Space Pillow 2028

July 31, 2005

My parents bought pillows the other day valued at $40 EACH. Take a second to think about that. My parents are not really that wealthy, also make note of that. I guess they just really like sleeping, something they seem to have passed on down to me. When that morning, nay, afternoon light hits my eyes, I cringe, because it’s another day in this bag of skin that is me. Then I sigh. Then I masturbate. Wait, back to the pillows.

When my mom approached me with one of said pillows earlier today I was sure she was going to try and suffocate me with it while screaming “Mother knows best!”, so I half turned my body in preparation to flee. Death will come quickly to a bottom feeder such as myself. Instead of ending my life, however, she displayed the heavy piece of sleeping equipment and told me of its worth. No doubt a look of disgust crept over my face. Are you kidding me, 40 bucks? Still, I almost understood. All of the bad thoughts go away when I lie in bed at night, the place I feel warm and secure… and so it made sense. It was an investment.

“It adjusts to your body temperature…And form fits. We got it at half price. They’re supposed to be remarkable pillows.”

I was waiting for her to mention something about the pillow being made out of NASA material, but she didn’t pitch that one at me. Oh, we all know the old NASA line. Why, if it’s good enough for NASA, it’s good enough for you, right? Wrong! NASA is still struggling with foam, of all things, on their spacecraft. This is space, people. And they’ve got foam falling off of their crafts. It ought to be electroplasm discharge that they’re having trouble with. Is it superflexible, non-flammable space foam? Is it futuristic form fitting, body temperature adapting foam? I don’t think so!

Either way, the thing didn’t work, she had a horrible night’s sleep, so on and so forth, but she still wanted to get the 40 bucks out of it, and so I was the guinea pig. The profit bells started to go off in my head, along with the paranoia bells and that Fred guy who chimes in once and a while to tell me that I’d make for an “ugly broad.” But, being the brave man that I am, I took the assignment and I will press on.

I am now the proud owner of a space pillow, and I’m going to use the hell out of this thing tonight when I sleep. I’m going to use all forty bucks on my precious, gigantic head. Then… I’m going to wake up and tell you shits if it sucks or not.

Well, shits, the pillow was alright. I stayed up until about 3AM and couldn’t get to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about the pillow I was supposed to be evaluating. When I did manage to get to sleep, I began drooling like a madman. Drooling is something I only do when I’m either incredibly comfortable, or incredibly drunk (same thing, really), and so that was my first clue. I think the other thing that makes this Space Pillow worthwhile is that it is so god damn heavy. It’s hard to move while you’re tossing and turning, so it just kind of stays put and I suppose that’s how it form fits. Plus it doesn’t end up at my feet or on the floor at some point in the night, meaning I actually have a pillow to rest my head on. I don’t know what I do in my sleep, but I often times wake up with an arm completely numb, the sheets kicked off of me, and the pillow on the floor, along with the words “THEY LIVE” scrawled on my bedroom walls in blood. That did not happen tonight, and so the Super Space Pillow with memory foam gets an A+ from me. For now.

I’ve added this Radio.Blog thing to my website, as you will see on the right side of this page. In it you can click on a song and treat yourself to a sample of whatever is making my ears bleed this week while reading whatever garbage I’ve posted to my website. Nice combination, no? I’ll probably update it every once and a while when I find something new I’m obsessed with, given 1&1 doesn’t get angry and shut me down or something.

This week we have:

The Fruit Bats – The Wind that Blew My Heart Away
..which is just a sort of a melancholy song with lyrics equivalent to “my heart is broken but I am full of Oxycontin and liquor so it is ok,” or something like that. Well, that’s my spin on it anyhow.

Youth Group – Piece of Wood
I love the lyrics on this one as well. “All I am is a piece of wood, cut from something living.” Same idea as above, I assume, but I would think it’s a song you write years later when you’re older and bitter and lack any emotion. I think I can probably identify with this song more than the previous.

Choke – This Forced Hour
“These lifeless eyes and tired smiles, I can’t hide,” yeah, these guys are good. I’ve been listening to them a lot while working out to keep me moving. I can safely say after several listenings that this CD is their best. I never get tired of what they do with those guitars. WEARS ME DO-O-O-WN!

