ripped from my existence.

I tried getting myself excused, but to no avail. Thus, there I am, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 9 a.m., staring blankly at a woman who speaks as much of my language as I do hers. During the first class, I couldn’t understand why she continued to use the English phrase “in ten days” -- the only beacon of comprehension I was able to grasp on to. “Arro barro carro darro, in ten days, earro farro garro,” is what I’d hear her say, her arms flailing around as if frenzied and erratic gestures could potentially destroy our language barrier, and I began to imagine what was possibly to take place ten days from then. Was the class to become more difficult? Was I to absorb the Spanish language and culture? Would I be sipping sangrias and singing along to Julio Iglasias in a week and a half? Perhaps I’d stop sounding like Speedy Gonzolez -- “Arriba! Arriba!” -- when I pronounced rolling r’s. Or maybe, just maybe, I’d grow to love spanish in only ten days. Was it possible?

Since I don’t know anybody in my class and 9 a.m. is too early to be inquisitive, I waited patiently for those ten days to expire -- and when they did, nothing changed. Class was still the same struggle, as it continued to make me feel that, had I been born in Spain, even then I wouldn’t be able to grasp the language and would be forced to live out my days whispering unintelligable babbles to a mound of tortillas. Yet suprisingly, she continued to reference yet another ten days, and my curiousity finally took over. I turned and asked the girl sitting next to me what ‘in ten days’ meant. “Entiendes?” she said. “It means ‘Do you understand?”

Oh, the irony of it all. I don’t understand. So help me, I don’t understand.

I do feel ashamed that I only speak one language. One of the truest and most shameful American stereotypes is that we only speak one language, whereas the rest of the world can practically decypher the Rosetta Stone while still breast feeding. All the same, I just can’t find the motivation within me to learn another language. It requires years of practice and learning, and as a senior in college, I’m all burnt out on formal, classroom-style learning. I’ve been sitting in classrooms and staring blankly at teachers for the last 16 years, and I’ve had it. If learning Spanish is going to take more than a semester, then Spain can keep their o’s and a’s. I’m sticking with English.

Of course, I’m not kidding myself. You can’t learn a language in a semester becayse, unless you’re a living infomercial, it’s impossible. Clark, on the other hand, seems a bit confused about that. It is virtually inconcievable as to why the school forces students to take a semester (or a year, if it’s an elementary course) of a foreign language, when doing so fosters nothing. There is no potential for aquiring a working knowledge of a language in that period of time. If you take a semester of astronomy, you’ll be able to speak at length about the topic. A semester of a language, on the other hand, will enable you to count to 100, rattle off a list of simple verbs, recognize items on a kitchen table, and ask where the bathroom is. Is this information really worth the trouble of a semester’s struggle? My teacher seems quite content with substituting English with waving her arms around like she’s enacting the horrors of a mime set on fire. Why, if I were ever faced with a bilingual situation, could I not just do the same?

If someone was planning on enrolling in years of a language, to the point where they were able to speak it with some fluidity, they would have probably come to that decision on their own. Accomplishing such a monumental task takes the kind of motivation I assume only resides in self-help books. For the rest of us, we’re in that classroom pronouncing foreign words like someone injected our mouths with enough novacain to stun a killer whale. We’re mutilating the native tounge of millions for the sole purpose of graduating. It’s just not right, and it’s accomplishing nothing.

Where are the alternative classes at Clark? When I applied here, I was promised that the “perspective system” is so versatile that the Formal Analysis perspective can be fulfilled without taking a math class, that the language perspective can be fulfilled without taking a language, and so on. My freshman year, there was a class called “The Interpertation of Dreams” that counted for the language perspective, but it was only offered to upper classmen. Now, there’s nothing. The full name of the language perspective is the “Language and Culture perspective,” meaning that it doesn’t solely demand a language class. Where are those cultural classes? What happened to Clark’s promise of flexibility? I wonder if admissions is still touting this elusive flexibility to perspective students. That would be, as they probably don’t say in Spain, mucho bullshit.

I don’t want my second-to-last semester as a college student to pass by too quickly, but with every day that goes by, I can’t help by be thankful that it’s one less day of Spanish class. Maybe one day I’ll regret my lingual ineptitude. Perhaps years down the road, when my own children are trying to understand what purpose the Spanish language has for engendering every stupid noun, I’ll aquire the impetus to find an answer.

Or possibly, I’ll meet a person on the street who doesn’t speak English but obviously needs some kind of information. At that point, I’ll evoke what I learned from my Clark University Spanish class, and the two of us will haphazardly hurl our arms around in the air, gesturing inspecifically like we’re involved in a game of tranqualized charades. And when it’s all over, we’ll smile at our silly communication differences and move along, wondering if we understook an inkling of what the other was expressing. But it won’t really matter, because that person on the street can always find help elsewhere, and we both would know it. “There are plenty of people in this world who speak that language,” we’d both think to ourselves. “I’m just not one of them.”

