Orson Welles drunk
My favorite part is either the mumbling or the fingering of the bottle during the third take.
I will never forget.
{Author's Note: The names have been changed in this article.}
I walked out of my house on Saturday morning, preparing to mow the lawn. It was going to rain later and I wanted to get it out of the way. I stuffed my iPod in my front pocket and adjusted the ear buds. I could not help but notice the thirteen year old neighbor girl walking up our driveway with a cordless phone in her hand. She looked panicked, but was polite.
“Henry fell down and my mom needs your help.”
Henry lives across the street from me. He’s an older dude and very nice. He and his wife June are always interested in our kids. Our conversations always start with us yelling across the street, but I usually walk over and we chit chat for a minute or two. Nothing heavy. Lawn. Sidewalk maintenance. Gutters.
I ran across the street and through the front door. Mary was on Henry's stairs. She is the mom of the thirteen year old. She said, “Henry’s in the bathroom. I can’t move him.”
In the background, I hear Henry’s wife loudly crying and praying.
My heart is racing and I leap up the stairs. I had been in Henry’s house, but never upstairs. I expect to see a guy with a broken hip.
He was wearing shorts and sock and shoes, sprawled out on the bathroom floor, oddly twisted with his arms under him. No shirt. When I saw him earlier, I was going to poke fun of him mowing the lawn without his shirt on. It had been very hot that morning.
Mary said again, “I can’t move him" and then "I don’t think he’s breathing.”
I stand over him and reach under his arms and pull him up and over. Over and on to his back. He is heavy. His face is purple. There is blood and mucus on his face and the floor.
I realize that Mary is on the phone and she has been the whole time. She’s speaking to a 911 operator. She asks me, “Do you know CPR?”
I haven’t trained in CPR since the ninth grade. But I watch TV. “Not really. Kinda. I can try.”
I reach up and grab a hand towel off the wall. It is yellow. I wipe the blood and mucus from around his open, slack mouth. His face is very purple. I open his mouth and angle mine to his. I breathe into his mouth.
Blood and mucus shoot out of his nose and over the side of my face. I forgot to pinch his nose shut.
“Do I pinch his nose shut?”
“Yes.”
I pinch and breathe again. His chest rises and when I pull back, my air come back out his mouth, gurgling. I breathe in again and gag. I almost throw up. It is a reflex and I can’t control it. I adjust my stance and move to pump his heart.
I place my hands on his chest over his heart and push down. I break his ribs. They are bending and cracking under my hands. I can feel them shifting as I compress his chest. But I have to keep pushing. I actually start to count like it matters.
Two. Three. Four. Five.
I switch to breathing in his mouth. Mary reminds me to sweep his mouth. I turn his head and clear out mucus and blood and what might have been some vomit. I align my mouth to his. My teeth and his teeth click together. A feeling cannot forget. His chest rises and sags with my breaths. I ask Mary what ratio of breaths to compressions. I do not hear what she says.
I compress his chest again. The grating of his ribs together is less repugnant. I am getting used to this. I am getting very tired. I expect him to start breathing on his own. He does not.
This goes on for less than five minutes.
I hear the front door. Someone runs up the stairs.
The medic calmly says, “Let’s bring him in the hallway.”
We lift his body and carry it. He’s much lighter when lifted by two.
The tech determines that the hallway is too small and we pick him up again and carry him to the bedroom as four or five other paramedics rush into the house.
They are in control.
I walk out of their bedroom and walk down the stairs and across the street. I am mostly holding back the sobbing. I walk into my house and wash my mouth and face in the kitchen sink, trying not to let Greg see me so upset. Our hand towel is white with green stripes.
Later, the lead paramedic stopped by our house and had very kind words. He thanked me for helping and said that there was nothing we could do. He took down my name for his report.
Henry died of a massive heart attack. He was 67.
I had a beer with Erik tonight. My bottle hit my teeth as I was taking a drink. I will never forget.
I walked out of my house on Saturday morning, preparing to mow the lawn. It was going to rain later and I wanted to get it out of the way. I stuffed my iPod in my front pocket and adjusted the ear buds. I could not help but notice the thirteen year old neighbor girl walking up our driveway with a cordless phone in her hand. She looked panicked, but was polite.
“Henry fell down and my mom needs your help.”
Henry lives across the street from me. He’s an older dude and very nice. He and his wife June are always interested in our kids. Our conversations always start with us yelling across the street, but I usually walk over and we chit chat for a minute or two. Nothing heavy. Lawn. Sidewalk maintenance. Gutters.
I ran across the street and through the front door. Mary was on Henry's stairs. She is the mom of the thirteen year old. She said, “Henry’s in the bathroom. I can’t move him.”
In the background, I hear Henry’s wife loudly crying and praying.
My heart is racing and I leap up the stairs. I had been in Henry’s house, but never upstairs. I expect to see a guy with a broken hip.
He was wearing shorts and sock and shoes, sprawled out on the bathroom floor, oddly twisted with his arms under him. No shirt. When I saw him earlier, I was going to poke fun of him mowing the lawn without his shirt on. It had been very hot that morning.
Mary said again, “I can’t move him" and then "I don’t think he’s breathing.”
I stand over him and reach under his arms and pull him up and over. Over and on to his back. He is heavy. His face is purple. There is blood and mucus on his face and the floor.
I realize that Mary is on the phone and she has been the whole time. She’s speaking to a 911 operator. She asks me, “Do you know CPR?”
I haven’t trained in CPR since the ninth grade. But I watch TV. “Not really. Kinda. I can try.”
I reach up and grab a hand towel off the wall. It is yellow. I wipe the blood and mucus from around his open, slack mouth. His face is very purple. I open his mouth and angle mine to his. I breathe into his mouth.
Blood and mucus shoot out of his nose and over the side of my face. I forgot to pinch his nose shut.
“Do I pinch his nose shut?”
“Yes.”
I pinch and breathe again. His chest rises and when I pull back, my air come back out his mouth, gurgling. I breathe in again and gag. I almost throw up. It is a reflex and I can’t control it. I adjust my stance and move to pump his heart.
I place my hands on his chest over his heart and push down. I break his ribs. They are bending and cracking under my hands. I can feel them shifting as I compress his chest. But I have to keep pushing. I actually start to count like it matters.
Two. Three. Four. Five.
I switch to breathing in his mouth. Mary reminds me to sweep his mouth. I turn his head and clear out mucus and blood and what might have been some vomit. I align my mouth to his. My teeth and his teeth click together. A feeling cannot forget. His chest rises and sags with my breaths. I ask Mary what ratio of breaths to compressions. I do not hear what she says.
I compress his chest again. The grating of his ribs together is less repugnant. I am getting used to this. I am getting very tired. I expect him to start breathing on his own. He does not.
This goes on for less than five minutes.
I hear the front door. Someone runs up the stairs.
The medic calmly says, “Let’s bring him in the hallway.”
We lift his body and carry it. He’s much lighter when lifted by two.
The tech determines that the hallway is too small and we pick him up again and carry him to the bedroom as four or five other paramedics rush into the house.
They are in control.
I walk out of their bedroom and walk down the stairs and across the street. I am mostly holding back the sobbing. I walk into my house and wash my mouth and face in the kitchen sink, trying not to let Greg see me so upset. Our hand towel is white with green stripes.
Later, the lead paramedic stopped by our house and had very kind words. He thanked me for helping and said that there was nothing we could do. He took down my name for his report.
Henry died of a massive heart attack. He was 67.
I had a beer with Erik tonight. My bottle hit my teeth as I was taking a drink. I will never forget.
Wheelchair bound Jehovah’s Witness demands all homes meet ADA standards.
(Source)
(WCL) COLUMBUS- Charles Handsy is no ordinary 22 year old college graduate. He’s battled a lifelong, debilitating disease that has kept him bound to a wheelchair. Now he seeks to overcome Satan by ensuring that every home is equipped with ramps so that he can ring your doorbell and offer each and every homeowner the possibilities of “The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures” and the “Watchtower” magazine.
“It is only fair that I be allowed to spread His word to every home. People with two good legs come to your house to sell magazines and cookies. I want the opportunity to bring something with more substance and less calories.”
Mr. Handsy has been a Jehovah’s Witness for the past eight years. He started his door to door crusade in the summer of 2002 and has since become discouraged at the lack of accessibility.
“At first it wasn’t so bad when I had other Brothers and Sister with me that could reach the door. We used walkie talkies to share His word and if the door was really far away from the street, cell phones.”
And it seems like Mr. Handsy has got the ACLU on his side. In July of 2009, the ACLU released this completely unrelated message concerning free speech in Ohio. Part of this Press Release is as follows:
“The principles of the First Amendment are indivisible. In a nation of laws, the rights established necessarily apply to all. Extend those rights to one group and they protect all groups; deny them to one group, and all groups suffer. We cannot remain faithful to the First Amendment by turning our backs when it is put to its severest test. “
When questioned Mr. Handsy about the cost of making every home accessible to wheelchairs he quickly changed subjects and said, “You wouldn’t believe how many homes don’t have ramps going up to them! Surely Satan has designed these homes to keep me away from spreading God’s word.”
We failed on several attempts to contact the ADA-Ohio, mainly because we did not call nor did we e-mail the non-for-profit group on this completely fictional story.
Our analysts have determined that the cost of adding ramps to the average American household will be $2,500. Stainless steel and platinum ramps could cost homeowners as much as $145,000.
Mr. Handsy shrugged off the costs, "Give unto Cesar what is Cesar's, give unto God what is God's” though later he admitted, “I do buy the occasional box of Girl Scout cookies.”
Brother Handsy can be contacted at Charles.Handsy@gmail.com.
(WCL) COLUMBUS- Charles Handsy is no ordinary 22 year old college graduate. He’s battled a lifelong, debilitating disease that has kept him bound to a wheelchair. Now he seeks to overcome Satan by ensuring that every home is equipped with ramps so that he can ring your doorbell and offer each and every homeowner the possibilities of “The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures” and the “Watchtower” magazine.
“It is only fair that I be allowed to spread His word to every home. People with two good legs come to your house to sell magazines and cookies. I want the opportunity to bring something with more substance and less calories.”
Mr. Handsy has been a Jehovah’s Witness for the past eight years. He started his door to door crusade in the summer of 2002 and has since become discouraged at the lack of accessibility.
“At first it wasn’t so bad when I had other Brothers and Sister with me that could reach the door. We used walkie talkies to share His word and if the door was really far away from the street, cell phones.”
And it seems like Mr. Handsy has got the ACLU on his side. In July of 2009, the ACLU released this completely unrelated message concerning free speech in Ohio. Part of this Press Release is as follows:
“The principles of the First Amendment are indivisible. In a nation of laws, the rights established necessarily apply to all. Extend those rights to one group and they protect all groups; deny them to one group, and all groups suffer. We cannot remain faithful to the First Amendment by turning our backs when it is put to its severest test. “
When questioned Mr. Handsy about the cost of making every home accessible to wheelchairs he quickly changed subjects and said, “You wouldn’t believe how many homes don’t have ramps going up to them! Surely Satan has designed these homes to keep me away from spreading God’s word.”
We failed on several attempts to contact the ADA-Ohio, mainly because we did not call nor did we e-mail the non-for-profit group on this completely fictional story.
Our analysts have determined that the cost of adding ramps to the average American household will be $2,500. Stainless steel and platinum ramps could cost homeowners as much as $145,000.
Mr. Handsy shrugged off the costs, "Give unto Cesar what is Cesar's, give unto God what is God's” though later he admitted, “I do buy the occasional box of Girl Scout cookies.”
Brother Handsy can be contacted at Charles.Handsy@gmail.com.
Word(s) of the Day (Part 2 or The Last Page)
A few months ago, I posted the Word(s) of the Day list. Here is part 2. Notice the last word which basically means this is also will be the last page of the list.
WWBD is What Would Brad Do
servotage is defined as what IT guys do to your server so that they can come in and fix it for a nominal fee
I put "redacted" in quotes so that you wouldn't think the word had been crossed out. The word is redacted. The word is not redacted. Get it?
WWBD is What Would Brad Do
servotage is defined as what IT guys do to your server so that they can come in and fix it for a nominal fee
I put "redacted" in quotes so that you wouldn't think the word had been crossed out. The word is redacted. The word is not redacted. Get it?
Damn it
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
I got laid off.
Damn it.
It's for the best. Damn it. Damn it.
Now the fun begins!!
I got laid off.
Damn it.
It's for the best. Damn it. Damn it.
Now the fun begins!!
D comes before E
Erik moved to within 1.2 miles of my home. Tonight, I helped him move a last few items into his new house and then he and I went in search of a neighborhood bar.