Refused – New Noise
Not a new song by any means, but I’ve been listening to Refused a lot lately too. Lots and lots of energy put into their music. This and some Red Bull will probably get you going on your way towards a mild heart attack. Read the rest of this entry »

iRiver comes through

July 28, 2005

I really can’t believe this one: let it be known that iRiver support kicks ass. They’re just incredibly slow. It took 2-3 weeks to finally get a response, but the response was short and sweet: “Hello Drew,
Your request for a replacement unit has been approved. Your RMA number is xxxx”

My iRiver H-120 mp3 player died a month or so ago, if you were unawares, and iRiver gives a one year warranty on their products. I was going to be screwed if they asked for an invoice, so I was sort of freaking out. I didn’t have a receipt and on top of that, I’m pretty sure I was over warranty. My registration on their website says that I bought it when I registered it and maybe they go on that fact alone… the honor system and such. I don’t know, but I’m happy they’re coming through, because sans my iRiver I am but a shell of a man. I really miss it.

I don’t have a job at the moment, so had they not helped a brotha out, I would have had to wait until I could find a job and then I’d probably have bought the Cowon X5 cause by that point I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with iRiver. It would have been a long, shitty process and one without sweet mp3s playing in my ear. Alas, my worries should be over. Come on home to daddy, H-120. Come on home.

And now on to whacky news items. Here‘s more proof that childbirth isn’t a grand and beautiful thing. Richard Robles the 3rd may be a healthy baby boy, but on the playground embarrassment scale, being shat into a toilet takes #1 above being named Gaylord, and so he’s just plain screwed.

July 23, 2005 (WHITTIER, Calif.) — A woman and her husband said they delivered their baby boy in the toilet at their home after hospital staff told the mother she was not ready to give birth.

The couple, Leah and Richard Robles Jr., said they spent five hours at Presbyterian Intercommunity Hospital on July 9 but went home after they were told she was not ready to deliver. Fifty minutes after arriving home, Leah had the baby in the toilet after feeling the urge to use the restroom.

The baby, Richard Robles III, is healthy.

The hospital’s spokeswoman, Wendy Flores, said she could not comment because of federal patient privacy laws.

Leah, who also has a 5-year-old daughter, said she and her husband went to the hospital because she was past her due date, bleeding and having contractions less than two minutes apart. When the couple returned home, Leah used the toilet, and suddenly realized she was having the baby.

She yelled out to her husband, “I think I’m having the baby.”

Her husband yelled back, “No you’re not, honey. Come back to bed.”

A few seconds later, Richard Robles III emerged face up in the toilet.

Once again, Sam feeds me the worthwhile links. And when I mean worthwhile, I mean:

Policeman from Village People arrested by real police on gun, drug charges

Traces of cocaine and other paraphernalia were also found [in] his home at a mobile home park in Daly City

I picture the Policeman lying around in his trailer in leather, snorting huge mounds of cocaine off of an old TV Guide with Tony Danza on the cover. And a single tear rolls down my cheek.

In other news, it is estimated that I ate 1 million Kettle potato chips last night while extremely drunk. Also, it is hot as fuck in Florida and I’m getting sick of it. The humidity and the amount of ball-sticking-to-leg action has really been cranked up by some angry god. No doubt Poseidon himself had something to do with all of this. I’m surprised that space shuttle managed to even take off, what with Florida sucking so god damn bad. And you can quote me on that.

Something totally unrelated for me to rant on now: Comedy Central needs to stop the shitty programming. First off, why is Mad TV even in the line-up, and why is it in the line-up 4 times a day? It sucks every single time it’s on. Take it off. Secondly, why is Pamela Anderson having a roast? She’s a washed up old bimbo with huge, fake tits. I thought she was killed years ago as a result of guzzling too much of that crappy rockstar’s semen. Apparently not, and we’re all the worse for it.

Finally, to end this post, I present you famous last MSN words courtesy of Wes:

Wes says:
i hope when i come home drunk i don’t order more porn

and a Cockneyed version of Kotex’s Becoming A Woman. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.

Big Changes
Yor body is maturin’. Evolvin’. Preparin’ for the bleedin’ next stage of life. Yor transformin’ from a girl ter a bint. Can yer feel it, then, luv? The bloomin’ more yer know about ‘ow yor body works, the more comfortable yer’ll be wiv these changes. Knowledge is power and that’s a great feelin’ ter have.