2. My dad sent me this. Apparently the article was in the Washington Post, and the title is "Best Comeback Line Ever." I haven't seen this actually FROM the Post, but hey.. it's entertaining enough, so i'll take the e-mail's word for it.

Police arrested Patrick Lawrence, a 22-year-old white male, resident of Dacula, GA, in a pumpkin patch at 11:38 p.m. Friday. Lawrence will be charged with lewd and lascivious behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication at the Gwinnett County courthouse on Monday.

The suspect allegedly stated that as he was passing a pumpkin patch, he decided to stop.

"You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn't," he stated in a phone interview from the jail.

Lawrence went on to state that he pulled over to the side of the road, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his alleged "need."

"I guess I was just really into it, you know?" he commented with evident embarrassment.

In the process, Lawrence apparently failed to notice the Gwinnett County police car approaching and was unaware of his audience until officer Brenda Taylor approached him.

"It was an unusual situation, that's for sure," said officer Taylor. "I walked up to (Lawrence) and he's . . . just working away at this pumpkin." Taylor went on to describe what happened when she approached Lawrence.

"I just went up and said, 'Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?'

He got real surprised, as you'd expect, and then looked me straight in the face and said, "A pumpkin? Damn...is it midnight already?"

3. From my friend Andres comes this: a rediculious, squirrel-narrated song. It's kind of amusing, but far better when you have a friend who laughs uncontrollably at it.

Feature #95:

Heyyyy. I'm on time this time! It's amazing, i know.

I've been working at my school's general store, which has been an entertaining and enjoyable enterprise. But, we're doing some inventory checks now, which means i've been looking through what we're actually paying for the stuff we're selling. I'll tell you something i've learned: people around the world are getting ripped off. Do you know how much it costs us per can of soda, which we sell at 75 cents and most stores sell at a dollar? 30-something cents. It's unbelivable. My store's mark-up really isn't too hefty, but all the same. The US says that the Taliban restrict food as a weapon against its people, and i'd argue corporations here are doing something very similar. It's sickening.

Right-o. Here's this week's feature, which, i'll warn you, is not a family affair.

1. Raunchy story
2. Raunchy song
3. Stupid cell phones
4. Fun thing to do with fingers

1. This could quite possibly be the raunchiest feature i've ever put on this page. Sometimes i think it's responsible to conduct my content in a family-like atmosphere (although, not that family-like), and i do know that i have some "younger" readers out there. But hell, this is just too entertaining to pass up. Not to mention, if you're young, you're just going to grow older and hear this kind of stuff anyway. It might as well be now.

The following is an e-mail i recieved from my friend andres after seeing him last week. Andres is in a frat and has some crazy friends. I'll say no more:

after seeing you yesterday, i was like hmmmm, ill go check out happyscrappy. so now im gonna mention a bunch of stuff you probably forgot about writing. nice mention with the rule of eight. and the stick joke. the party pooper comic. i have a funny story about that. so my friend, this kid dave, went to high school in new jersey. it was a very white town. the only minorities in his school were a half-jew and an asian girl who was adopted by white parents and named molly. not a lot of diversity (this is all just background). so two of daves friends, in typical white jersey fashion, decide to throw a party since their dad (divorced) went out of town. all is going well, everyone is getting drunk. then everything stops going well.

this girl, who everyone called pheobe (it wasnt her name, and he doesnt know how it started), has gotten more than drunk. shes running around yelling about how wasted she is, making out with guys and grabbing their dicks and so forth. basically, being the asshole that takes things one step too far and makes everyone else uncomfortable. now, while we all may have been there at some point, theres taking it too far, and theres pheobe. she gets in the middle of the living room, pulls down her pants, and takes a big steaming shit right there. she starts cracking up and runs around, pants around her ankles, telling everyone how funny it is that she shit on the floor. then she does it again. all pooped out, she plops down on one of the living room sofas and proceeds to wipe her ass by rubbing it on the seat of the sofa.

i wish i could do a physical demonstration of this. do it for yourself. tell lisa to sit on a sofa, steady herself by holding onto both arms of it, and then move back and forth. now imagine she just shit on the floor. trust me, this is hilarious. to paraphrase bill simmons, theres comedy, theres high comedy, and then theres someone shitting on the living room floor and wiping their ass on a sofa. brilliant.

also, they stopped calling her pheobe after that. only feces would suffice.

also, the worst date stuff. about people saying crazy shit in bed. so this friend of mine, lets call her joan, had a boyfriend, lets call him john. so they were very active, shall we say, and both worked at this law firm. so theyd wake up every morning and shed blow him. and then after theyd go to dunkin donuts and then go to work. and so one morning, they do their thing and theyre getting ready to go out, and johns like, hey we cant go to dunkin donuts today, were late. and joans like, what the fuck! you think youre cums gonna tide me over till lunch?

thats funny.

and here was my response:

so, lisa read your e-mail regarding phoebe and the shit-on-the-floor/wipe-ass-on-the-couch story, and then she reminded me of this story, which i'll share with you now to the best of my recollection:

a friend of this guy i sort of know (but we have friends who know him well) named Ben went to some party at another college, and ended up hooking up with this girl. she takes him back to her room, where they proceed to do all that you would normally do after coming from a party and looking to hook up. then, she busts out the anal beads, with which, for some ungodly reason, this guy goes along with. into his ass the beads go, and when the girl gives them a firm tug to come out, a healthy amount of shit comes flying out of his ass, uncontrolably. horrified, the guy stops whatever it is he might have been doing...

and then the girl starts rolling around in the shit! "fuck me in the shit!" she says.