I’ve been in the neighborhood about a year, but no neighbor wants to drink with me. Many people were drawn to Westerville due to its dry status and so many of my neighbors are not into neighborhood bars. I have been barless and must travel tens of miles to grab drinks with friends. Now that Erik is close by, that is all going to change.
Well, no it’s not. The only thing that is going to change is that Erik and I will both have an untouchable bar that is that much closer. We won’t go out more, we’ll just not be going out closer to home more.
But we do like to kid ourselves and our wives like to let us pretend that we can tell them whatever we want, so we were both allowed to go check out a local establishment.
It sucked. Bad, loud music. Horrible atmosphere. No Golden Tee.
Three beers and a free shot later, it wasn’t so bad.
The bartender had asked us what we were doing and I said that Erik was new to the area and we were interviewing bars. She said, “What do you mean?” And I calmly replied, “Where do you see this bar in five years.” Well, she didn’t get the joke (no one has so far) and she thought I was asking her where she was going to be in five years. She immediately thought that I cared for more than her ass crack sticking out of her too small jeans and took a liking to us. She asked for our names and we did not lie.
Fifteen minutes (and that free shot) later, we shuffled out the door with promises to return. She said, “I’ll remember your names because D comes before E.”
D comes before E. For the next five years Erik and I will be debating why D coming before E is better and or worse for the other person. We laughed the entire .9 miles back to his house.
We found our bar.
I’ve been in the neighborhood about a year, but no neighbor wants to drink with me. Many people were drawn to Westerville due to its dry status and so many of my neighbors are not into neighborhood bars. I have been barless and must travel tens of miles to grab drinks with friends. Now that Erik is close by, that is all going to change.
Well, no it’s not. The only thing that is going to change is that Erik and I will both have an untouchable bar that is that much closer. We won’t go out more, we’ll just not be going out closer to home more.
But we do like to kid ourselves and our wives like to let us pretend that we can tell them whatever we want, so we were both allowed to go check out a local establishment.
It sucked. Bad, loud music. Horrible atmosphere. No Golden Tee.
Three beers and a free shot later, it wasn’t so bad.
The bartender had asked us what we were doing and I said that Erik was new to the area and we were interviewing bars. She said, “What do you mean?” And I calmly replied, “Where do you see this bar in five years.” Well, she didn’t get the joke (no one has so far) and she thought I was asking her where she was going to be in five years. She immediately thought that I cared for more than her ass crack sticking out of her too small jeans and took a liking to us. She asked for our names and we did not lie.
Fifteen minutes (and that free shot) later, we shuffled out the door with promises to return. She said, “I’ll remember your names because D comes before E.”
D comes before E. For the next five years Erik and I will be debating why D coming before E is better and or worse for the other person. We laughed the entire .9 miles back to his house.
We found our bar.
Spelling (Update 1)
A few months ago I posted a Spelling List of words that my guys in the field (and I) spelled horribly wrong in e-mails and reports. A smattering of those might have been typos, but a majority were just blatent misspellings.
Six months later, we have an update to that list. Here is page two:
My favorite is either stike or chash.
Six months later, we have an update to that list. Here is page two:
My favorite is either stike or chash.
The made-up word story
Thanks to everyone who contributed to the Cratousum story. It turned out a bit dark as I have been listening to Margot non stop. See if you can find the words that are made up and the ones that are just horrifically misspelled.
Love without Definition
It was raining. Again. If this were a movie, you’d see the shadows of the rain on the windshield crossing my face. I turned the wipers on and the only good they did was to rhythmatically kick "The Girl from Ipanema" song that was dittyitising around in my skull. Now all I heard was the first stanza of “The Stroke” repeating over and over. The day was not going to get better. Thanks Billy Squire.
I drove off into the morning darkness. Though the sun was dragging itself up, it was getting darker. I reached up to the dash and put my hand on my kickidoe mounted next to the broken compass. It was a “Buddy Jesus” I bought after a murksom night of cable television. Glame, I know, but he always seemed to give me a sense of…
Shit
I slid sideways in the roadway as the breaks decided to work and then didn’t and then did. The car jumped and kicked itself straight.
Shit.
The 45MPH traffic had slowed to a crawl as some plippethead snailobily decided that 13 MPH would keep them from wrecking in the downpour. In trying to maintain safety, the goody two shoes almost caused a neekabaum. With the sudden stop and instant panic, I was about to have a neekabaum in my pants. I pulled into the berm and drove past 14 cars who only had time to honk once I passed them. I pulled into Jack and Jacks and smontelorped across the parking lot. The woman coming out of the front door decoded my walk and held the door for me.
In the bathroom, I barely got my pants down and speelisher on the toilet seat before I let loose with a rage that only a victim of Crone’s disease that had been pharmaphlarneffed 1500ml of prune juice extract would be able to withstand. My chest burned white hot. Sweat mixed with the rain on my face and I realized that I had left my inhaler at Jesse’s house in her kitcheneteria next to the half cup of coffee. The walls of the stall started closing in and I felt zoofloged and helpless.
I was fading. And I felt Jesse’s presence from the night before, her hair swuuuping across my legs. She was humming to herself.
The manager who called 911 later told me that he puked from the smell when he came into the bathroom and found me half in the stall and half on the floor. He told the paramedics it must have been mine. I can live with that.
Love without Definition
It was raining. Again. If this were a movie, you’d see the shadows of the rain on the windshield crossing my face. I turned the wipers on and the only good they did was to rhythmatically kick "The Girl from Ipanema" song that was dittyitising around in my skull. Now all I heard was the first stanza of “The Stroke” repeating over and over. The day was not going to get better. Thanks Billy Squire.
I drove off into the morning darkness. Though the sun was dragging itself up, it was getting darker. I reached up to the dash and put my hand on my kickidoe mounted next to the broken compass. It was a “Buddy Jesus” I bought after a murksom night of cable television. Glame, I know, but he always seemed to give me a sense of…
Shit
I slid sideways in the roadway as the breaks decided to work and then didn’t and then did. The car jumped and kicked itself straight.
Shit.
The 45MPH traffic had slowed to a crawl as some plippethead snailobily decided that 13 MPH would keep them from wrecking in the downpour. In trying to maintain safety, the goody two shoes almost caused a neekabaum. With the sudden stop and instant panic, I was about to have a neekabaum in my pants. I pulled into the berm and drove past 14 cars who only had time to honk once I passed them. I pulled into Jack and Jacks and smontelorped across the parking lot. The woman coming out of the front door decoded my walk and held the door for me.
In the bathroom, I barely got my pants down and speelisher on the toilet seat before I let loose with a rage that only a victim of Crone’s disease that had been pharmaphlarneffed 1500ml of prune juice extract would be able to withstand. My chest burned white hot. Sweat mixed with the rain on my face and I realized that I had left my inhaler at Jesse’s house in her kitcheneteria next to the half cup of coffee. The walls of the stall started closing in and I felt zoofloged and helpless.
I was fading. And I felt Jesse’s presence from the night before, her hair swuuuping across my legs. She was humming to herself.
The manager who called 911 later told me that he puked from the smell when he came into the bathroom and found me half in the stall and half on the floor. He told the paramedics it must have been mine. I can live with that.
WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ
I had a wonderful idea just the other day. It solves many problems and creates wealth, which we all know and love.
I’m sure most of us agree that we have fucked up Iraq and that there is really nothing we can do to fix it without continued blood shed on both sides. We can’t pull out because the minorities will be slaughtered and while that would have been easier to stand years ago, now with the slaughter happening LIVE on CNN, it makes it harder to ignore.
My plan is simple and genius.
Let’s carve out a chunk of the United States and give it to anyone in Iraq who wants to leave. Here is my 8 step plan.
1. ADVERTISE
Posters (as a bonus, bulletproof posters) will line the streets, telling Iraqis of a better life over the ocean. All they need to do is pack two bags each and prepare to leave on July 4th.
2. PREPARE THE LAND
Choose about 400 sq miles of hurricane devastated land in the United States and kick off the squatters. Set up temporary housing that was never used after Katrina. Build a wall around it. Erect the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign. Dust off hands.
3. LOAD THE CARGO CONTAINERS
Iraqis will be loaded on to cargo containers and shipped to the states. As a bonus, video screens will simulate a porthole view of a ship passing by the statue of liberty. The video will repeat every 10 minutes.
4. PULL OUT OF IRAQ
Anyone left behind can deal with it.
5. LAND HO!
Dump off the Iraqis and hand them shovels and brooms to begin the clean-up. They will fill the now empty cargo containers with trash and the bodies of the people that didn’t handle the trip so well.
6. CLEAN AND BUILD
The Iraqis will be provided with food and shelter. They will be provided building materials and help to construct cities. Coincidentally, the cities will be near gas refineries and bio diesel plants that are also under construction.
7. PROFIT!
The Iraqis will build cities where they will live and work in harmony. Cheap labor will provide Americans with goods. As the older and bitter Iraqis die off from working in the refineries, the younger folks will be Americanized through the free MTV2 pumped into their homes. In twenty years, we can tear down the wall.
8. REPEAT?
Oh shit? During this time we went to war with Iran? Crap… OK, play old tapes of the Iraq/Iran war and use the young Iraqis as cannon fodder. Once New Iraq is empty, fill it with Iranians and change the last letter on the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign.
I’m sure most of us agree that we have fucked up Iraq and that there is really nothing we can do to fix it without continued blood shed on both sides. We can’t pull out because the minorities will be slaughtered and while that would have been easier to stand years ago, now with the slaughter happening LIVE on CNN, it makes it harder to ignore.
My plan is simple and genius.
Let’s carve out a chunk of the United States and give it to anyone in Iraq who wants to leave. Here is my 8 step plan.
1. ADVERTISE
Posters (as a bonus, bulletproof posters) will line the streets, telling Iraqis of a better life over the ocean. All they need to do is pack two bags each and prepare to leave on July 4th.
2. PREPARE THE LAND
Choose about 400 sq miles of hurricane devastated land in the United States and kick off the squatters. Set up temporary housing that was never used after Katrina. Build a wall around it. Erect the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign. Dust off hands.
3. LOAD THE CARGO CONTAINERS
Iraqis will be loaded on to cargo containers and shipped to the states. As a bonus, video screens will simulate a porthole view of a ship passing by the statue of liberty. The video will repeat every 10 minutes.
4. PULL OUT OF IRAQ
Anyone left behind can deal with it.
5. LAND HO!
Dump off the Iraqis and hand them shovels and brooms to begin the clean-up. They will fill the now empty cargo containers with trash and the bodies of the people that didn’t handle the trip so well.
6. CLEAN AND BUILD
The Iraqis will be provided with food and shelter. They will be provided building materials and help to construct cities. Coincidentally, the cities will be near gas refineries and bio diesel plants that are also under construction.
7. PROFIT!
The Iraqis will build cities where they will live and work in harmony. Cheap labor will provide Americans with goods. As the older and bitter Iraqis die off from working in the refineries, the younger folks will be Americanized through the free MTV2 pumped into their homes. In twenty years, we can tear down the wall.
8. REPEAT?
Oh shit? During this time we went to war with Iran? Crap… OK, play old tapes of the Iraq/Iran war and use the young Iraqis as cannon fodder. Once New Iraq is empty, fill it with Iranians and change the last letter on the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign.
Darwin Robinette
Darwin Lee Robinette, 82, a longtime Rushville resident, died at 6:30 a.m. Thursday, May 10, 2007, at his home.
Darwin was the son of the late Orville and Gladys (Roebuck) Robinette.
He served in the U.S. Army during World War II and graduated from The Ohio State University with a bachelor's degree in aeronautical engineering.
He was recruited by North American Aviation as a flight test engineer working on the Vigilante, OV10A Bronco and the B1 Bomber.
Darwin was very involved with the Boy Scouts of America and was Troop Master of Troop 278 for 10 years.
He and his wife, Thelma, were the owners and operators of the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream Store in Lancaster for 30 years.
Surviving are his wife of 59 years, Thelma (Bliss) Robinette; three sons, Michael, Paul and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; three daughters, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy and Jill (Kelly) Adams; 14 grandchildren; four great-grandchildren; a brother, Nolan Robinette; and a sister, Margaret (Richard) Hamilton.
In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his brother, Howard Dale Robinette.
A celebration of life will be from 3 to 5 p.m. Saturday at the residence of Jill and Kelly Adams, 758 Schadel Drive N.W., Lancaster, OH 43130.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Alzheimer's Research in honor of Darwin Robinette, The Ohio State Medical Center of Develop-Ment, Fund 305835, P.O. Box 183112, Columbus, OH 43218-3112.
The family would like to express their heartfelt thanks to the AlternaCare and FairHoPe Hospice and Palliative Care, Inc. of Lancaster.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is in charge of arrangements.