Five Stages of Puberty
yor body totally changes yer change inside… yer change outside… until yor all done. Five overlappin’ stages. That’s one easy way ter divide the bloomin’ years that make up puberty. Remember, evry geezer grows at their own pace. Here’s an idea of wot ter expect.
At Stage One (ages 8 ter 11)
Same outside. Big changes inside. Yor ovaries are maturin’. Yor Michael Caine ‘as stimulated the chuffin’ release of ‘ormones that yer’ll need later for menstrual and baby-makin’ functions.

Here we go again

July 24, 2005

I was fed up with Movable Type and decided to bite the bullet and try out WordPress. So far I couldn’t be happier. The set up was so easy I’m sort of wondering what the downside is…it literally took like 2 minutes. Bear with me while I screw around with stuff.

edit: in Internet Explorer there is a large, mysterious, black void below my main menu. I have no idea what the hell has caused this and if you bother to figure it out, do tell me. Be careful, however, as your soul may be sucked forth into this void and sent off to wherever it goes; most probably a jar on a shelf in Bill Gates’ pantry somewhere…

America! Fuck yeah!

July 22, 2005

“Coming again, to save the mother fucking day yeah,
America, FUCK YEAH!
Freedom is the only way yeah,
Terrorists, your game is through cause now you have to answer to,
America, FUCK YEAH!”

Now’s a good time to go check out books on Islam, electronics, and various fertilizers from your local library. Or just order them on the internet. Whatever. The Patriot Act has been renewed. Once again, Big Brother has decided to step on our rights, all in the name of our safety, of course. Thanks, assholes!

Under 215, the government does not have to identify in any way the persons whose records it is seeking. Instead, it can seize entire databases and mine them for suspicious conduct, which may be perfectly innocent.

It seems to me like them darn terrorists get what they want when stuff like this happens. We may have military might, but when we are attacked in New York or London and we then turn around and take every day rights such as privacy away from our people, the super-evil terrorists are having an effect and they are getting what they want. We aren’t as free as we used to be – they win. Good job with that, congress.

The Fourth Amendment to the Constitution says that “no (search) Warrants shall issue but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”

Under section 218, Ofer said, “the FBI can engage in secret searches… without having to prove probable cause of a crime.”


July 21, 2005

Sam sent me an e-mail with links to these two stories below. I thought his subject summed it up rather well. “Why?” indeed. I could make a longer rant, but I’ve already done plenty of that [Dawn of the directors who…]. I should clarify that I actually liked the remake of the Dawn of the Dead, but that’s more or less an anomaly. For the most part, remakes are a stupid god damn idea (Ocean’s 11, anyone?). Especially the hugely budgeted Hollywood type. But there’s also the age old “really late sequel,” which is always, and I mean always, a bad idea (uh, Ocean’s 12, anyone?). Well, now they’re setting out to destroy my childhood memories piece by piece, it seems. First its ET and then its The Smurfs. How could you, Drew Barrymore?

The ET thing is just plain going to suck, so I’ll leave that alone, but The Smurfs thing angers me. I’ll watch The Incredibles and laugh, and that’s fine. It’s an original, it’s done well, it’s funny. But why does anyone feel the need to spit on the memory of The Smurfs? First off, they’re doing a remake of the cartoon, which is bad news in general. Now they’re going to do it with CGI. You’re telling me the kids don’t like hand drawn cartoons any more? At all? Micky Mouse, Garfield, MotherFucking Gummy Bears – do these names mean any thing? I really don’t understand the whole obsession with CGI, especially in regular movies. It’s OK to add a touch up here and there to make things look realistic and smooth, but that’s not how it is normally used. Normally, they go overboard and make entire movies or characters with a computer that end up looking like utter crap. Star Wars has a lot of that, for instance. The movie looks like shit and is practically unwatchable. And now it seems that every cartoon has to be revamped, touched up, and made digital for the ADD generation. It seems like it’s not so much as art any more, but a bunch of programmers in a lab somewhere putting stuff on grids. Depressing. You kids are doomed! End old man rant here.

“ET” To Phone Home…Again

Drew Barrymore and director Steven Spielberg are in talks to make a sequel to the 1982 Hollywood classic “ET: The Extraterrestrial” reports WENN.

Barrymore is apparently anxious to resume her role as Gertie Elliot, but only if Spielberg, who directed the first film, agrees to oversee the project. According to reports the sequel will see ET return to a now grown-up Gertie, desperate for help saving his family from extinction.