"what?" he replies.

"fuck me in the shit!"

the guy grabs his clothes and runs the hell out of there. end of story.

2. Well, while we're on off-color subject matter, i realized that i've never posted the lyrics to this rediculious song i wrote and recorded with my band. I've been meaning to get a decent mp3-maker so i could post it, but that just hasn't happened yet. So, here are the lyrics. They'll suffice for now, i presume:

My country song
by Jason Feifer/Buddy System Indeed

You moved to Arkansas when you were just a kid
Things went from bad to worse, no matter what you did
You tried to find a girl, your mom said "Don't be silly,
Your father Bill was once my younger brother Billy."

(this is the chorus)
So, you can kiss the girls no matter where you live
And hey, it's even better if they're a relative
So don't you fret, young man. You'll get a girl soon, mister.
Your mom had sex and on the way's your future wife and sister.

Down south they don't much mind playin' with the sheep
Your old man smiled and said they hardly make a peep
A girl with two front teeth is hard enough to catch
But you really got to watch out for the ones with a moustache

(chorus)

You will grow fond of eating pig lard and your grits
And you'll watch monster trucks and blow frogs up to bits
You may think country living's bad, but you're one to talk
Because your cousin's really hot and she's not old enough to walk

3. Here it is: offical proof that cell phones cause brain damage. First, they convince you that it's appropriate -- decent, even -- to be hanging out with one other person, recieve a cell phone call, and then proceed to talk on the phone and leave the person who is actually PHYSICALLY IN FRONT OF YOU sitting around doing nothing. Only severe brain damage could possibly decrease the value of someone who is physically in front of you over someone who is not. Case in point.

But now, courtesy of my dad an a Long Island newspaper, here's further undeniable proof: a woman jumps in front of a train for her cell phone.

Train Hits Woman At Grand Central
by Rocco Parascandola

A woman trying to retrieve her cell phone from the subway tracks at Grand Central Terminal was struck by a train and seriously injured last night, police said.

The woman, whose name and age were not immediately known, was standing on the platform for the northbound No. 4 train when she dropped her phone onto the tracks, police said. After jumping down to get the phone, the woman was not able to get back onto the platform and was struck, suffering head lacerations in the 10:25 p.m. incident.

She was rushed to Bellevue Hospital Center, where she was listed early today in serious but stable condition.

4. Here's something neat which i'm going to try describing, but i don't know how well i'm going to do. Essentially, put your hand palm-to-palm up against someone else's hand, and then take your thumb and pointer finger and rub both one of your and the other person's fingers (the same finger) at the same time. So, for example, your pointer finger would be touching your middle finger, and your thumb would be touching the other person's middle finger.

Unless you're one of those few lame-o people that don't think this feels weird, it should feel like you're touching your own finger but only feeling half of it. Eeeech.

Feature #96:

Remember that article i wrote about how i hate my spanish class? I don't know how it came across, but the intention was to be funny and slip in a bit of commentary about manditory language classes. It was supposed to be harmless. I was just making fun of myself, really.

But two days after it was published in WheatBread, my spanish teacher cried. In class. Not my class, but the one after mine. Tears. Streaming. She passed around the article (which has a big picture of my face on it), and her students spent the class time consoling her. She thought she was going to lose her job. She thought everyone hated her. She thought.. oh, hell, i have no idea what she thought.

I was real surprised about the whole thing. I can sympathize, but i also expect that she'd recognize that the article wasn't about her and was clearly my own personal opinion. Some people are just too touchy, i guess. So, now there's a flock of people who are hugely mad at me, and i have to sit in this class with a grown woman who i accidentally made cry. And i thought Spanish class couldn't get any worse.

My solution is to talk to her and then distribute a public apology, mainly because she is really nice and, in the end, she didn't deserve to have her feelings hurt. Not that i MEANT to do it, but i did. I feel bad that she cried, and it consumed a good portion of my thoughts for the last few days... but now, after tossing it around in my head, i'm somewhat irritated that she took it so hard and made a scene. Arg. So it goes, i guess.

Feature, feature. No more about this spanish absurdity.

1. Big Boy
2. This is a pathetic feature with only one part

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1. My dad sent me this article. The situation here is crazy; with the way kids are, you'd think this little boy would have enough to attack his self-esteem without having to deal with a bunch of nagging social workers.