{Author's note: I worked at Baskin Robbins in Lancaster, OH in 1988 through 1991. Darwin (“D”) and his wife Thelma (“T”) were the owners of the store. Because I was 17 and didn’t know any better, I just thought he was just an old guy.
Looking back, I remember a very kind man with a terrific sense of humor. He was very patient with his hormone infused staff. He’d raise his voice when we did stupid stuff, but most the time he’d just roll his eyes.
One of Darwin's well known sayings was, "You've got time to lean, you've time to clean.}
Darwin was the son of the late Orville and Gladys (Roebuck) Robinette.
He served in the U.S. Army during World War II and graduated from The Ohio State University with a bachelor's degree in aeronautical engineering.
He was recruited by North American Aviation as a flight test engineer working on the Vigilante, OV10A Bronco and the B1 Bomber.
Darwin was very involved with the Boy Scouts of America and was Troop Master of Troop 278 for 10 years.
He and his wife, Thelma, were the owners and operators of the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream Store in Lancaster for 30 years.
Surviving are his wife of 59 years, Thelma (Bliss) Robinette; three sons, Michael, Paul and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; three daughters, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy and Jill (Kelly) Adams; 14 grandchildren; four great-grandchildren; a brother, Nolan Robinette; and a sister, Margaret (Richard) Hamilton.
In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his brother, Howard Dale Robinette.
A celebration of life will be from 3 to 5 p.m. Saturday at the residence of Jill and Kelly Adams, 758 Schadel Drive N.W., Lancaster, OH 43130.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Alzheimer's Research in honor of Darwin Robinette, The Ohio State Medical Center of Develop-Ment, Fund 305835, P.O. Box 183112, Columbus, OH 43218-3112.
The family would like to express their heartfelt thanks to the AlternaCare and FairHoPe Hospice and Palliative Care, Inc. of Lancaster.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is in charge of arrangements.
{Author's note: I worked at Baskin Robbins in Lancaster, OH in 1988 through 1991. Darwin (“D”) and his wife Thelma (“T”) were the owners of the store. Because I was 17 and didn’t know any better, I just thought he was just an old guy.
Looking back, I remember a very kind man with a terrific sense of humor. He was very patient with his hormone infused staff. He’d raise his voice when we did stupid stuff, but most the time he’d just roll his eyes.
One of Darwin's well known sayings was, "You've got time to lean, you've time to clean.}
Honesty is the best policy except that I’m lying
I went to MegaRed and Mike’s Cinco de Mayo party on Saturday. They are awesome hosts and always throw a good party. You can see the photos HERE.
The next day, my wife and I were flipping through the photos. I was pointing out the different people and that we were playing flip cup in the basement and which girls I thought were cute. She was somewhat interested. Then we came to this photo:
And I said, “…and this was the girl I was flirting with.”
Oh boy.
See, my definition of flirting is that I was talking directly to this one (female) person and was making an effort to get her to laugh. I wasn’t attempting to get her in the sack or anything of the sort. We were just standing next to each other during the flip cup game. I was just looking for attention from a very attractive, fun girl. Harmless. Right?
Oh boy.
Miss Sally gave me a look that caused my testes to slide back up into lower intestine and quietly build a nest. I think she said, “Oh? That’s just great.” And she walked off. Her feet left scorch marks in the Pergo.
So now I have two choices:
1. Quit flirting
2. Quit flirting
I think I’m going to have to go with number two.
Let this be a lesson to all you men!!
{Please note: #2 is actually “Quit telling Sally all the truth.” She stops reading after about the 200th word. It’s not like I’m lying. It’s just to protect her from the awful truth that flirting is the only thing I do well.}
{Please note again: I told this story to my co-workers and pleaded my case that I was just flirting harmlessly. Beth walked over and slapped me in the head. I guess the sentiment is Universal.}
The next day, my wife and I were flipping through the photos. I was pointing out the different people and that we were playing flip cup in the basement and which girls I thought were cute. She was somewhat interested. Then we came to this photo:
And I said, “…and this was the girl I was flirting with.”
Oh boy.
See, my definition of flirting is that I was talking directly to this one (female) person and was making an effort to get her to laugh. I wasn’t attempting to get her in the sack or anything of the sort. We were just standing next to each other during the flip cup game. I was just looking for attention from a very attractive, fun girl. Harmless. Right?
Oh boy.
Miss Sally gave me a look that caused my testes to slide back up into lower intestine and quietly build a nest. I think she said, “Oh? That’s just great.” And she walked off. Her feet left scorch marks in the Pergo.
So now I have two choices:
1. Quit flirting
2. Quit flirting
I think I’m going to have to go with number two.
Let this be a lesson to all you men!!
{Please note: #2 is actually “Quit telling Sally all the truth.” She stops reading after about the 200th word. It’s not like I’m lying. It’s just to protect her from the awful truth that flirting is the only thing I do well.}
{Please note again: I told this story to my co-workers and pleaded my case that I was just flirting harmlessly. Beth walked over and slapped me in the head. I guess the sentiment is Universal.}
Shrimp Attack! on MySpace
You can now check out full songs of Shrimp Attack! on MySpace.
Click here to go the the Shrimp Attack! MySpace page.
If you are into such things, you can become a friend and spread the word!
cratousum
I have been trying to involve my readers in my life and besides being stalked, I have failed. Or succeeded depending on how you look at it.
Here’s my newest attempt to attain some dialogue between you and me.
I want you to make up a word of between six and twelve letters. My definition of “make up” means that Google cannot come up with for a match for it. It should look and sound like it could be a real word. For example.
Put your word in the comments below. I would like you to then provide a definition for the cratousum. Or leave it blank and I will make one up.
In a week or two, I’ll write up a story with those words.
One of those words is cratousum, which now means “a word that didn’t exist until right now.”
Well? What are you waiting for? Get your speelishers in gear!
Here’s my newest attempt to attain some dialogue between you and me.
I want you to make up a word of between six and twelve letters. My definition of “make up” means that Google cannot come up with for a match for it. It should look and sound like it could be a real word. For example.
Put your word in the comments below. I would like you to then provide a definition for the cratousum. Or leave it blank and I will make one up.
In a week or two, I’ll write up a story with those words.
One of those words is cratousum, which now means “a word that didn’t exist until right now.”
Well? What are you waiting for? Get your speelishers in gear!
The White House plan on how the US can break even in Iraq
(Click to enlarge or move face really close to screen and squint.)
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419 Scammer UPDATE
A few weeks ago I posted a series of e-mails between myself and a 419 Scammer. I said I'd update if he replied. And guess what!!!
My 419 Scammer replied to my last message with what seems to be a last message of his own. My last message to him was:
To: allan grooves
Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:34:14 -0400
Well Allan?
WHERE IS MY MONEY!
I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!
WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!
His reply:
From: allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Sent: Sun 4/15/07 5:50 PM
i think you are so mad and a joker of the century.
I think he finally caught on. I’ll miss you, Allan Grooves. Dick.
My 419 Scammer replied to my last message with what seems to be a last message of his own. My last message to him was:
To: allan grooves
Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:34:14 -0400
Well Allan?
WHERE IS MY MONEY!
I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!
WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!
His reply:
From: allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Sent: Sun 4/15/07 5:50 PM
i think you are so mad and a joker of the century.
I think he finally caught on. I’ll miss you, Allan Grooves. Dick.
Erlina Kim Photography - The Proofs
I must be going through some very odd emotional stage. I feel like a ceiling fan that is missing two blades, turned up on high.
I spent the entire week listening to Shrimp Attack! and Dust of Retreat. I’ve been completely flippant with my boss and with our clients. It’s a case of To The Death Determination mixed in with I Don’t Give A Shit.
Erlina uploaded the proofs from the photo shoot on her Lifestyles website. Click here to see a larger selection of photos. At the bottom of the lifestyles page, click on the number one circle to load our portfolio.
They are amazing. I got all teary at work watching the slideshow of the photos. Spent an hour “during my lunch break” going through all of them.
I only look gay in half the photos and fat in eighty-five percent. There is only so much an artist can do with photoshop.
Once again… if you have any photography needs, give Erlina Kim a call.
I spent the entire week listening to Shrimp Attack! and Dust of Retreat. I’ve been completely flippant with my boss and with our clients. It’s a case of To The Death Determination mixed in with I Don’t Give A Shit.
Erlina uploaded the proofs from the photo shoot on her Lifestyles website. Click here to see a larger selection of photos. At the bottom of the lifestyles page, click on the number one circle to load our portfolio.
They are amazing. I got all teary at work watching the slideshow of the photos. Spent an hour “during my lunch break” going through all of them.
I only look gay in half the photos and fat in eighty-five percent. There is only so much an artist can do with photoshop.
Once again… if you have any photography needs, give Erlina Kim a call.
Shrimp Attack!
I am passionate about few things. And most of those things hover around debauchery and immorality. But the new album, Shrimp Attack! from Stuart Hyatt and the Shrimp Attack Collective has got a firm grip somewhere in my chest, where there still hides a ragged suggestion of a soul. I’m not sure where it’s pulling or pushing, but it feels good.
I marginalize people on a daily basis. It makes life much easier. Push away the unwanted, the mentally disabled and anyone else whom I might have to spend a few extra minutes of my life understanding. Shrimp Attack! nudges my inhumanity and asks for a second chance.
This album isn’t a morality trip. It’s a simple request.
Since I have no talent for such things, here is a description of the album from the Team Records website:
“Shrimp Attack is a fifty-member collective of artists and musicians. The first album, the eponymous Shrimp Attack, is an orchestral pop epic that tells the story of marginalized souls fighting for love and acceptance. The initial limited edition pressing comes packaged in unique hand-made cardboard binders. To coincide with the album's release, the artist collective created an outdoor sculpture installation, designed a clothing line and accessories, and hosted a giant shrimp boil. All proceeds from the initial release helped to fund the programs at Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows artists with developmental disabilities create and exhibit their work.
Shrimp Attack has been re-released by innova recordings, the label of The American Composers Forum. This special limited edition release comes in handmade packages, featuring drawings and text by the member artists of Creative Clay, assembled with ninja tree seeds in a U.S. army canteen pouch used in the Vietnam War era.”
And from innova recordings, the distributor’s website:
“For his second release on innova, Stuart Hyatt has assembled a most unusual group of performers. The new album, Shrimp Attack, chronicles Hyatt’s extended musical collaboration with the member artists of Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows adults with developmental disabilities to create and exhibit their work. These artists have never been recorded before; their heartbreaking lyrics and powerful voices cast a stunning light onto Hyatt’s lo-fi orchestral pop arrangements.
The resulting nine tracks loosely follow an epic wartime narrative. Each song also manages to reflect the engaging spirit of marginalized people finally having their voices heard. On the song Good, Mike, who only says a few words ever (Good…good stuff…big hot dog….yummy), becomes the inspiration for a rousing call and response rock song. On another, March, Mark plays the role of The Shrimp Commander, announcing his plans for domination, but falls into a spiritual stupor. Another song, Ben’s House, features lead vocals by a man who never speaks at all. Hyatt describes the song’s germination: “Ben lives in a mysterious world…but seemed excited to participate…he doesn’t really hear or speak… I put the headphones on and turned the beat up REALLY loud…and Ben began to tap his chest and hum…the result is really beautiful.”
The voices on the album are haunting. The lyrics are sometimes garbled and incoherent, but their meaning is not lost. I found myself digging though the liner notes to make sure I heard what I heard. The music is very enjoyable with both simple instrumentation and complex arrangements. I cannot seem to get this CD out of my player. Or my iTunes. Or my head.
Hyatt has taken on a very complex and difficult issue. And the making of the album, the process, is the answer to that issue. You do not need to give these people a voice, they have one. Give them an opportunity to speak and listen to what they say. They want what we all want. Life. Love. Simple respect.
I cannot promise you that I will go out tomorrow and change the world. I’ll still be the same son of a bitch. But I will see others in a different light. Not with pity or artificial benevolence. Just with simple humanity.
If you have the opportunity, check out the Team Records website and listen to some snippets of the album. If you like what you hear, head over to innova and buy the album. When it wins a Grammy for best packaging, you’ll feel special.
Plus, the album comes with Ninja Tree seeds. No one should be without a Ninja Tree.
I marginalize people on a daily basis. It makes life much easier. Push away the unwanted, the mentally disabled and anyone else whom I might have to spend a few extra minutes of my life understanding. Shrimp Attack! nudges my inhumanity and asks for a second chance.
This album isn’t a morality trip. It’s a simple request.
Since I have no talent for such things, here is a description of the album from the Team Records website:
“Shrimp Attack is a fifty-member collective of artists and musicians. The first album, the eponymous Shrimp Attack, is an orchestral pop epic that tells the story of marginalized souls fighting for love and acceptance. The initial limited edition pressing comes packaged in unique hand-made cardboard binders. To coincide with the album's release, the artist collective created an outdoor sculpture installation, designed a clothing line and accessories, and hosted a giant shrimp boil. All proceeds from the initial release helped to fund the programs at Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows artists with developmental disabilities create and exhibit their work.