“Drew has spoken to Steven about it,” a Hollywood insider said. “Although he thought she was joking at first, he’s actually giving it serious thought. Drew thinks the world needs another feelgood movie like ET right now and she’s prepared to work with Steven to make it happen.”


“The Smurfs” Turn CG Animated

Paramount has acquired film rights to vintage cartoon characters “The Smurfs” and is setting up development of a 3-D CGI feature with Nickelodeon Movies reports Variety.

Producers have conceived the project as a trilogy and are aiming to release the first film in 2008 to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the Smurfs. The blue skinned critters originated in 1958 as a Belgian comic strip but hit international fame in the form of a 1981 animated series that ran for a whopping 256 episodes.

The studio has selected Herb Ratner (“Mr. Lucky,” “Clean Break”) to script, whilst the storyline is being kept under wraps.

Due to constant binge drinking and lying about I’m now as fat as I’ve ever been. I’m trying to combat this with 20+ miles on the exercise bike a day and not-as-much alcohol, but the verdict isn’t in yet. I don’t have any problems motivating myself to get on the thing, but I get bored as hell and it’s hard to get excited about inflicting massive amounts of pain on yourself (20 miles on 6+ resistance isn’t exactly fun). Which is where music comes in. Music is pretty much essential to a work out, otherwise you’re going to die of boredom and dread ever getting in there and doing it again, especially for 40 minutes at a time or something like that. I am feeling a lot better lately…more energy, and for whatever reason, just working up a sweat and being active seems to make me feel upbeat. Maybe it pumps up the testosterone or something. The high I get off of it is enough to make me get in there, but it still isn’t necessarily fun.


My iRiver’s dead so I’ve been burning “work out cds” left and right and I’m getting sort of tired of hearing the same stuff. I need something else, so any recommendations for rockin’ music that will PUMP JOU UP is appreciated. So far I’ve burnt:

Refused – Songs To Fan the Flames of Discontent (just plain essential)
Refused – The Shape of Punk to Come
Evergreen Terrace – Writer’s Block (any band that does a hardcore version of Mad World is OK with me)
My Chemical Romance – I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love
Leatherface & Hot Water Music split (probably my favorite punk album. Perfect melodies, tones, gravelly voices)
BombShell Rocks – From Here And On (them Swedes make good music!)
Choke – Slow Fade Or How I Learned to Question Infinity (these Canadian guys have an incredibly unique sound are incredibly good guitarists)
ATARI Teenage Riot – Burn, Berlin, Burn (Germans expressing their angst with electropunk-stuff!)

And that’s about it for now. I need more ideas. Preferably something loud and FUCKING ANGRY. My normal diet of Pogues/Elliot Smith/Decemberists/misc blues isn’t going to cut it in this case, what with the slow tempos.


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I love NPR. They are the last radio station worth listening to. They soothe one’s inner beast with their calm voices and choice array of classical music. And I like Sufjan Stevens. This is a man who is attempting to write a full album for each state in our fair union. Will he succeed? Probably not, but he’s sure giving it a shot, and you can’t hate him for it. Currently he’s got Illinois and Michigan down (only 48 more to go). They’re both great albums and as I was reading on ImJasonH’s blog, he’s already got a song made for a town in Arkansas. It’s good. Read the post and download NPR’s segment about him, where they interview the townspeople. It’s funny and features the new song (available here), which is sort of haunting. On the first listening I was convinced that there was some timeless message he was trying to convey, but it’s just about a bird and some shitty town in Arkansas. And Arkansas is a vile place. We all know that. So how does it come out so beautiful?

I also liked how one of the old guys interviewed from the town sounded exactly like Jimmy Stewart. Which is weird, because Stewart was British and his American accent was all fucked up. What’s weirder than that, you ask? Jimmy Stewart wearing chaps, and an unsightly bulge (great movie, Bend of the River). I knew I’d be able to unleash that picture on the public at some point, I just couldn’t think of any good way to do it. Then I listened to NPR. It’s all connected. Don’t question it. If that isn’t enough to make you cringe or ruin your memories of It’s A Wonderful Life, I also have Samuel Jackson lounging around on a porch drinking lemonade and scaring small children AND Tara Reid’s mashed-up nipple. Plastic surgery isn’t worth it, kids, there’s your proof. See how I just did a subtle maneuver into conversation about genitalia and boobs? It’s what I do, people.