156-pound first grader center of dispute with social workers
Associated Press
Posted November 15 2001, 5:15 PM EST

LAKELAND -- A first-grader who weighs 156 pounds is the center of a dispute between his family and state social workers.

The Department of Children and Families has three times taken the case of Taylor Bibian, a 7-year-old who stands nearly 4 feet 7 inches tall, before a judge to determine if the boy is in danger. Another hearing was set for Thursday afternoon.

Taylor's paternal grandmother, Darlene Bibian, said the department looks at her grandson and sees a case of child abuse.

``He's been heavy his whole life,'' Bibian said. Besides his four-day-a-week martial arts workout, Bibian said he is on a strict fat-free diet.

The Department of Children and Families declined comment on the case, citing state confidentiality laws. A spokeswoman said the department only investigates allegations to the Florida abuse hot line.

The boy's father, Tony Bibian, said a judge found no basis for abuse or neglect in the three previous hearings this year.

Bibian's family said they don't understand the state's concern because Taylor, while admittedly overweight, is happy, well-adjusted and healthy.

They fear social workers and attorneys will eventually become involved in their lives and take control over the boy's diet and medical care.

Darlene Bibian said the department has agreed to drop charges if she and her son will agree to state oversight of his health, but the Bibians declined.

``If weight is such a worry, then they should monitor every fat kid,'' she said. ``This is Big Brother telling you how to raise your kids. They want control of his diet, his exercise.''

Tony Bibian, 24, who stands 6 feet and 275 pounds, said his son has always been healthy, but he plans to have him checked soon by a pediatrician. He now has medical insurance through a new job.

``He's just going to be a big kid,'' Bibian said. ''...I was the same way (at his age).''

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Feature #97:

I'm back in Worcester, and what i've learned is that flying is miserable. There are flocks of people in army camoflague standing around, and really, what are they trying to blend in with? The potted plants? All they're doing is making me uncomfortable.

I accidentally brought my Swiss Army Knife in my carry-on. And by "accidentally," i mean that i had no idea it was in there. When it went through the scanner, a security lady took me aside -- that is, after i had to unbutton my pants for another security guy (i know, don't get too excited), so i could prove that what was setting off the metal detector was a small metal clip -- and she asked if she could open my bag. I said sure, all she was going to find in there was dirty laundry.

Suddenly, a cop saunters over.

"Dirty laundry! Why are you bringing dirty laundry?" he says. Is he making small talk? I can't tell.

"Because i'm bringing it home to wash," i say.

"Why not wash it at home?" he says.

"That's what I'm going to do in Florida," i say.

Then, the guy proceeds to question me on any and everything, and it becomes very obvious that this is an interrogation from a guy who has nothing to go on, no questioning skills and, really, no reason to interrogate in the first place. "What's that pin on your bag mean?" It's random, i like pins that don't make sense. "What's your shirt mean?" It's This American Life, a show on NPR. "You listen to NPR?" Yes.

On and on and on. I wanted to give him snippy remarks, but i was afraid i'd get kicked out of the airport, which is exactly what would have happened, i'm sure.

Then, the woman pulls out the Swiss Army Knife. "Whoa," i say. I really don't know how it got in there. It was news to me.

"WHOAAAA!" the cop says, as if it's either the most action he's seen all week or he's just mocking me. I'm still banking on the latter.

Either way, i'm left to put my scattered dirty laundry back into my bag, which i then go check so that i don't have to forfeit this knife. In the end, i guess the security is better than it was before, but i think it's time for the airport staff to be professional and not demeaning. Then again, it was a cop. What can you expect?

Enough of that. Here's the feature:

1. My song on mp3
2. The contest stories

1. I finally got around to turning my song (the one i posted the lyrics for two weeks ago) into an mp3. So, for your listening pleasure, here's my country song. It's me on the bad-country-accent vocals and rip-roarin' guitar, BSI drummer Brandon Bergman on drums, and BSI guitarist/vocalist Isaac Lekach on backing vocals. Enjoy. Jason's Country Song

2. The contest is over; thanks to all who entered. I passed on judging duties to Isaac (BSI, see above), who declared Jessie's story the best because "that person's mother is a fucking champ!" Here are the best of the stories in no particular order, except with the winning one first:

From Jessie "GustoPunk":

Me and my boyfriend split up one morning, and to tell you the truth, i was not all that upset about it. So i go to work all day, and after work i go out and hang out with my friends for a really long time, long into the night, and i get home around 2 in the morning. [long past my curfew, being 17 and all] As i slowly walk into the house, dreading the wrath of my mom, my sister says to me: "You're not in trouble because mom feels bad for you." Now i'm thinking- what did she find out? She must feel bad for me because she thinks i'm upset about the breakup. My mom says to me: "Are you all right? Did you break up with pat?" and of course, i hadn't told my mother anything that had happened, well, because she's my mom. So i fess up. But i'm wondering how it is she knew about anything in the first place.