Shrimp Attack has been re-released by innova recordings, the label of The American Composers Forum. This special limited edition release comes in handmade packages, featuring drawings and text by the member artists of Creative Clay, assembled with ninja tree seeds in a U.S. army canteen pouch used in the Vietnam War era.”
And from innova recordings, the distributor’s website:
“For his second release on innova, Stuart Hyatt has assembled a most unusual group of performers. The new album, Shrimp Attack, chronicles Hyatt’s extended musical collaboration with the member artists of Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows adults with developmental disabilities to create and exhibit their work. These artists have never been recorded before; their heartbreaking lyrics and powerful voices cast a stunning light onto Hyatt’s lo-fi orchestral pop arrangements.
The resulting nine tracks loosely follow an epic wartime narrative. Each song also manages to reflect the engaging spirit of marginalized people finally having their voices heard. On the song Good, Mike, who only says a few words ever (Good…good stuff…big hot dog….yummy), becomes the inspiration for a rousing call and response rock song. On another, March, Mark plays the role of The Shrimp Commander, announcing his plans for domination, but falls into a spiritual stupor. Another song, Ben’s House, features lead vocals by a man who never speaks at all. Hyatt describes the song’s germination: “Ben lives in a mysterious world…but seemed excited to participate…he doesn’t really hear or speak… I put the headphones on and turned the beat up REALLY loud…and Ben began to tap his chest and hum…the result is really beautiful.”
The voices on the album are haunting. The lyrics are sometimes garbled and incoherent, but their meaning is not lost. I found myself digging though the liner notes to make sure I heard what I heard. The music is very enjoyable with both simple instrumentation and complex arrangements. I cannot seem to get this CD out of my player. Or my iTunes. Or my head.
Hyatt has taken on a very complex and difficult issue. And the making of the album, the process, is the answer to that issue. You do not need to give these people a voice, they have one. Give them an opportunity to speak and listen to what they say. They want what we all want. Life. Love. Simple respect.
I cannot promise you that I will go out tomorrow and change the world. I’ll still be the same son of a bitch. But I will see others in a different light. Not with pity or artificial benevolence. Just with simple humanity.
If you have the opportunity, check out the Team Records website and listen to some snippets of the album. If you like what you hear, head over to innova and buy the album. When it wins a Grammy for best packaging, you’ll feel special.
Plus, the album comes with Ninja Tree seeds. No one should be without a Ninja Tree.
Erlina Kim Photography
Erlina and Young Kim with Erlina Kim Photography came over today to do a family photo shoot. The last time they were over was when Greg was five months old.
If you live in Central Ohio and need some family photography or wedding photography done, I HIGHLY recommend them. Their photos are incredible.
My theory has always been that anyone can take a good photo, given enough time and film. I can take 1,000 photos and of those, 100 would be decent and 2 would be incredible. The problem is that when you have a four year old and a seven month old, you are limited on time.
Erlina and Young are professional and have a brilliant eye for photography. They can capture in a few clicks what would take me hours.
I cannot wait to see the results. What she showed us on the digital screen of her camera looked brilliant. It may have to do with my children’s incredible beauty, but some of it may also be their skill with the camera.
Erlina Kim Photography - Check them out!
If you live in Central Ohio and need some family photography or wedding photography done, I HIGHLY recommend them. Their photos are incredible.
My theory has always been that anyone can take a good photo, given enough time and film. I can take 1,000 photos and of those, 100 would be decent and 2 would be incredible. The problem is that when you have a four year old and a seven month old, you are limited on time.
Erlina and Young are professional and have a brilliant eye for photography. They can capture in a few clicks what would take me hours.
I cannot wait to see the results. What she showed us on the digital screen of her camera looked brilliant. It may have to do with my children’s incredible beauty, but some of it may also be their skill with the camera.
Erlina Kim Photography - Check them out!
Obvious
Kit, John and I went to Ohio University to see Margot and the Nuclear So and So's concert. There are two parts to this story which I will call Part One and Part Two. Part One is titled, “How to Spend Nine Hours with Two Men” and Part Two is titled, “You Can’t Go Home Again, but You Can Drink a Beer There and Pay with a Credit Card.”
How to Spend Nine Hours with Two Men
About two months ago, I made a mark on my calendar at work on April 14th. The mark said, “OU.” Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s were playing a concert at Baker Center in Athens, OH and I was going no matter what. I wanted a friend to come along and of all my lame ass friends, Kit was the only one to step up with a commit. I don’t blame my other friends for not going. Their lives are filled with families and commitments without the luxury to purchase alcohol by the glass in a bar two hours away from Columbus and staying the night in a sex stained hotel room in a town filled with women whose average age is three years over the legal driving limit. Fags.
I reserved a hotel room and I marked the days off on the calendar.
On Thursday the 12th, John said he was enlisting for the trip. This changed everything. John does not drink and thus would drive us down and back again. This would save us from having to get a hotel room because Kit and I planned to get our drink on and would be in no condition to drive.
We left John’s condo at 6:00pm, a full hour after I promised we would. (I just decided I would switch to a copy cat, pseudo “24” version of story telling.)
6:00pm
We leave John’s condo a full hour after I promised we would leave. I was at Carl and Toni’s son’s 1st birthday party and just couldn’t find my way out the door.
6:09pm
We see this car. Someone failed Parking 102 or Driving 210.
7:30pm
We make awesome time and park Uptown.
7:40pm
Kit buys a round of aquariums at the Pub. John gets a glass of Hocking River’s finest.
7:45pm
We ask about food. The kitchen closed at 7:00pm. No Pub Burgers for us.
8:ish
We take photos of ourselves getting absolutely crazy at OU. About this time, John makes the comment that “we really don’t look that old.” We drink more.
8:45pm
We try and head over to Baker Center to check on the place and make sure we know where we are going. After driving around South Green for seven minutes of not knowing where we were going, we stop and I jump out and ask a cop directions. I try to talk out the side of my mouth so that my stinky beer breath. His directions are good and we find the place.
9:00pm
Inside Baker Center we hear music coming out of the coffee house and head in. Two girls are playing music for a crowd of about 20 people. We head out to get something to eat.
9:20pm
We trudge through the rain and order food at what used to be the largest Taco Bell in the world. The upstairs had been a seating area, but someone got wise and turned it into apartments. We ordered and ate.
10:15pm
We trudge again and head back into Baker Center. Another band is finishing up. Margot is scheduled to start at 10:30pm. There is now a crowd of six people and three of them are us. (One of them was a chick with this tattoo.)
This is very disappointing. I apologized to Kit and John. I knew Margot had a bigger following than this.
10:25pm
The next band is setting up and they look nothing like Margot. I ask the sound guy when Margot is coming on. He says that Margot is actually playing the Baker Theatre two floors down.
10:25:10pm
We make haste.
10:27pm
We get into the theatre, just as Margot is stating to play. Read about that HERE.
11:45pm
Awesome show.
(I’ll speed this up.)
12:00pm – 1:15am)
Trudge and head to the CI. Line to get in so go to the Junction. Drink two drinks and go back to CI. See fire trucks. Drink two more drinks. Head home.
3:00am
Wake up in John’s car at John’s condo. Drive home. Sleep.
7:00am
Wake up not in a hotel room and get back to those pesky and beloved commitments.
You Can’t Go Home Again, but You Can Drink a Beer There and Pay with a Credit Card
I should have thought about it ahead of time, but I was so excited to go back to Ohio University that I didn’t remember that I would now be an outsider. It was very surreal because the bars were structurally the same. Same neon signs. Same posters with chicks. Same looking bartenders and guys checking IDs. It should have been obvious.
The four big differences were: smoke, cell phones, credit cards, and I’m old.
Smoke- It is now illegal in Ohio to smoke in public places, bars included. This means that the overwhelming stench of old beer and vomit in the bars is no longer masked by the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke. I think there were still peanut shells on the poster frames in the CI that I stuck there 15 years ago. They should hose those places out in the morning. And at around 10:00pm.
Cell Phones- It was very odd to see people talking on cell phones in Athens’ bars. I got over it quickly, but it was still out of place.
Credit Cards- Yes, there were credit cards when I went to OU, but not many bars accepted them. That night, people were running tabs and buying rounds and rounds of shots and drinks. At the Pub, Kit did not have to leave his ID at the bar when he bought the aquariums because he was running a tab with his credit card.
I’m Old – “Zombie” by the Cranberries came on the jukebox at the Junction and everyone, except us, sang it. They sang it like we sang “Cecelia” when we were in college. I didn’t get it and then I realized that I was out of place. I did not belong there anymore.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to go back to OU with a group of friends from college and get drunk and reminisce. But we could do that anywhere. I can go to a shitty OSU bar here in Columbus and have beer spilled on me by a 19 year old chick with HUGE CLEAVAGE. (That’s another bit that has changed. In 1992, chicks were wearing flannel shirts or turtle necks. Now a days… holy shit! Boobs!)
In the end, it was a fun trip. It was nice to see the OU campus. It was fun to sit on the ledge at the CI and people watch. Kit and John took a piss in the alley that, 14 years ago, I stripped down in to go streaking. But all in all it was fun because of the company, not the location.
And damnit. We didn’t get a burrito from the Burrito Buggy. Guess we’ll have to can’t go home again, home again.
Cecilia - Simon and Garfunkel
Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Come on home
Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia
Up in my bedroom (making love)
I got up to wash my face
When I come back to bed
Someone’s taken my place
Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Come on home
Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I laughing,
Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I laughing
How to Spend Nine Hours with Two Men
About two months ago, I made a mark on my calendar at work on April 14th. The mark said, “OU.” Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s were playing a concert at Baker Center in Athens, OH and I was going no matter what. I wanted a friend to come along and of all my lame ass friends, Kit was the only one to step up with a commit. I don’t blame my other friends for not going. Their lives are filled with families and commitments without the luxury to purchase alcohol by the glass in a bar two hours away from Columbus and staying the night in a sex stained hotel room in a town filled with women whose average age is three years over the legal driving limit. Fags.
I reserved a hotel room and I marked the days off on the calendar.
On Thursday the 12th, John said he was enlisting for the trip. This changed everything. John does not drink and thus would drive us down and back again. This would save us from having to get a hotel room because Kit and I planned to get our drink on and would be in no condition to drive.
We left John’s condo at 6:00pm, a full hour after I promised we would. (I just decided I would switch to a copy cat, pseudo “24” version of story telling.)
6:00pm
We leave John’s condo a full hour after I promised we would leave. I was at Carl and Toni’s son’s 1st birthday party and just couldn’t find my way out the door.
6:09pm
We see this car. Someone failed Parking 102 or Driving 210.
7:30pm
We make awesome time and park Uptown.
7:40pm
Kit buys a round of aquariums at the Pub. John gets a glass of Hocking River’s finest.
7:45pm
We ask about food. The kitchen closed at 7:00pm. No Pub Burgers for us.
8:ish
We take photos of ourselves getting absolutely crazy at OU. About this time, John makes the comment that “we really don’t look that old.” We drink more.
8:45pm
We try and head over to Baker Center to check on the place and make sure we know where we are going. After driving around South Green for seven minutes of not knowing where we were going, we stop and I jump out and ask a cop directions. I try to talk out the side of my mouth so that my stinky beer breath. His directions are good and we find the place.
9:00pm
Inside Baker Center we hear music coming out of the coffee house and head in. Two girls are playing music for a crowd of about 20 people. We head out to get something to eat.
9:20pm
We trudge through the rain and order food at what used to be the largest Taco Bell in the world. The upstairs had been a seating area, but someone got wise and turned it into apartments. We ordered and ate.
10:15pm
We trudge again and head back into Baker Center. Another band is finishing up. Margot is scheduled to start at 10:30pm. There is now a crowd of six people and three of them are us. (One of them was a chick with this tattoo.)
This is very disappointing. I apologized to Kit and John. I knew Margot had a bigger following than this.
10:25pm
The next band is setting up and they look nothing like Margot. I ask the sound guy when Margot is coming on. He says that Margot is actually playing the Baker Theatre two floors down.
10:25:10pm
We make haste.
10:27pm
We get into the theatre, just as Margot is stating to play. Read about that HERE.
11:45pm
Awesome show.
(I’ll speed this up.)
12:00pm – 1:15am)
Trudge and head to the CI. Line to get in so go to the Junction. Drink two drinks and go back to CI. See fire trucks. Drink two more drinks. Head home.
3:00am
Wake up in John’s car at John’s condo. Drive home. Sleep.