Tour de France 2005 is probably the 4th Tour I’ve actually watched with interest. I think the first one I saw was back in 2000 or 2001. I don’t remember Lance Armstrong making a big imprint on me then. That’s changed, of course – almost everyone knows his name by now. He’s got an incredible story and so I suppose they should.

I’ve always been interested in the strength and endurance it takes to participate in the sport, but I never really got into it until Lance came into the picture, which is probably true for a lot of people out there. Seeing an American wearing a US Postal jersey and kicking the ass of everybody in the tour was great, but more importantly, it was great to see a fragile human being like the rest of us bounce back from something huge and possibly life shattering, only to go even further and do what he did. He’s a hero to a lot of people, and I’ll admit I admire him myself (I will forgive the Nike clothing line). In fact, it’s hard not to respect and admire all of the guys in the Tour de France. The determination and endurance it must take to compete in races like that is mind boggling to me. Win it 6 times and survive cancer, well, shit. That’s just inhuman. I wish I had that kind of will.

That’s why I think Lance Armstrong should star in a reality TV show. In this show, Lance Armstrong will have to overcome numerous physical obstacles akin to his struggle with cancer. He’s retiring soon and I think if he won’t continue to inspire the rest of mankind with the use his body, then we should use it for him. For instance, we could give Lance Armstrong AIDS or permanently blind Lance Armstrong and watch as he prevails and surpasses everyone in the seeing world with his dogged attitude. After that, we could sever Lance Armstrong’s spine and watch him compete blind and paralyzed from the waist down in various Olympic events. And after that, we could remove his arms at the elbows… so on, so forth, until he’s an AIDS riddled, blind, paralyzed, stubby deaf man, giving hope to us all. We could even give him minor obstacles that regular people have to deal with on an every-day basis. “How would Lance deal with my situation?” you might ask. Gingivitus, dandruff, hemmoroids, Lance Armstrong will do it all!

If Lance Armstrong doesn’t agree to star in the series, I think we, as the American people, have the right to requisition him for a few years to destroy his body. All in the name of human spirit and perseverance, of course – to show what it is we’re all capable of if we put our hearts and minds into everything we do 100%. We all deserve it.

Well, that was boring

July 11, 2005

“You’re coming with us,” shouts my father, his finger pointed in my face.
“No, I’ll be ok here. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. ‘Stay away from windows,’ all of that stuff.”
“We don’t have time for this! Pack your things, your mother and I are going. Do you think this is a game? It’s a category 4.”
He seems very serious about the whole category business.
“No, it’s not a game. I just, I’m not…you know.”
“You’re not what, Ryan?”
I can’t believe he’s using my middle name. This hasn’t happened since I was 15.
“I’m not that concerned, really.”
“Then you’re a stupidass motherfucker! I’m not putting up with your shit. When I get back you’re out of this house. Find a place to go. You’re gone.”
“Jesus… Well, ok. That might take me a little while though.”
I ponder joining the Marines. Nah, that’s no good. It’s 7am and I’ve had 5 hours of sleep. I turn around to watch the woman on the TV continue her broadcast.
“Hurricane Dennis is gaining strength and is now headed north at 16 miles an hour. Gulf Power is now estimating up to 3 weeks of power outages.”
“Hey, dad. Hold on a sec. I think I’ll come.”

And so I didn’t sit through Dennis with my Millers, I got to sit through 7 mind numbing hours of boredom with my mother verbalizing her worries about their new fence and the cat wailing continuously, all the way up to Tennessee. I wasn’t willing to go through 3 weeks of possible power outage because of our half assed power company, so I figured I’d tag along.


My father got a speeding ticket on the way up, which had me laughing my ass off. As he descended a peak in the road, he saw a state trooper and tried to slow down. All in vain. He was caught and he knew it. The shark’s lights started shining and he pounced on us like he had just met his quota. My father sort of slumped in his seat, dejected. Great stuff. In Tennessee, 18 miles over the speed limit translates to $211, if you’re curious. It must be why the roads there are so nice. I did get to hang out with my sister and brother in law while I was up there, so I’m happy about that. But everything still seems a little ridiculous to me. I can’t stand the panic these hurricanes generate. On the way back, the roads were filled with Alabamans and Floridians headed home, causing massive traffic jams.