She proceeds to tell me about a mysterious phone call she received, from a cell phone [according to the call-id] with no answer, but the definite sound of voices in the background. And then a second phone call... but this second time she didn't hang up... she recognized one of the voices- my ex-boyfriend. She called my sister over from the other room to verify it was him. It was. She and my sister continued to listen in on him and his friends, who evidently were out on a "joyride" to "cheer him up." They proceeded to discuss all sorts of topics, mostly concerning- hey, how'd you guess?- ME, as my mom eavesdropped. She hears the voice of another girl. Its his ex-girlfriend. They discuss how hott she thinks he is, and how she doesn't like her boyfriend that much, and blah blah blah puke, WOW she's coming on to him big time.

Next thing you know, they're at her house, dropping her off. He walks her to the door. One of the guys tells him to kiss her, and he's like "Should I?" and he is answered by a procession of primal male hoots and hollers. [he didn't do it] My mom listens in for a while longer... i'm not sure when she got tired of it and decided to hang up. But yea... my MOM listened in on the shenanigans, for OVER an HOUR total. I guess someone sat on the phone or something? and it accidentally dialed up my house... twice? What a perfectly ironic, true-to-life, humorous situation. Needless to say my mom wanted to make sure i knew all this happened so I could laugh heartily at my ex-boyfriend's unbelievable, but nonetheless entertaining, stupidity, and stay the hell away from him. I'd like to see what his phone bill looked like at the end of that month. And it got me out of a 2 week grounding. Hoorah for technology.

Oh yea, of course i busted his chops for it, and told all of our friends, and we all got a good laugh out of it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From Sarah Harmon:

I think this is funny because I went to a foreign country and people expect me to come back emotionally changed and brimming with knowledge. But when people ask me what the most interesting things were that happened while I was there (It was France I went to, by the way) I can only seem to remember the stupid things. anywho, on with my story...

I had just stepped off the metro. My friend Christie was proposed to (probably so he'd have a ticket to the US) and so far, three people had offered me flowers. I like French guys... Riding the metro was an interesting experience for me, because I come from a town with a population of 2,000. No, seriously. Moving on... I stepped out into the sun, and it temporarily blinded me. A man who seemed to be in an incredible hurry knocked me over. He was shouting "Mama Mia!" (That IS Italian right? or am I just crazy?) As soon as I regained my vision, I looked after the guy so I could shout something obscene at him, and I saw him running up the sidewalk after a brown furry thing. He finally caught it. When he did, he put it on his head. It was his wig.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From Jaymee "Jinkies540"

So last summer I got my first job, and they needed my birth certificate for various business-like reasons. I dug through all of the important family certificates and files, where I found my birth certificate. This must have been the first time I ever really took a look at it, because I noticed something extremely terrible- my name was spelled wrong. (I spell it "Jaymee", I'm enrolled in school as "Jaymee", my IDs all say "Jaymee", but it was spelled "Jamie" on the birth certificate). Aaah!!! So...many...emotions... I immediately confronted my dad, and he gave me some b.s. talk about how i "can spell my name however i want to". I don't live with my mom, but I made sure to ask her about it when I visited her during the summer, and she told me that they had already written down the "Jamie" spelling when they realized that they liked "Jaymee" better, but it was too late- to change it it would cost an extra fifteen dollars or so, and they didn't want to pay that much. ...So I'm now living a lie because my parents didn't want to pay fifteen bucks. But at least I have an interesting story which can hopefully win me a contest!

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From Adam Kilgas:

This happened back when I was a book shelver for the Children's Dept. at out local library... Part of my job was to check the book and video drop every so often, (Simply called the book drop) and to take any materials there to the front desk to be checked in. The room itself is simply a small closet against the outside wall with slots in it to allow people on the outside to return books and videos. You're probably already familiar with this, but I thought I'd explain it anyways.

Well, on this particular day, I go to check the book drop, and (as usual) there's a ton of books and videos to take up... So I start loading up the videos on the little red top-heavy cart they provide for us to do just such a job. As I'm putting the videos on, I feel a ticklish feeling on my arm... I look down...

To find a rather large cockroach crawling up my arm.

Pathetically, I yelp. Yes, a true honest-to-god yelp; a sorta strangled, high-pitched half-cry of sheer shock and surprise. You see, I don't like cockroaches, not at all.

While in the middle of my yelp, I drop the video and start to madly shake my arm, trying to dislodge this corporeal disease from my arm. Which I successfully do. Then I look down.

I don't know how it's possible, (I can honestly say I've never really looked into the situation.) but there was evidently an entire cockroaches' nest neatly tucked away inside this video. That is, until I dropped the video and the case fell open. More cockroaches then I ever want to see for the rest of my life proceeded to stream out of the now-open video case, not to mention the ones that were thrown out when the case hit the floor; these were now crawling around on the walls and boxes that catch the books. There were cockroaches of all sizes: ones half the size of your thumb, all the way down to ones the length of a pencil tip. But I really wasn't noticing that right at that moment. Horrified, I run outta there, shut the door, which is thankfully nearly air-tight, and somehow inform the librarians at the front desk of the problem. (I can't really remember this part too well, though I do remember it took me a while to get the story out.)