7:00am
Wake up not in a hotel room and get back to those pesky and beloved commitments.
You Can’t Go Home Again, but You Can Drink a Beer There and Pay with a Credit Card
I should have thought about it ahead of time, but I was so excited to go back to Ohio University that I didn’t remember that I would now be an outsider. It was very surreal because the bars were structurally the same. Same neon signs. Same posters with chicks. Same looking bartenders and guys checking IDs. It should have been obvious.
The four big differences were: smoke, cell phones, credit cards, and I’m old.
Smoke- It is now illegal in Ohio to smoke in public places, bars included. This means that the overwhelming stench of old beer and vomit in the bars is no longer masked by the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke. I think there were still peanut shells on the poster frames in the CI that I stuck there 15 years ago. They should hose those places out in the morning. And at around 10:00pm.
Cell Phones- It was very odd to see people talking on cell phones in Athens’ bars. I got over it quickly, but it was still out of place.
Credit Cards- Yes, there were credit cards when I went to OU, but not many bars accepted them. That night, people were running tabs and buying rounds and rounds of shots and drinks. At the Pub, Kit did not have to leave his ID at the bar when he bought the aquariums because he was running a tab with his credit card.
I’m Old – “Zombie” by the Cranberries came on the jukebox at the Junction and everyone, except us, sang it. They sang it like we sang “Cecelia” when we were in college. I didn’t get it and then I realized that I was out of place. I did not belong there anymore.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to go back to OU with a group of friends from college and get drunk and reminisce. But we could do that anywhere. I can go to a shitty OSU bar here in Columbus and have beer spilled on me by a 19 year old chick with HUGE CLEAVAGE. (That’s another bit that has changed. In 1992, chicks were wearing flannel shirts or turtle necks. Now a days… holy shit! Boobs!)
In the end, it was a fun trip. It was nice to see the OU campus. It was fun to sit on the ledge at the CI and people watch. Kit and John took a piss in the alley that, 14 years ago, I stripped down in to go streaking. But all in all it was fun because of the company, not the location.
And damnit. We didn’t get a burrito from the Burrito Buggy. Guess we’ll have to can’t go home again, home again.
Cecilia - Simon and Garfunkel
Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Come on home
Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia
Up in my bedroom (making love)
I got up to wash my face
When I come back to bed
Someone’s taken my place
Celia, you’re breaking my heart
You’re shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees
I’m begging you please to come home
Come on home
Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I laughing,
Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I laughing
Hide a Dollar
Would you like to play a game? I call it, Hide a Dollar.
I’ve hidden a dollar in a very accessible place. I wrote www.holyjuan.com on it so that you would know that it is mine. I took a photo so it would be easier to locate.
Now, before I tell you where to look, I would like you to do the same. Take a dollar and write your name or screen name or stage name on it and then write www.holyjuan.com on it and hide it somewhere. Then take a picture of where it is hidden. Send the photo to me atholyjuan@gmail.com along with the general location of where it is at and I will post it for others to find. For example:
A coffee shop in Grandview Heights, OH.
If you find this dollar, let me know. A photo of the dollar would be awesome. A photo of you and the dollar would be awesomer. Bonus: finders keepers!
What are you waiting for?
I’ve hidden a dollar in a very accessible place. I wrote www.holyjuan.com on it so that you would know that it is mine. I took a photo so it would be easier to locate.
Now, before I tell you where to look, I would like you to do the same. Take a dollar and write your name or screen name or stage name on it and then write www.holyjuan.com on it and hide it somewhere. Then take a picture of where it is hidden. Send the photo to me at
A coffee shop in Grandview Heights, OH.
If you find this dollar, let me know. A photo of the dollar would be awesome. A photo of you and the dollar would be awesomer. Bonus: finders keepers!
What are you waiting for?
Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s at Ohio University
{Editor’s Note: This really isn’t a review except to say that Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s is a group worth listening to. The views expressed by HolyJuan are ramblings and incorrect assumptions about people whose full names I had to look up on the internet. I am not a reviewer. I am just a consumer.}
Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s played the Baker Theater on Ohio University’s campus in Athens, Ohio in the Spring of Richard Edward’s 23rd year.
They sounded great. Richard Edwards was a prick. And I loved it.
Lead singer Edwards is dark and funny, kinda like a dyslectic cat’s third suicide note. At the outset of the concert he non-verbally dismissed the crowd and seemingly sang to himself for the first few songs. I don't blame him, the crowd seemed tentative. But, the lackluster crowd fed upon his annoyance and lack of interest and by the fifth song, everyone had come around and the show really started to kick.
Margot played the team favorites from The Dust of Retreat album and a few songs that I didn’t know and must assume are from the new album or from some other shadowy place in Edward’s past.
I tell you, I like this fucker. He’s dark. He digs the Tennenbaums. At one point in the show, he began to diatribe about the new album and that Margot’s music is what it is rather than the bullshit, chamber pop they’ve been painted into a corner with. The group is compared, by some, to Arcade Fire which drew the ire of Edwards. The best line of the night was, “our next album is going to make Arcade Fire look like a bunch of pussies." Brilliant.
They encored four songs and I loved every one. Kudos to Erik Kang on the violin and the stringed, country music instrument that sits in your lap and makes you want to drink whisky out of a jug. Emily Watkins is always an audience pleaser on the keyboards and the three dudes at the front of the stage had no fucking chance with her. Her Playskool recorder didn’t seem to work though. Really. Fortunately, I was at the far end of the stage and didn’t get to see Casey Tennis dance around like a loon. He came in for the very last encore song and somehow silently played the tambourine. I give the guy shit, but he’s got character and sometimes that’s all you need. Everyone else in the band sounded great and I'm sorry I don't your names. I'm not good with names.
I love this band. I can only hope they succeed. And then break up. And then write some darker shit. Love the darker shit.
Oh, and allow me to apologize to Margot for the lack of hot, depressed, horny chicks that I thought would be up front and center. Instead, OU provided three guys with messy hair, juvenile beer guts and two day stubble wrapped in collared shirts. Again, sorry.
Check out Margot in several places:
Web site
MySpace
iTunes
Support this band, assholes. They’ve got a new album coming out soon. If you hurry, you can buy Dust of Retreat and finally claim you knew a band before they hit it big.
Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s played the Baker Theater on Ohio University’s campus in Athens, Ohio in the Spring of Richard Edward’s 23rd year.
They sounded great. Richard Edwards was a prick. And I loved it.
Lead singer Edwards is dark and funny, kinda like a dyslectic cat’s third suicide note. At the outset of the concert he non-verbally dismissed the crowd and seemingly sang to himself for the first few songs. I don't blame him, the crowd seemed tentative. But, the lackluster crowd fed upon his annoyance and lack of interest and by the fifth song, everyone had come around and the show really started to kick.
Margot played the team favorites from The Dust of Retreat album and a few songs that I didn’t know and must assume are from the new album or from some other shadowy place in Edward’s past.
I tell you, I like this fucker. He’s dark. He digs the Tennenbaums. At one point in the show, he began to diatribe about the new album and that Margot’s music is what it is rather than the bullshit, chamber pop they’ve been painted into a corner with. The group is compared, by some, to Arcade Fire which drew the ire of Edwards. The best line of the night was, “our next album is going to make Arcade Fire look like a bunch of pussies." Brilliant.
They encored four songs and I loved every one. Kudos to Erik Kang on the violin and the stringed, country music instrument that sits in your lap and makes you want to drink whisky out of a jug. Emily Watkins is always an audience pleaser on the keyboards and the three dudes at the front of the stage had no fucking chance with her. Her Playskool recorder didn’t seem to work though. Really. Fortunately, I was at the far end of the stage and didn’t get to see Casey Tennis dance around like a loon. He came in for the very last encore song and somehow silently played the tambourine. I give the guy shit, but he’s got character and sometimes that’s all you need. Everyone else in the band sounded great and I'm sorry I don't your names. I'm not good with names.
I love this band. I can only hope they succeed. And then break up. And then write some darker shit. Love the darker shit.
Oh, and allow me to apologize to Margot for the lack of hot, depressed, horny chicks that I thought would be up front and center. Instead, OU provided three guys with messy hair, juvenile beer guts and two day stubble wrapped in collared shirts. Again, sorry.
Check out Margot in several places:
Web site
MySpace
iTunes
Support this band, assholes. They’ve got a new album coming out soon. If you hurry, you can buy Dust of Retreat and finally claim you knew a band before they hit it big.
Where did you lose your virginity?
EDITOR'S NOTE: Sadly, this website no longer works. I'll have to find a new one and try this experiment again. Thanks for the fun!
MAJOR SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT!
(kind of)
Please utilize this link to my Google map on www.mapservices.org to mark where you lost your virginity. Add you icon and any additional details if you wish.
Click here to map where you lost your virginity!
Mine was in Lancaster, OH at a house that a friend of a friend was house sitting. I tried to get out of it by saying that I didn't have a condom. She brought her own. Why she brought more than one was beyond me.
Two birds. One stone.
MAJOR SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT!
(kind of)
Please utilize this link to my Google map on www.mapservices.org to mark where you lost your virginity. Add you icon and any additional details if you wish.
Click here to map where you lost your virginity!
Mine was in Lancaster, OH at a house that a friend of a friend was house sitting. I tried to get out of it by saying that I didn't have a condom. She brought her own. Why she brought more than one was beyond me.
Two birds. One stone.
Return to Sender
Someone in my office put this letter in the outbox. I looked at it for almost a full five seconds before I realized what the amiss was.
So, do you think that if it gets "RETURN TO SENDER'd" that it will end up on Liberty Island?
Innova.mu Awesome Customer Service
I am the smartest man alive, but I do dumb things to make up for it. Luckily, there are people and companies out there that compensate for my stupidity.
Stu’s record Shrimp Attack was re-released at the beginning of April. I went to Innova.mu and ordered a copy. Their purchasing system suggested it would be on my doorstep around April 4th.
April 4th dragged out into April 12th and I decided to call their customer service. They had a very positive message on their machine so I left a very positive message of my own with my order number and a very subtle hint of pissed-offishedness. Me being me, I couldn’t wait to yell at these guys for screwing up my order.
I got a call back in twenty minutes. The dude whose name I forget, but might have been Chris, was very cool and had my order pulled up. He asked me if the billing address and the ship to address should have been different.
Um, no. We had moved six months ago. Oh… I had placed an order with them before and my old address was in the system and I didn’t double check the large SHIP TO print on my order before I clicked the “MAKE SURE ALL THE ABOVE INFORMATION IS CORRECT BEFORE YOU CLICK THIS BUTTON” button. Nor did I look at the information on the order confirmation page.
I blew it.
So I told the guy, “Well, it will either find its way here or when it gets back to you, please forward it to me.”
And he said, “We’ll put another one in the mail for you today.”
No freaking way. A completely un-dick move.
So, thanks, Innova. In an otherwise corporate world, you made my day.
Thanks!
Innova.mu Check out their site and while you are there, buy Shrimp Attack. And double check your shipping address while you are at it.
Stu’s record Shrimp Attack was re-released at the beginning of April. I went to Innova.mu and ordered a copy. Their purchasing system suggested it would be on my doorstep around April 4th.
April 4th dragged out into April 12th and I decided to call their customer service. They had a very positive message on their machine so I left a very positive message of my own with my order number and a very subtle hint of pissed-offishedness. Me being me, I couldn’t wait to yell at these guys for screwing up my order.
I got a call back in twenty minutes. The dude whose name I forget, but might have been Chris, was very cool and had my order pulled up. He asked me if the billing address and the ship to address should have been different.
Um, no. We had moved six months ago. Oh… I had placed an order with them before and my old address was in the system and I didn’t double check the large SHIP TO print on my order before I clicked the “MAKE SURE ALL THE ABOVE INFORMATION IS CORRECT BEFORE YOU CLICK THIS BUTTON” button. Nor did I look at the information on the order confirmation page.
I blew it.
So I told the guy, “Well, it will either find its way here or when it gets back to you, please forward it to me.”
And he said, “We’ll put another one in the mail for you today.”
No freaking way. A completely un-dick move.
So, thanks, Innova. In an otherwise corporate world, you made my day.
Thanks!
Innova.mu Check out their site and while you are there, buy Shrimp Attack. And double check your shipping address while you are at it.
Palmerfest 2007
{Update- I have no proof, but I think Palmerfest 2007 is going to be Saturday, May 12th. I will not be there. See why HERE
}
Hi! Do you know when PalmerFest is this year? I plan on going back for the 16 1/2th year anniversary* to take pictures and to see if my house key for 19 Palmer Street still works.
If you know the exact date, please comment below or e-mail me at myHolyJuan e-mail address.
See you there, Mr. Fee! (Update - Mr. Fee doesn't live on Palmer Street anymore and the warmest shitter in town was torn down to build apartments.)
