My deepest sympathies. Somehow you've stumbled upon my humble little web site. Like the look? Pure Frontpage. Box stock. I put this page here purely as an exercise in vanity and futility, although not necessarily in that order. You see, I have this vision of what can be created on the web and in this vision there's joy and happiness and prosperity and a great deal of scantily clad... errr...*cough* ...maybe I'll get into that later. For now the important part is that you're here. So relax, pull up a comfy chair, fix yourself a drink and kick your shoes off. I promise that even if you don't enjoy what I've done here, it won't hurt nearly as much as sticking your hand in a quisinart.
So, what's it all about? In all honesty, it's a godawful mess. I'm posting nearly everything that I've ever written or created for your perusal. Here you'll find some writing, a bit of photoshop, a dollop of ranting, a trace of pocket lint, a foolproof plan, an airtight alibi, just the thing for the mantle and, above all, an engagingly disturbed psyche.
A word of warning here: I'm a wordy bahstahd. I prattle on endlessly over minutiae and trivia, sometimes redundantly and repetitively, still other times I simply wax far too annoyingly descriptive. This is all fueled by the fact that I simply like to hear myself type. That, and I just love subordinate clauses. Predicate nominatives too. And, although you'd think I'd have a deep infatuation with passive voice, in reality I'm just too lazy to clean up sloppy writing. I could go on (and boy will I ever), but I think you have the idea. So if reading lots of crap doesn't interest you, you had best scoot along. Lord knows there are plenty of sites that are far more suited to the peculiar style of attention deficit disorder that the web not only fosters but thrives upon. Besides, I certainly wouldn't want to force anybody to actually take the time to sit down and actually read something.
To those that choose to wade through this mess: Good luck, you're gonna need it.
Disclaimer: Everything that you read here is pure fiction. Not a single word of it is true. The events, people, smells, everything, it's all fake. Any names mentioned herein are the names of completely different people from the ones that you might think. So the George Herbert Walker Bush Junior that I say had carnal knowledge with an okapi is not the George Herbert Walker Bush Junior that you all know and love. The one I'm talking about is actually the president of the United States. In addition, by viewing this site, you hereby relinquish the following rights and claims: any and all past and future earnings (yours), any claims that you might possibly have against the author (me), your right to free speech (like I can hear you scream at your monitor in the first place), your right to a fair and quick trial, your right to pick your nose in public, your right to wave your privates in my Aunties' direction, your bloody well right and any other rights, claims, or anything else that I could possibly think of at the time that you bring up the subject or before or quite likely after. So there. And just because you can't read this, doesn't mean that it isn't legally binding, so don't try to weasel out of it that way, especially you, the rich guy with the big house and the fancy cars. Yeah you. You owe me. Big time. I'll sue your ass. Oh yeah, I'm bad. Woohoo!
This page was last updated on 03/05/08.