To quickly end this story, every librarian, really, every person who heard of it, had to go and look for themselves, usually coming back with their mouth covered and some sort of horrified/sick expression on their face. The only thing we could do was gas the whole room, which did take care of the living roach problem... Though for months afterward there were dead cockroach bodies stuck to the walls and ceilings of the book drop...

Well, there's my story... To add a bit more, we never did find out who had returned the video; the librarian who cleaned and checked in the video forgot to look. Yup, you heard that right, we actually kept the thing. I believe it's still there...

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From Sarah Lanenga:

"well, i guess that's where the trophy part of trophy date comes from" I picked up this talent awhile ago, I think about 5 years ago now, I just sucked a hole straight through a piece of pez one day. It was mighty odd. It takes me just a lil over 30 seconds and I can get it first try 95% of the time. As for the story part of it, One time I was sucking away at it, and I slit my tongue! Mind you pez can be very sharp when thin, and I slid my tongue straight across it, leaving me with a cut. It hurt like all hell, and well, I've learned don't slid your tongue along thin pez. Now..On with the picture ;)

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Feature #98:

Here's what happens when you stay up for just under 30 hours: you can't focus on anything, the conversations you hold are up there with the least important things you've ever uttered, every blink feels like a tease, and you rue the sun for shining. I got up at 8:30 a.m. this past Friday and went to bed a little after 1 p.m. on Saturday, all because of this WheatBread 24-hour issue thing. In the end, though, it was a great time... although, i was ready to collapse at the end. Last year, i remember, i hallucinated as soon as i got home, sat down on my bed, and tried talking to my girlfriend. This year, luckily, i just slept until 5 p.m., and felt much better.

Anyway, it's December, and it feels like October. The northeast is about as wintery as Club Med, and George W. Bush is still shrugging his shoulders over global warming. To that, i say this: fuck you. It's really really warm up here, and it needs to be snowing soon. The squirrels haven't hibernated yet, i walk outside every morning with a jacket on and then start sweating, and the only time i see my breath is when i open our freezer. No global warming? My ass.

Right. Politics. Environmentalism. Feature? Sure. Feature.

1. Not a first date, but a worst nonetheless
2. More from the "If you" department
3. Proof: I fit

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1. Finally, another submission for the worst-date quest! This one comes from Kenny's ex-girlfriend's sister, and while it's not truly a 'first date,' it's still terrible enough to be worth your while:

Once upon a time there was a boy named Kenny who was quite unlucky in love. Finally, he got a girlfriend named Anna shortly after starting college. After their first date, Kenny and Anna retreated to his dorm room to, um . . . do stuff. . . yeah.

Kenny lived in a small dorm room with one roommate. They shared a bunkbed, and Kenny had the top bunk. One day Kenny and Anna were having a little love fest on the top bunk (at least, as much of a love fest as someone with the name Kenny can have...) when someone knocked on the door. Both Anna and Kenny leaped off the bed to answer the door, but on the way down, Kenny accidently kicked Anna in the head and knocked her unconsious.

He was going towards the door before he realized what had happened, and he turned around and saw his girlfriend lying on the floor having a seizure. Kenny freaked out, and picked up the phone to call 911 just as she finished with her seizure and was coming through. He called an ambulence anyway and Anna was wisked away to the hospital for a few CAT scans, which luckily displayed no major brain damage. But man, talk about making a good first impression!

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2. And now, a shorter version of my old stand-by, the (not always) informative "If you..."s:

If you're thinking about photocopying your ass, consider this first: When you photocopy your ass, any place that isn't being touched by ass is going to come out black -- thus, giving your ass a frightening, Darth Vader-like presence. Yet, that's hardly the worst part. This is: all the hairs in and/or around your ass appear in stark detail. I don't care if your ass is smoother than Barry White, that photocopy machine will find your ass hairs and broadcast them to the world. I don't think i need to explain how i know this. Just take my word for it. But if you do photocopy your ass, well shit, you might as well scan it and i'll post it here.

If you're ever in the mood for Guiness Beer, know this: I can not get this verified or debunked, so i am only forced to repeat what i've heard. But, do keep in mind that this is probably just a weird rumor. Apparently, in the 70s, the folks at Guiness emptied out the vats for a routine cleaning and discovered piles of dead rats. Disgusted, they cleaned the vats out, tossed the rats, filled the vats back up, and tried some beer. It tasted, to their surpirse, much worse. A little investigative work turned out the prospect that the rats were actually responsible for the taste of the beer. Of course, dead rats is hardly sanitary, and so they've taken to running the alcohol through raw meat before bottling. It sounds crazy, but do consider that the alcohol would probably kill any bacteria on the raw meat -- not to mention, Guiness isn't made in America, so who knows if they have federal laws to prohibit that. Anyway, probably false, but interesting.