*The first PalmerFest was unofficially in the fall of 1990.
}
Hi! Do you know when PalmerFest is this year? I plan on going back for the 16 1/2th year anniversary* to take pictures and to see if my house key for 19 Palmer Street still works.
If you know the exact date, please comment below or e-mail me at my
See you there, Mr. Fee! (Update - Mr. Fee doesn't live on Palmer Street anymore and the warmest shitter in town was torn down to build apartments.)
*The first PalmerFest was unofficially in the fall of 1990.
A letter to Helen Skor
Hello Helen Skor,
My name is Doug and I write stuff. I also read stuff. I happened upon your blog and got to read your article “I'm Looking For A Few Good Men.”
I am a married dude, so I’m not looking for love. But I do write a lot of made up stuff about relationships and was very interested in reading what you were looking for in a man and what perks you had to offer him.
The first half of the article is wonderful. I suggest that every girl have this type of list in her pocket so that we can cut out the two weeks of fake, relationship chit chat. Your list is clever, straight forward and would quickly weed out the schmucks at the local bar or book store. (Guys don’t carry a list because to be a list, it needs to have more than one thing on it.)
It’s the perks section that I think you need to rehash. I feel like I am qualified to review and edit your “perks” as 1) I am a dude and 2) I have a keen sense of what dudes look for in a chick besides banging her and then, possibly, her friend.
Please do not read this as a critique, but rather some subtle suggestions. I mean really, what the hell do I know anyways?
• Massages – I love to give massages . . . your back, your arms and hands, your legs, even your face. Making you happy makes me happy.
Guys like massages, so you’ve got some bonus points there. Just as long as the massage is followed up by “additional attention.” Guys are trained to get a massage and then “get a massage.”
But the phrase, “Making you happy makes me happy” is creeping me and most other men out. Perhaps the guy you are looking for would not get frazzled at that statement and he is a much better man that I will ever be.
I see the phrase “Making you happy makes me happy” being said by a wide-eyed woman holding a dead rabbit. RUN!!!
• Home-Cooked Meals – Whether it’s in the kitchen or on the grill, I love to cook for you, and I’m pretty darned good at it.
Guys like to eat. If you can cook, awesome. I am the grill person in the family. Oh yeah, I’m also the cook person, too. I do like to cook, but a chick who can run a grill gets points in my book.
• Intelligence – I don’t claim to be Mensa smart, but I can hold my own with most people. That means that you won’t have to be worried about me saying something utterly embarrassing at your company Christmas party.
I do not like women that are smarter than me because they can see through all my bullshit. Miss Sally is a lot smarter than me, but she has learned several non-verbal techniques to shut me up without embarrassing me.
I like a girl who will beat me at Scrabble, but not mention it at the Christmas party.
• Wit - I will make you laugh. I promise.
I cannot really comment on this because I am the funny guy in my relationship and my wife never laughs at my jokes. You think that would be a problem, but it only makes me try harder.
If you are always making a man laugh, he is just trying to get you in the sack. Find a man who will criticize your humor and make you do re-writes of your material.
BUT! The "I promise" part is, once again, creepy. Again with the wide eyes and rabbit. I WILL MAKE YOU LAUGH!!! It doesn't sound desperate, but it hints at it.
• Fortitude – I’m tough. I don’t need you to kill bugs, trap mice, build fires, or hang pictures. I can do all these things myself. But I WILL let you do them for me if I know it makes you happy.
Don’t ever suggests to a guy that he is doing something for you that you could take care of yourself, but you are letting him do it to make him feel manly. Unless you are genuinely scared of a picture falling off the wall, starting a fire and releasing a hoard of termites from the frame, don’t pretend like you are in a tower with really long hair. Guys like to do stuff for girls, but don’t patronize us.
• Age – I’m 31, which means that a very important period of my life is right around the corner. I’ve got two words for you, Mister: Sexual Prime. I’m about to hit my stride, so now’s a good time to get in on the action (pun intended).
Men could easily mistake that important time around the corner as “my biological clock is ticking.” I would just ditch the AGE and replace it with SEX – I like to fuck.
• Loyalty - I don't cheat. If we get to the point in our relationship that I feel like I need to be with somebody else, I'm going to end things with you first, because there are obviously larger issues in our relationship. One of the worst things you can do to another person is violate their trust. I'm fiercely loyal to my lovers, my friends, and my family.
For some reason, I like to hear that a chick would dump me as soon as she starts to dislike me. I like to know that you would not try to fix my faults. Too many bad relationships get worse because of enablers. I like the “dump the chump” attitude.
• Smelly – I have the world’s sweetest dog. And although she needs a lot of attention, she also has a lot of love to give.
It’s tough to bring a dog into a relationship. They are like two year old stepkids. With a name like Smelly… good luck!
There’s my two cents. Good luck in your search for a man. In my opinion, I think you would be best to just love Smelly and get laid on the weekends.
Signed,
Doug (HolyJuan)
My name is Doug and I write stuff. I also read stuff. I happened upon your blog and got to read your article “I'm Looking For A Few Good Men.”
I am a married dude, so I’m not looking for love. But I do write a lot of made up stuff about relationships and was very interested in reading what you were looking for in a man and what perks you had to offer him.
The first half of the article is wonderful. I suggest that every girl have this type of list in her pocket so that we can cut out the two weeks of fake, relationship chit chat. Your list is clever, straight forward and would quickly weed out the schmucks at the local bar or book store. (Guys don’t carry a list because to be a list, it needs to have more than one thing on it.)
It’s the perks section that I think you need to rehash. I feel like I am qualified to review and edit your “perks” as 1) I am a dude and 2) I have a keen sense of what dudes look for in a chick besides banging her and then, possibly, her friend.
Please do not read this as a critique, but rather some subtle suggestions. I mean really, what the hell do I know anyways?
• Massages – I love to give massages . . . your back, your arms and hands, your legs, even your face. Making you happy makes me happy.
Guys like massages, so you’ve got some bonus points there. Just as long as the massage is followed up by “additional attention.” Guys are trained to get a massage and then “get a massage.”
But the phrase, “Making you happy makes me happy” is creeping me and most other men out. Perhaps the guy you are looking for would not get frazzled at that statement and he is a much better man that I will ever be.
I see the phrase “Making you happy makes me happy” being said by a wide-eyed woman holding a dead rabbit. RUN!!!
• Home-Cooked Meals – Whether it’s in the kitchen or on the grill, I love to cook for you, and I’m pretty darned good at it.
Guys like to eat. If you can cook, awesome. I am the grill person in the family. Oh yeah, I’m also the cook person, too. I do like to cook, but a chick who can run a grill gets points in my book.
• Intelligence – I don’t claim to be Mensa smart, but I can hold my own with most people. That means that you won’t have to be worried about me saying something utterly embarrassing at your company Christmas party.
I do not like women that are smarter than me because they can see through all my bullshit. Miss Sally is a lot smarter than me, but she has learned several non-verbal techniques to shut me up without embarrassing me.
I like a girl who will beat me at Scrabble, but not mention it at the Christmas party.
• Wit - I will make you laugh. I promise.
I cannot really comment on this because I am the funny guy in my relationship and my wife never laughs at my jokes. You think that would be a problem, but it only makes me try harder.
If you are always making a man laugh, he is just trying to get you in the sack. Find a man who will criticize your humor and make you do re-writes of your material.
BUT! The "I promise" part is, once again, creepy. Again with the wide eyes and rabbit. I WILL MAKE YOU LAUGH!!! It doesn't sound desperate, but it hints at it.
• Fortitude – I’m tough. I don’t need you to kill bugs, trap mice, build fires, or hang pictures. I can do all these things myself. But I WILL let you do them for me if I know it makes you happy.
Don’t ever suggests to a guy that he is doing something for you that you could take care of yourself, but you are letting him do it to make him feel manly. Unless you are genuinely scared of a picture falling off the wall, starting a fire and releasing a hoard of termites from the frame, don’t pretend like you are in a tower with really long hair. Guys like to do stuff for girls, but don’t patronize us.
• Age – I’m 31, which means that a very important period of my life is right around the corner. I’ve got two words for you, Mister: Sexual Prime. I’m about to hit my stride, so now’s a good time to get in on the action (pun intended).
Men could easily mistake that important time around the corner as “my biological clock is ticking.” I would just ditch the AGE and replace it with SEX – I like to fuck.
• Loyalty - I don't cheat. If we get to the point in our relationship that I feel like I need to be with somebody else, I'm going to end things with you first, because there are obviously larger issues in our relationship. One of the worst things you can do to another person is violate their trust. I'm fiercely loyal to my lovers, my friends, and my family.
For some reason, I like to hear that a chick would dump me as soon as she starts to dislike me. I like to know that you would not try to fix my faults. Too many bad relationships get worse because of enablers. I like the “dump the chump” attitude.
• Smelly – I have the world’s sweetest dog. And although she needs a lot of attention, she also has a lot of love to give.
It’s tough to bring a dog into a relationship. They are like two year old stepkids. With a name like Smelly… good luck!
There’s my two cents. Good luck in your search for a man. In my opinion, I think you would be best to just love Smelly and get laid on the weekends.
Signed,
Doug (HolyJuan)
Stripper Pole Easter Bunnies
Orlando, Beth, Lori and I went to lunch at Bob Evans Tuesday. I was tired and/or hungover from the Ohio State loss to Florida. The second such hangover this year.
On our way in, we noticed that the walls were papered with crayon colored Easter Bunnies. Some were colored A+ and some looked like a preschooler colored them. I was then reminded that many of them were colored by preschoolers and I quit with the criticism.
I did notice that this particular Bob Evans ran out of the supplied Easter Bunny coloring pages and had to make duplicates on their crappy fax/printer/copier that is covered in grease back in the Assistant Manager’s cubbie.
The crappy copies have dark lines down the left side.
But I’d rather like to think that the lines aren’t lines, but rather a stripper pole. Take it off, Easter Bunny. Bawk, bawk.
That could make me rise from the dead.
On our way in, we noticed that the walls were papered with crayon colored Easter Bunnies. Some were colored A+ and some looked like a preschooler colored them. I was then reminded that many of them were colored by preschoolers and I quit with the criticism.
I did notice that this particular Bob Evans ran out of the supplied Easter Bunny coloring pages and had to make duplicates on their crappy fax/printer/copier that is covered in grease back in the Assistant Manager’s cubbie.
The crappy copies have dark lines down the left side.
But I’d rather like to think that the lines aren’t lines, but rather a stripper pole. Take it off, Easter Bunny. Bawk, bawk.
That could make me rise from the dead.
Word(s) of the Day
I started a list at work a few months ago of poorly spelled words that our guys would send in on their reports and e-mails. One day at work, I was talking to a client and said the word “visceral” over the phone. Angie remarked that she was surprised I used the word or that I even knew the meaning of it.
So we started a list of the best word that was used in the office that day. What it has turned into is a diary of sorts where we can look at a word and remember what was happening on that wretched day when that certain word was uttered.
2/7/07’s altercation came from one of our guys interacting with a store manager in a most unprofessional manner.
The 2/8/07 word made both lists. The guy was trying to say pursue as in “pursue a lawsuit” and said peruse instead. A misspelling and a word(s) of the day… bonus!
On 2/20/07 Angie said “kick ass” when I was taking a client to task on their project management abilities. That also caused the list to be renamed from “Word of the day” to “Word(s) of the day.”
Hopefully on the next sheet we’ll see words like “raise,” “bonus,” or “in the black.”
So we started a list of the best word that was used in the office that day. What it has turned into is a diary of sorts where we can look at a word and remember what was happening on that wretched day when that certain word was uttered.
2/7/07’s altercation came from one of our guys interacting with a store manager in a most unprofessional manner.
The 2/8/07 word made both lists. The guy was trying to say pursue as in “pursue a lawsuit” and said peruse instead. A misspelling and a word(s) of the day… bonus!
On 2/20/07 Angie said “kick ass” when I was taking a client to task on their project management abilities. That also caused the list to be renamed from “Word of the day” to “Word(s) of the day.”
Hopefully on the next sheet we’ll see words like “raise,” “bonus,” or “in the black.”
The Secret Amy's Secret Story
Thanks to my sister, Amy, my mother now knows about this site and pretty soon all the sex and drugs and bestiality I’ve written about will be brought up at Christmas and during the uncomfortable silence after my dad makes the remark about how hard it was to kill those sneaky bastard Koreans during the war.
So, to thank her, I’m writing this tale from our college years. You can decide whether or not to believe it. I know I all ready do.
Amy was never afraid of anything except perhaps getting caught. During high school she played every sport and, unlike most girls, considered 84% of her classmates friends. She had only one best friend and seemingly endless boyfriends and admirers. She was crowned Miss LHS in 1987 and turned down the opportunity to be the Dairy Princess at the Fairfield County Fair. Always Amy.