If you’ve got beach front property, or if you’re even a couple miles from the beach, I can understand it. But for those of us 35-50+ miles away from landfall: are you going to spend the rest of your lives running every time a severe storm heads your way? Just because there’s something big and colorful on the radar screen doesn’t mean it’s going to destroy your house and eat your children. Get a fucking grip. When you evacuate somewhere else and the storm heads north after you, spawning tornados, are you going to flee further north or grow some balls and head back to your homes? Tough one, ain’t it?

The power here didn’t go out. There’s no visible damage that I’ve seen in Crestview, so I don’t get to take any pictures. Oh, wait. There was that motel. The same motel which I took a picture of after Ivan ravaged the city seems to have had its roof torn off again, and 100 people were evacuated. CNN actually covered it and took some footage, which only goes to show that they were grasping for anything they could get their hands on. The roof is practically tin. That’s what it does. It collapses. It’s Super fucking 8 motel. Apparently there weren’t enough broken tree limbs to go around for CNN and MSNBC. Anyway, I’m willing to bet that will be the first and the last time Crestview gets its name spoken on a national broadcast of any kind – and that’s the way it should be. Ah, and here’s something funny that I can’t wait to investigate: it took the sorry bastards of this town 10 months to put up a new McDonald’s sign after Ivan passed, and then Dennis came to screw with them again. I’ll report back if I find anything half interesting.

Hurry up, already

July 10, 2005

For whatever reason, I assumed Dennis would be hitting tonight. So I waited and waited for the power to flicker so I could open my cans of Miller and guzzle, but it didn’t happen. Then I checked and it said it would hit Sunday in the pm. That was sort of a let down. Mostly because I realized I was so far removed from reality that I probably do not have a chance of ever being entered back into it again. As 2 am neared and Tommy Boy was coming to an end on my TV, I figured I would shotgun a beer for the hell of it and then head to bed, and so I cut a hole into the can and beer shot all over me and hit my ceiling fan. And that’s when I realized I was a fucking idiot. The whole shotgunning thing is relatively new to me, probably beause I’m still somewhat civilized (eat shit, Michael).

Next time, I guess I’ll just “drink really fast,” the safer and more sound alternative to shotgunning. I’m going to go clean the beer off of myself and watch Tour de France re-runs now.

And does he blow hard – 150 miles per hour. People are going even crazier over this one than the last. The interstates are closed up in Alabama (which really doesn’t make any sense – when the hurricane gets up there it’s going to be another storm and nothing more) and people are going nutty once again over gas, batteries, and just about anything they can get their hands on down here in Florida.

Myself, I bought a pound of Hershey’s chocolate and an 18 pack of High Life for $10. Not a bad deal. I should be set for the hurricane. I think once again I’ll probably stick around unless I have no other choice. Figure I’ll be just as bored here as anywhere else. Might as well read a book and get drunk in the peace of my own home. That is, unless tornados are spun off of Monsieur Dennis and into Crestview. In that case, I’ll die, full of chocolate and beer. I’m not sure I give a damn either way.


Everything at Wal-Mart was picked over. There’s no gas left at many stations. Most fast food places are closed. Arby’s had two managers working at it. It took 15 minutes to get the food, which sucked. Apparently their excuse for crap service is that a hurricane might hit this area in two days. I like that logic. It means you can do anything you want. In this particular case, they decided to abandon all stores and/or make shitty food. The apocalypse is coming! The sky is falling! But very, very…slowwwwly! So rape and pillage to your delight!

I am now a firm believer that our only hope to stop Dennis and the madness he is causing is to collect more D batteries and stale curly fries. Indeed, there’s no doubt that if he could see what he was actually hitting… he would turn right the fuck around. This is perfect time for a hurricane though, because as I’ve mentioned, my iRiver is completely dead. Which is going to make me want to commit suicide should the power go out, regardless.
We’ll see what happens…

I made a journey to my former homeland in Tennessee to visit my friends and experience an Independence Day weekend the way all Americans should: shooting guns, watching fireworks, and yelling FUBAR-ish “OOOOOOOOOWWWWW!”s while speeding past other boats on the local lake, all while ingesting massive amounts of beer. I had fun, guys.

For more pics of our American adventure: click here
Note to the random guy in the lake who was doing Max-X worthy back flips off of a rope: your picture is here