If you've ever wondered what would happen if fake beards were outlawed, here's my answer: the role of the mall Santa would have to be played by bikers.

If you have the X-Men DVD, do this: go to the main menu, click on "special features," then on "theatrical trailors," and then click the left button. This rose that you probably never noticed will be highlighted. Click enter, and see what happens. Great stuff.

If you ever wondered how Duck Hunt (for the old Nintendo) works, it's like this: The gun has a directly pointed light detector in it, which can only differentiate between black and white. When you click the trigger, the screen flashes black, and a square around the duck goes white. In that half-a-second, if the gun sees white, you hit the duck. If it sees black, you didn't. (thanks to Rob Carney for discovering this)

If you've ever pooped green, i have this to say: that's rather disgusting.

If you've ever given someone a bad gift, consider me: i'm very bad at getting people gifts, partially because i don't know what they want and partially because i just hate buying things -- not because i'm cheap, mind you, but because being a consumer often makes me feel dirty. but anyway, one time when i was quite young, perhaps early elementary school, father's day was approaching. i thought about what my dad likes, remembered that he likes watches, and then stole his watch. i figured that he'd be so upset that he lost his watch that he'd be thrilled when he got it as a present. makes sense. from what i remember, however, he wasn't so thrilled. but hey, he did get his watch back.

If you like soilent green, you should know this: IT'S MADE OF PEOPLE!

If you want to hear a sad story that's just so weird that it's kind of not sad even though it is, hear this: i was on the bus coming back from the city library, and i couldn't help but listen in on this conversation a passenger and the bus driver were having. The passenger, a lady probably in her mid-fourties, was talking about how her ex-boyfriend had faked his death three times, and would then just shamelessly re-appear somewhat after the supposed death. However, her mom (yes, her mom!) decided to start telling people that she had died, and in response, two of her best friends hung themselves! It's like romeo & juliet, except substantially different. Weird. Sad. But more weird, i think.

If you don't read Maxim (like me) but want to hear a great story from Ben Folds, then thank my friend Issy who typed this out and sent it to me: "Back in the Ben Folds Five days, we were stuck on this bill with Everclear in Providence, Rhode Island. They were rude to us, if I remember, and we were just being little shits, so me and our bassist, Robert Sledge, went into their dressing room while they were playing. There was a video camera, their deli tray, and lots of chips and salsa. I think it was pretty spontaneous,but I picked up the camera and proceeded to film Robert as he stuck his dick into the salsa. No close-up on his face, but you could hear him going, "It buuurns!" Then we left the videocamera sitting there. I don't know if they ever saw the tape, but I assumed they've heard the rumor, because people have asked me about it. Soon after that we were both playing in the same town and their tour manager called us to say, 'Hey we'd reaaally like to meet up with you.' We were scraed, like, 'Why do they want to meet us? Oh, man, we're dead. We can't eat the deli tray on this one!' But they were really nice, which may have been their way of fucking with us. They were totally cool, so I felt really bad about it. I can come clean at this point. If you see (Everclear's) Art Alexakis, tell him I say, 'Hello' and ' Sorry about that, but I was only a child."

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3. So, i was thinking, what can i take a picture of? I'm kind of tired right now, which means that i can't think of all that much to write about, but i'd like some more content on this page. Hmm.. do i have any weird tricks i can photograph? Why yes, yes i do. I fit.

That's right. I fit. The elbow-area of my arm fits perfectly into the side of my torso. Take a look at the before-and-after pictures:

Before:
After:

See what i'm saying? I know those photos aren't of great quality (and do, i'll admit, look a little sketchy), but i think they prove my point. It's like Pangea, the one-continent. I never really thought this was weird, but my friends have decided otherwise. This is, indeed, apparently weird. Which is quite fine with me. My arms fit into my sides. Hoorah! I'm like a fold-up action figure -- well, or not.

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Feature #99:

I apologize, but this is going to have to be a rather short feature. Next week, though i'll be in Florida on a very long winter break, which should translate into more time and more material and, perhaps, an on-time update or two. So, stay tuned, shall you? For now, though, i have only this (and the comic) to offer.

1. Bad date a'plenty
2. Bad company a'plenty

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1. This is a bad date with plenty of badness before and after. It's like a bad date sandwich with stale bread. It's like someone dropped the bad date bomb and it bad-dated everyone around it. It's like awful metaphors about bad dates. Courtesy of Melissa, here is, as perhaps is rather obvious by now, a bad date:

So, when I was a senior in high school, I met this guy who later turned out to be one of my friends' older brother.... but that's another story. I really can't remember why or where I met him anymore, either, which is odd.. but I'm guessing he hit on me in Wal Mart or something.