Amy left Ohio forever to go to school in Missouri and she never looked back.
Except once…
I was a freshman in college. Or the 13th grade as many of the people who were stuck at the Ohio University – Lancaster Branch called it. By looking out the lounge windows, we could see our high school. If you couldn’t find a window to look out, you could be reminded by listening to the LHS band practice in the afternoon. I attended because a scholarship I earned forced recipients to save money by going to a school that had no dorms and one microwave.
It was Spring. Winter had finally been kicked to the curb and love was in the air. None of my friends wanted to spend such a glorious Saturday night in Lancaster with the possibility of drunkenly hooking up with a relative. So we went to the real Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. We had friends in the dorms and didn’t have a problem finding a place to stay. We did have a problem finding beer. The 12 pack that was split between the five of us was gone in less than an hour and none of us had a fake ID at the time. We decided to try our luck at the Greenery, an 18+ dance bar that was pretty loose with the liquor. The gods smiled upon us on that Spring night and our oldest looking friend was able to buy pitchers of BrainSlammers or MindMelters or CerebellumBreakers or whatever the blue drink of the day was. We drank and danced and tried to hook up with real college girls. We failed, but had fun trying.
We were drunk well before closing and staggered out of the bar yelling stuff that drunk 18 year old men yell when full of watered down rum and unused hormones. Russ, who is rarely the ladies man, decided to try his luck out on a few chicks walking drunkenly the opposite way. I think they saw his OU-Lancaster keychain, immediately made him cease to exist and without breaking stride, walked right through him.
Our next target was a chick sitting on the curb. For some reason, women feel compelled to sit on curbs when they are drunk. Their knees up with elbows pressed against their inner thighs to support their heavy, drunken head. Men go straight for the vertical position in the gutter. Dave, the hopeless and clumsy romantic, asked if the poor girl needed any help. She looked up… it was Amy.
Holy shit. All the way from Missouri Amy.
I guess the most positive part of this story is that Amy went from really, really drunk and sad to extremely excited, happy drunk. She jumped up and hugged me and we fell backwards.
Amy was living in Missouri, but missing Ohio. She tried to assimilate and failed at heart. But she wouldn’t let anyone know. She had a southern accent within six months and started dating several Baptist boys to try and fit in. To nibble off the homesickness, she kept in touch with an ex-boyfriend. He was a year older and going to school in Cincinnati. He flew her in so that they could spend the weekend together. Boys would do that for Amy. This was a top secret trip as Amy had not been home since Christmas and summer before that. If my folks knew she was in a 200 mile radius of Lancaster, they would be a little upset that she did not come home. So mom and dad could not find out.
In the middle of their weekend of love, the dude broke it to Amy that he and his buddies and she were going to Ohio University for a last minute party. They piled into a Blazer and drove to Athens. Amy was a bit concerned because she had to be at the Cincy airport at 10:00am Sunday morning. No problem, he promised.
Six hours later, there was a problem. Turns out that he drank a lot more when he was around his college buddies and that his college buddies also made him a complete prick. He did some heavy prick stuff and she walked out of the party, sat on the curb and unknowingly waited for me to show up.
She didn’t think there was any way in hell that the prick was going to head back to Cincy that night and there was no way that she was going to make her flight. Her bags were back in the Blazer and she was shit out of luck until we showed up.
To cut to the chase, she made her flight. And here’s how.
We all went back to the prick’s party. He and his prick friends were not there, but the Blazer was. Russ, who stopped ceasing to exist, picked up a cement block and bashed out the back passenger side window. We grabbed Amy’s bags and headed back to the dorm.
We snuck Amy into the boy’s dorm and slept for a few hours. At 6:00am, Amy and I awoke, tiptoed though the testosterone and took Russ’ Nissan wagon to Cincinnati. I dropped her off at the airport at 9:45am.
“Please do not ever tell mom or dad about this. Doug... promise.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
And so, mother dear, as you read this please thank your daughter Amy for sharing with you that there is a little corner of the internet where your son writes lies and tells truths and sometimes both at the same time.
The drive back to OU was the longest drive ever.
So, to thank her, I’m writing this tale from our college years. You can decide whether or not to believe it. I know I all ready do.
Amy was never afraid of anything except perhaps getting caught. During high school she played every sport and, unlike most girls, considered 84% of her classmates friends. She had only one best friend and seemingly endless boyfriends and admirers. She was crowned Miss LHS in 1987 and turned down the opportunity to be the Dairy Princess at the Fairfield County Fair. Always Amy.
Amy left Ohio forever to go to school in Missouri and she never looked back.
Except once…
I was a freshman in college. Or the 13th grade as many of the people who were stuck at the Ohio University – Lancaster Branch called it. By looking out the lounge windows, we could see our high school. If you couldn’t find a window to look out, you could be reminded by listening to the LHS band practice in the afternoon. I attended because a scholarship I earned forced recipients to save money by going to a school that had no dorms and one microwave.
It was Spring. Winter had finally been kicked to the curb and love was in the air. None of my friends wanted to spend such a glorious Saturday night in Lancaster with the possibility of drunkenly hooking up with a relative. So we went to the real Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. We had friends in the dorms and didn’t have a problem finding a place to stay. We did have a problem finding beer. The 12 pack that was split between the five of us was gone in less than an hour and none of us had a fake ID at the time. We decided to try our luck at the Greenery, an 18+ dance bar that was pretty loose with the liquor. The gods smiled upon us on that Spring night and our oldest looking friend was able to buy pitchers of BrainSlammers or MindMelters or CerebellumBreakers or whatever the blue drink of the day was. We drank and danced and tried to hook up with real college girls. We failed, but had fun trying.
We were drunk well before closing and staggered out of the bar yelling stuff that drunk 18 year old men yell when full of watered down rum and unused hormones. Russ, who is rarely the ladies man, decided to try his luck out on a few chicks walking drunkenly the opposite way. I think they saw his OU-Lancaster keychain, immediately made him cease to exist and without breaking stride, walked right through him.
Our next target was a chick sitting on the curb. For some reason, women feel compelled to sit on curbs when they are drunk. Their knees up with elbows pressed against their inner thighs to support their heavy, drunken head. Men go straight for the vertical position in the gutter. Dave, the hopeless and clumsy romantic, asked if the poor girl needed any help. She looked up… it was Amy.
Holy shit. All the way from Missouri Amy.
I guess the most positive part of this story is that Amy went from really, really drunk and sad to extremely excited, happy drunk. She jumped up and hugged me and we fell backwards.
Amy was living in Missouri, but missing Ohio. She tried to assimilate and failed at heart. But she wouldn’t let anyone know. She had a southern accent within six months and started dating several Baptist boys to try and fit in. To nibble off the homesickness, she kept in touch with an ex-boyfriend. He was a year older and going to school in Cincinnati. He flew her in so that they could spend the weekend together. Boys would do that for Amy. This was a top secret trip as Amy had not been home since Christmas and summer before that. If my folks knew she was in a 200 mile radius of Lancaster, they would be a little upset that she did not come home. So mom and dad could not find out.
In the middle of their weekend of love, the dude broke it to Amy that he and his buddies and she were going to Ohio University for a last minute party. They piled into a Blazer and drove to Athens. Amy was a bit concerned because she had to be at the Cincy airport at 10:00am Sunday morning. No problem, he promised.
Six hours later, there was a problem. Turns out that he drank a lot more when he was around his college buddies and that his college buddies also made him a complete prick. He did some heavy prick stuff and she walked out of the party, sat on the curb and unknowingly waited for me to show up.
She didn’t think there was any way in hell that the prick was going to head back to Cincy that night and there was no way that she was going to make her flight. Her bags were back in the Blazer and she was shit out of luck until we showed up.
To cut to the chase, she made her flight. And here’s how.
We all went back to the prick’s party. He and his prick friends were not there, but the Blazer was. Russ, who stopped ceasing to exist, picked up a cement block and bashed out the back passenger side window. We grabbed Amy’s bags and headed back to the dorm.
We snuck Amy into the boy’s dorm and slept for a few hours. At 6:00am, Amy and I awoke, tiptoed though the testosterone and took Russ’ Nissan wagon to Cincinnati. I dropped her off at the airport at 9:45am.
“Please do not ever tell mom or dad about this. Doug... promise.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
And so, mother dear, as you read this please thank your daughter Amy for sharing with you that there is a little corner of the internet where your son writes lies and tells truths and sometimes both at the same time.
The drive back to OU was the longest drive ever.
Scam Baiting
I decided to try a bit of scam baiting. This is the attempt to waste a 419 scammer’s time by having him think you are an easy mark, thus keeping his attention from some church secretary in Omaha. Check out some much better examples of scam baiting at 419 Eater.
This poor fellow found me through my frankenstein hotmail address. It was the third of fourth one I had recieved and thought this might be fun. I decided to go with the reverse-con, bi-polar approach. The e-mails go back and forth between the scammer (Allan Grooves) and me (Frank Chocfactory) and are separated by the dashed lines. {Editor's notes are in these brackets.}
From: "allan_grooves"
Subject: ATTENTION
Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2007 08:54:22 -0800
My Beloved,
Greetings:
My name is Mr. Allan Grooves, I work as an accountant in a bank; I contacted you to work together with me in claiming my late client's estate. Unfortunately he died without a registered next of kin and as such the funds now have anopen beneficiary status. You could be made the beneficiary since you share the same last name with him. This has officially transferred the right to you, as no other person from his family knows anything about this fund with our bank, if you are interested in working with me. Please get back to me as quickly as possible so that I will give you the details of what we are to do. I wait for your prompt response so that I can give you more briefing of what you need to and how to do it Thanks for your co-operation.
Best regards, Allan.
-------------
Dear Allan,
Oh my God! This is bad and good news together. Is this about my great uncle Charlie Andy Chocfactory? PLease let me know more details. I want to make sure this is not a scam.
Thanks, Frank Chocfactory
-----------------------
From: "allan_grooves"
My Dear,
Greetings!
Thanks for your response to my mail. My deceased client died in the year 2001 and his name was Dean Irwin Stein. Since you share the same last name with him hence I contacted you to help in repatriating the funds left behind to any account of your choice. I got your address from the Internet in my search for a reliable person that would help me in this transaction. The amount of funds left behind was 8.6 million United States Dollars only and I would want us to share it 50/50 after we have successfully transferred it into your nominated bank account. It is now very obvious that he died interstate, as I have already made further inquiry to ascertain this. And this is where and why I contacted you, as the money is now marked unclaimed with my bank. Normally After six fiscal years and nobody comes up to claim the funds it would be marked dormant and reverted back to the bank's general coffers and shared among the directors. This I do not want to happen. I now solicit your sincere cooperation so that we can work together to get the funds out of the bank before it goes back to the bank. After we might have talked I would send you a text of application instructing you on how to apply to the bank for the funds release. I will like you to provide me with the following.
a, Your telephone number
b,Yourcomplete names
c,Your mailing address
d,Your Occupation
Hope to hear from you soonest.
You can call me at +44 (0)7926586043
Best regards, Allan
-------------
Allan,
Dean Irwin Stein? Are you sure you don’t mean Charlie Andy Chocfactory?
Please let me know if you find out anything about my great uncle Charlie Andy Chocfactory? I know he passed recently, but I do not know how to get ahold of his money. Please let me know of your research.
Thank you Allen and God bless,
Frank Chocfactory
----------------------
From: "allan_grooves" allan_grooves@canada.com
Subject: RE: ATTENTION Date: Wed, 21
Feb 2007 15:12:40 -0800
I had told you that the name of my client a while ago and you actually have the same name with him. I only needed you to help me with this transaction and that is all. I will never force you to help me okay but this would be beneficial to you.
Thank you.
-------------------
Listen here Allen...
My last name is not Stein. It is Chocfactory. I do know that I have a great uncle who had a lot of money and he died with it. These funds have missing for two years. Please ask your contacts if they know of a Charlie Andy Chocfactory. His mother's maiden name was Stein. Perhaps this is the connection????
Let me know!!!
Signed, Frank
-------------
From: "allan_grooves"
It is possible he lodged the money with his mum's maiden name. I have told you the one i have and it was never a mistake okay. Please if you want to assist, fine but otherwise stop sending me emails okay. The transaction is not such that i have to beg you for okay.
Thank you
---------------
Allan.
If there is something in it for me, I can help you. I did some research and found a D. Stein in my family history.
Praise be if this is the man you represented at the Bank. How can I be of service?
Please let me know.
Thanks!