Anyway, he was basically everyone's mental visual of the classic nerd. Huge glasses, very tall and gangly with zits, kinda greasy unkempt brown hair, a slightly Kermit-ey voice, and he was a computer programming major up at a tech institute. When I first met him, I was "in a relationship," but we hung out a little when my obsessive boyfriend wasn't around. To make a long story slightly less long, I dumped the guy I was going out with, and immediately the nerdy guy (let's call him Bif) asked me out.

Unfortunately, I have this huge problem with rejecting people, so despite the fact that his personality was a bit creepy and clingy, I agreed. It was about 3 AM at the time, so he asked if he could just take me to breakfast. I informed him that I didn't eat breakfast, but we could just go somewhere and HE could eat. I was joking about that, but he didn't seem to see a problem with it, so he showed up at 5 AM at my door to take me to Denny's.

We get to Denny's and he proceeded to order a huge breakfast while I sat there drinking water and trying not to feel awkward. After about an hour of him alternating between taking bites of food and telling me how sexy I was, he started to complain that I flirted with him more on a daily basis than I was on our "date." I told him I was sorry and that I must just be tired or something. However, I was struck by the fact that he said I flirted with him, ever. Well, I felt a little worse after that.

When he finally finished his meal, he decided the romantic thing to do would be to take me to his work, which was a movie theater, break in, and steal things. Stupidly, I followed him in. The spanish cleaning ladies all smiled at him, all the while assuming he was their boss, as he looked through the cabinets for good movie crap to take. He decided there wasn't anything worth grabbing, so he took me up the stairs and onto the roof.

Okay, so that COULD be romantic, were we actually being romantic. Not that I think it was the best thing to tell him I would go on a date with him, but I think at this point it was pretty obvious that I really didn't want to be his girlfriend. Anyway, so we proceeded to sit on the roof and watch the sun rise. I think at that point Bif got the hint he wasn't getting any and drove me home.

Just about every night after that for the rest of the summer, he would show up at my house around 3 AM, wanting to hang out. Being a bored insomniac, sometimes I'd agree. When I didn't, he'd pretend like he came over to see my brother, only to follow me around asking if I would change into my pajamas. Sometimes, even when me AND my brother told him we didnt' want to do anything, he would still come in, and then NOT LEAVE. He'd often spend the night without being invited. Don't ask why my mom had no problem with this, because... well, she's weird.

At any rate, his last night in town before he left to Michigan, he decided to call me and have a long talk in order to get his goodbyes out. After about 45 minutes, he said "Hey... can I ask you a question? Don't get offended."

I told him to go ahead.

"Before I leave... uh.... can I go down on you?"

"What?"

"Would you let me go down on you?"

I was stupified that he still had the nerve to even... well, whatever. Naturally, I told him i was sorry, but no, that was never going to happen. A month later, I moved and didn't tell him. I'm assuming the next summer he was very puzzled. Anyway, that's my bad date/creepy stalker guy story. I feel bad because I made it happen, but... it's creepy.

Oh, and to add to the bad date theme, I've been with my current boyfriend for about 2 years now, but on our first date... well, despite the fact that he knew I was a vegetarian, he took me to a place called "Steak and Shake." And that's about all they sold.... Ah well, he's a sweetheart, even if he picks horrible date venues. :)

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2. Corporate names invade what would seem like every possible avenue of communication: media, clothing, billboards, on and on. But now, Dunlop-Tire wants to swallow family names. It's crazy. It never ends. (thanks to geri for sending me this)

Attention Dunlops: 'Tired' of Your Name?

TORONTO (Reuters) - In a move that raises corporate branding to new levels, a North American tire maker is offering $16,000 to people willing to alter their family name and embrace the company's Dunlop-Tire moniker as their own.

``This has never been done before,'' said Jane Wilcox, a spokeswoman with the tire company. The firm has mailed 1,000 information packages to families with the name Dunlop across Canada.

To win a portion of the 16,000 offer, a Dunlop must legally change his or her name to ``Dunlop-Tire'' at a cost of some $125, which the company will reimburse.

If 50 people sign up, each gets $315. But a sole signatory would hit a $16,000 jackpot.

``I think it's a bit ridiculous,'' said Toronto-area Lisa Dunlop, who heard about the offer from a Reuters correspondent. ''I guess anybody would do anything for a dollar, but I'm not one of them.''

A statement from the tire company said a poll of 2,000 Canadians conducted by Decima Research showed that 37 percent of Canadians would be willing to trade their family name for a corporate brand name -- if the price was right.

Men were far more willing than women to adopt a name change for cash, the pollsters found.

Wilcox acknowledged that the tire company's campaign, which is open only to Dunlops in Canada, should be taken with a pinch of salt and conceded there was nothing to stop the winners changing their names back after raking in the cash.

``First and foremost, this is about having fun,'' she said. ''If there are people who don't appreciate what we're doing, well, I think they probably just don't have a sense of humor.''

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There are more features to be had.

Features I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI

Or, we can always go back.