Frank
---------------------
{He sends me the exact same e-mail with }
a, Your telephone number
b,Your complete names
c,Your mailing address
d,Your Occupation
--------------
Allan,
I can be reached at 1-202-331-8590
{Editors note: this is the number to the NATIONAL FRAUD INFORMATION CENTER & INTERNET FRAUD WATCH in Washington DC.}
My full names is Frank E Chocfactory
Mailing address is in Washington, but I will hold that back for now to ensure this is not a scam.
My Job is with an auto repair shop right outside of Washington in Virginia. I repair mainly BMWs and VWs.
Please let me know how I can help with the splitting of the funds!
Thanks, Frank
--------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Sat, 24 Feb 2007 09:28:02 -0800
I think you are being unserious here. You gave me a number which had been disconnected. I do not know what you are doing concerning these funds. If you are not interested, please let me know or you call me on +44 7926586043.
thank you.
--------------------
Allan,
I just tried to call your number and no one is answering. Is this correct?
I am beginning to think that you are trying to steal money from me. Fortunately, I just got a $2000 bonus from my work!! See, hard work can pay off.
Why do you contact me and then not follow up? I am beginning to think that you have found someone else to help you.
If this is so, I am sorry that we could not work out an agreement.
Best of luck to you Mr. Groves.
Frank
-------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2007 15:16:58 -0800
Dear Mr.Frank,
I had been trying to reach you on the number which you had provided but all to no avail. i have not found anyone to do this business with and still believe that you would be able to assist me in all respect.
My number is +44 7926586043,+ 447909833952. you would be able to reach me on those numbers anytime. Please supply me with the information that i requested from you and this process of application would start and we would have enough at our disposal.
Expecting your feedback.
Thank you
Sincerely
Grooves
--------------------------
Hello Allen,
I am bored with all this.
Please just tell me what address to send the money that you need so that you can release the larger funds.
Please check off the following reasons why you need the money and how much you need:
1. International Transfer Fee
2. Notary Public Fee
3. Rebel Alliance Fee
4. National Transfer Fee
Just add up the amounts of money you need and make sure is isn't more than $2,000. I can either send you a cheque or wire transfer.
Please, my good friend. Let's just get this over with so that I can go back to my normal life.
Thank you,
Frank
-------------------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 09:43:32 -0800
I dont understand what you are talking about. for now have a nice day.
----------------
Allan,
Listen, I know how this works:
1. I send you money to pay the tax or fees.
2. Once the fees are paid, you send me the larger sum of money.
3. We both end up happy and RICH!!!!!!!
Come on... I know there is some fee or something.
Just tell me what I have to pay and when I can get my hands on the BIG MONEY!
Thanks, Frank
----------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 14:54:36 -0800
I think you had been into the wrong thing before. I would never be contacting you if it was not for someone who would be reliable and not run away with these funds. I do not
honestly know what you are talking about.
I know that i dont require you to pay me any amount of money
okay.
Thank you
------------------
Allan,
OK. I feel like we have gone in the wrong direction here.
I want to help you if it will help me. And I want me to help you.
Please let me know what information you need.
Thank you,
Frank
----------------------
allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Subject: RE: ATTENTION
i am still waiting for your information to continu okay.
----------------------
Well Allan?
WHERE IS MY MONEY!
I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!
WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!
{That was the letter I sent tonight. I had not heard from Allan in a while and I assume he moved on to bigger and better things. I really think he grew tired of my bi-polar shit.}
This poor fellow found me through my frankenstein hotmail address. It was the third of fourth one I had recieved and thought this might be fun. I decided to go with the reverse-con, bi-polar approach. The e-mails go back and forth between the scammer (Allan Grooves) and me (Frank Chocfactory) and are separated by the dashed lines. {Editor's notes are in these brackets.}
From: "allan_grooves"
Subject: ATTENTION
Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2007 08:54:22 -0800
My Beloved,
Greetings:
My name is Mr. Allan Grooves, I work as an accountant in a bank; I contacted you to work together with me in claiming my late client's estate. Unfortunately he died without a registered next of kin and as such the funds now have anopen beneficiary status. You could be made the beneficiary since you share the same last name with him. This has officially transferred the right to you, as no other person from his family knows anything about this fund with our bank, if you are interested in working with me. Please get back to me as quickly as possible so that I will give you the details of what we are to do. I wait for your prompt response so that I can give you more briefing of what you need to and how to do it Thanks for your co-operation.
Best regards, Allan.
-------------
Dear Allan,
Oh my God! This is bad and good news together. Is this about my great uncle Charlie Andy Chocfactory? PLease let me know more details. I want to make sure this is not a scam.
Thanks, Frank Chocfactory
-----------------------
From: "allan_grooves"
My Dear,
Greetings!
Thanks for your response to my mail. My deceased client died in the year 2001 and his name was Dean Irwin Stein. Since you share the same last name with him hence I contacted you to help in repatriating the funds left behind to any account of your choice. I got your address from the Internet in my search for a reliable person that would help me in this transaction. The amount of funds left behind was 8.6 million United States Dollars only and I would want us to share it 50/50 after we have successfully transferred it into your nominated bank account. It is now very obvious that he died interstate, as I have already made further inquiry to ascertain this. And this is where and why I contacted you, as the money is now marked unclaimed with my bank. Normally After six fiscal years and nobody comes up to claim the funds it would be marked dormant and reverted back to the bank's general coffers and shared among the directors. This I do not want to happen. I now solicit your sincere cooperation so that we can work together to get the funds out of the bank before it goes back to the bank. After we might have talked I would send you a text of application instructing you on how to apply to the bank for the funds release. I will like you to provide me with the following.
a, Your telephone number
b,Yourcomplete names
c,Your mailing address
d,Your Occupation
Hope to hear from you soonest.
You can call me at +44 (0)7926586043
Best regards, Allan
-------------
Allan,
Dean Irwin Stein? Are you sure you don’t mean Charlie Andy Chocfactory?
Please let me know if you find out anything about my great uncle Charlie Andy Chocfactory? I know he passed recently, but I do not know how to get ahold of his money. Please let me know of your research.
Thank you Allen and God bless,
Frank Chocfactory
----------------------
From: "allan_grooves" allan_grooves@canada.com
Subject: RE: ATTENTION Date: Wed, 21
Feb 2007 15:12:40 -0800
I had told you that the name of my client a while ago and you actually have the same name with him. I only needed you to help me with this transaction and that is all. I will never force you to help me okay but this would be beneficial to you.
Thank you.
-------------------
Listen here Allen...
My last name is not Stein. It is Chocfactory. I do know that I have a great uncle who had a lot of money and he died with it. These funds have missing for two years. Please ask your contacts if they know of a Charlie Andy Chocfactory. His mother's maiden name was Stein. Perhaps this is the connection????
Let me know!!!
Signed, Frank
-------------
From: "allan_grooves"
It is possible he lodged the money with his mum's maiden name. I have told you the one i have and it was never a mistake okay. Please if you want to assist, fine but otherwise stop sending me emails okay. The transaction is not such that i have to beg you for okay.
Thank you
---------------
Allan.
If there is something in it for me, I can help you. I did some research and found a D. Stein in my family history.
Praise be if this is the man you represented at the Bank. How can I be of service?
Please let me know.
Thanks!
Frank
---------------------
{He sends me the exact same e-mail with }
a, Your telephone number
b,Your complete names
c,Your mailing address
d,Your Occupation
--------------
Allan,
I can be reached at 1-202-331-8590
{Editors note: this is the number to the NATIONAL FRAUD INFORMATION CENTER & INTERNET FRAUD WATCH in Washington DC.}
My full names is Frank E Chocfactory
Mailing address is in Washington, but I will hold that back for now to ensure this is not a scam.
My Job is with an auto repair shop right outside of Washington in Virginia. I repair mainly BMWs and VWs.
Please let me know how I can help with the splitting of the funds!
Thanks, Frank
--------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Sat, 24 Feb 2007 09:28:02 -0800
I think you are being unserious here. You gave me a number which had been disconnected. I do not know what you are doing concerning these funds. If you are not interested, please let me know or you call me on +44 7926586043.
thank you.
--------------------
Allan,
I just tried to call your number and no one is answering. Is this correct?
I am beginning to think that you are trying to steal money from me. Fortunately, I just got a $2000 bonus from my work!! See, hard work can pay off.
Why do you contact me and then not follow up? I am beginning to think that you have found someone else to help you.
If this is so, I am sorry that we could not work out an agreement.
Best of luck to you Mr. Groves.
Frank
-------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2007 15:16:58 -0800
Dear Mr.Frank,
I had been trying to reach you on the number which you had provided but all to no avail. i have not found anyone to do this business with and still believe that you would be able to assist me in all respect.
My number is +44 7926586043,+ 447909833952. you would be able to reach me on those numbers anytime. Please supply me with the information that i requested from you and this process of application would start and we would have enough at our disposal.
Expecting your feedback.
Thank you
Sincerely
Grooves
--------------------------
Hello Allen,
I am bored with all this.
Please just tell me what address to send the money that you need so that you can release the larger funds.
Please check off the following reasons why you need the money and how much you need:
1. International Transfer Fee
2. Notary Public Fee
3. Rebel Alliance Fee
4. National Transfer Fee
Just add up the amounts of money you need and make sure is isn't more than $2,000. I can either send you a cheque or wire transfer.
Please, my good friend. Let's just get this over with so that I can go back to my normal life.
Thank you,
Frank
-------------------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 09:43:32 -0800
I dont understand what you are talking about. for now have a nice day.
----------------
Allan,
Listen, I know how this works:
1. I send you money to pay the tax or fees.
2. Once the fees are paid, you send me the larger sum of money.
3. We both end up happy and RICH!!!!!!!
Come on... I know there is some fee or something.
Just tell me what I have to pay and when I can get my hands on the BIG MONEY!
Thanks, Frank
----------------
From: "allan_grooves"
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 14:54:36 -0800
I think you had been into the wrong thing before. I would never be contacting you if it was not for someone who would be reliable and not run away with these funds. I do not
honestly know what you are talking about.
I know that i dont require you to pay me any amount of money
okay.
Thank you
------------------
Allan,
OK. I feel like we have gone in the wrong direction here.
I want to help you if it will help me. And I want me to help you.
Please let me know what information you need.
Thank you,
Frank
----------------------
allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Subject: RE: ATTENTION
i am still waiting for your information to continu okay.
----------------------
Well Allan?
WHERE IS MY MONEY!
I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!
WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!
{That was the letter I sent tonight. I had not heard from Allan in a while and I assume he moved on to bigger and better things. I really think he grew tired of my bi-polar shit.}
Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s at Ohio University on April 14th
Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s is playing at OU on April 14th. I think it is a free show, but I can’t be sure because I lost my secret college free concert sense back in 94’. Oddly enough that is also when I lost my Fish Called Wanda movie poster.
Here is my plan: I am going to this show no matter what and I want you to come with me. You’ll have to drive your own car and stay in your own hotel, but I’ll be at the show around 8:00pm and then I’ll be at the C.I. from 11:30pm until closing. I’ll be the old guy. Buy me a beer in a can.
Here is my plan B: I am going to this show no matter what and I want you to come with me. Here’s the pinch - this might be the weekend of Palmerfest as well. If this is so, I will need to sneak out of the house a few hours earlier to attend and I will need your assistance. At 1:00pm on Saturday, we’ll be heading out the door to go to a good friend’s kid’s birthday party. I really want to go to the birthday party, but if you drive by and kidnap me in front of my wife, I will have no choice but to go wherever it is that you take me. If that happens to be Palmerfest than so be it. I’ll split gas cost with you to Athens and back. Just duct tape my mouth and hands before you dump me back off at my house Sunday morning. More than likely, I will have forgotten everything anyways from the alcohol. Your secret is safe with me.
See you at the show. Doors open at 6:00pm. Bring duct tape.
Here is my plan: I am going to this show no matter what and I want you to come with me. You’ll have to drive your own car and stay in your own hotel, but I’ll be at the show around 8:00pm and then I’ll be at the C.I. from 11:30pm until closing. I’ll be the old guy. Buy me a beer in a can.
Here is my plan B: I am going to this show no matter what and I want you to come with me. Here’s the pinch - this might be the weekend of Palmerfest as well. If this is so, I will need to sneak out of the house a few hours earlier to attend and I will need your assistance. At 1:00pm on Saturday, we’ll be heading out the door to go to a good friend’s kid’s birthday party. I really want to go to the birthday party, but if you drive by and kidnap me in front of my wife, I will have no choice but to go wherever it is that you take me. If that happens to be Palmerfest than so be it. I’ll split gas cost with you to Athens and back. Just duct tape my mouth and hands before you dump me back off at my house Sunday morning. More than likely, I will have forgotten everything anyways from the alcohol. Your secret is safe with me.
See you at the show. Doors open at 6:00pm. Bring duct tape.
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