Steven Spielberg has went a bit too far. I am all for celebrating the upcoming 30th anniversary of the mother of all Shark Tales, but this is a little much.

Of course this could just be a case of life imitating art, either way, the coasts of New England are once again in peril. All we need now is a Richard Dreyfuss inspired midget placed in a shark cage.

I am betting on the shark to win.

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One Good Deed


It is hell...getting old. The man said that over and over as I helped him find his car. He had paid the water bill at the water department and managed to lose his car. The man walked several blocks throughout downtown Newark; he ended up in front of dad's store. Issy and I were taking a walk, in lieu of actually doing any work when the man said "I lost my car." I assumed he had parked nearby, somewhere along the square as it can be difficult to discern one parking spot from another. We walked around the block, I noticed the man was tiring and I told him to sit and rest. The Brothers Wilson walked around several more blocks, searching vainly for a "black Chevy truck with a covering on the back", the old man could not provide anymore detailed information. Issy pointed out a black Chevy truck with a covering about two blocks away; I hoped it was the right one.

We went back and took the befuddled man to "his" car, upon reaching the vehicle he stated that he was looking for a Ford, one that has a two folding backseats and pointed to a nearby caravan as an example. I began to realize that the man wasn't entirely sure what car he drove, which was going to make finding his vehicle very difficult. And, to make matters worse he could barely stand. I failed to mention one fact; he was ninety years old.

After instructing him to rest on the nearby bench, I asked if he needed any water, the man said "No. I feel like a damned fool. It is hell...getting old." I assured him that everyone makes a mistake and hurried back to the store so I could use dad's van to make the search a bit easier. Ten minutes later with Issy in tow we drove back to the man and set off, once again, to find his wayward car.

I checked virtually every parking lot, space, nook and cranny between the courthouse and the Water Department, apparently the car had disappeared, or was never there in the first place. I quizzed the man several times and discovered that he was now sure the car had been parked by the Water Department.

Could someone else have picked it up? No, he didn't have anyone else. Did you leave a spare key in the car? No, I have my only key with me. This left three possibilities: 1. The car, truck, or mini-van, whichever it was, had been towed. 2. The car had been stolen by a very brave and/or stupid thieves in broad daylight in the parking lot next the City's Water Department. 3. The vehicle never existed in the first place. I figured it was option number three but that lead to more troubling questions: Why was the elderly gentleman all alone, wandering throughout the downtown and who had lost him? I inquired at the Water Department if any vehicles had been towed, the answer was no. Therefore, there was little else I could do to help.

I told the man that his best bet was to seek the help of the local Police Department; he agreed that was the best course of action or at least I think he did in the form of nodding his aged head. All he could keep saying was "It is hell...getting old."


I parked two hundred feet or so away from the entrance to the Police Department; I really believe those were the longest two hundred feet of his life. He could barely walk, I offered to assist him but he politely shooed me away. Several times he faltered and nearly fell, thankfully, I along with several cars, were there to offer support. Eventually he made it to the door, I opened it of course, and we arrived to the station. The clerk, or whatever you call non-uniformed woman at the front desk, inquired what I needed. I quickly and concisely detailed the particulars of our ill-fated adventure. She thanked me for bringing him there and gestured for me to leave. She motioned for the man to come forward and I left without ever so much as a goodbye.

I regret not staying a little longer, at least to say goodbye. I never did think to ask his name, nor did I offer my own. It never came up or at least I never thought to bring it up. I hope he found his erstwhile occupied car. His haunting mantra still echoes in my thoughts: It is hell...getting old.


Go to Hell

Hairy dykes meet über-bitch. I know it is wrong to take pleasure from the possible sexual intimidation and assault of another, be that as it may, I hope Miss Stewart learns the true meaning of the term "Carpetbagger" during her confinement in prison camp. One can only hope.

No, I don’t hate lesbians or think anything is wrong with the lifestyle (In fact I am quite enamored with lesbian sex and how it relates to my life), I just hate uppity and duplicitous she-beasts. Furthermore I wouldn't have a problem with Ken Lay being probed for information by Big Bubba & Company. Of course I wouldn't take any pleasure from that act because that would be gay.


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It appears quite a few people have found my site while searching for Fable related hints & walk-throughs. I don't provide either of those services, however; if you send me $14.95 I will provide you with a wealth of hints and insider information on the game.

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The plot thickens.


I will admit that Fox News leans right as long as you will admit that CNN, MSNBC, and the big three network stations: NBC, ABC and CBS lean left. There is nothing wrong with partisanship, even if only one side is right (excuse the pun). Objective truth is not applicable in today's media, if it ever was, and it is about time we acknowledge it.

Fox News is taking particular glee with Memo-Gate and I don't blame them. They are constantly assaulted for being partisan, so when the people throwing stones are revealed to live in glass houses, Fox News is filled with glee.

The only thing that would make this better is if they actually find indisputable evidence that higher-ups in the Kerry campaign and/or the Democratic party were part of the scandal.

Here is to Richard Nixon finally being able to rest in peace.


Go to Hell

Interview with a racist



Me: Hey, did you see that black girl over there? Baby got back and then some.

Unnamed friend: That girl isn't black. She is just really tan.

Me: No, I am pretty sure she is black, probably bi-racial.

Unnamed friend: Bi-racial? Oh, you mean she is black with an asterisk.

Me: You are my hero.

Unnamed friend: Bemused expression I probably shouldn't have said that.

Me: I will give you a dollar if you say that to her face.

Unnamed friend: No, that is alright.

Me: Silent, hidden racism isn't funny. Oh, I long for the Jim Crow days of yore. I can't get enough of the "you have to be this pink to eat here" signs that littered the South only scant decades ago.

Author's Clarification

The following didn't happen, exactly. It is a fictional recreation of a conversation with a friend, who is too much of a pussy to own his words, and his creation and subsequent use of the term "black with an asterisk."

Let me perfectly clear here, I am not a racist; I just happened to befriend several dozen of them over the years. I love all peoples: the blacks, the Jews, the Canadians, even the French. Well, I do hate the Mexicans, but doesn't everybody? Ok, I am kidding. I don't like the Jews either.


Go to Hell

The self proclaimed next big thing broke his leg.

For some reason I don't feel bad for him. You would think he was pretty limber, and not prone to leg injuries, considering how often his foot is in his mouth.

Go to Hell

She wore "a white strapless dress"; I thought you had to be chaste to wear white. Not that innocent, my ass, more like "a whole lot of whore."

Pleasantries asides, I do wish you and the back up dancer the best, and when you get divorced sixteen months from now, know that I will be waiting for you. I might not be handsome, extremely well built, but remember Britney, I AM NOT A FUCKING BACK UP DANCER. You would be better off marrying a homeless transient who collects pubic hair from public restrooms.

Just do me one favor: Don’t give your public support to George W. Bush anymore; he is better served by forged documents and inflammatory allegations of cocaine use at Camp David.


Go to Hel

Authors Note: I once loved Britney, but now know she is a dirty, stupid whore. Now, I only have eyes for my Conservative Athena, Ann Coulter.

Forty drinks/Eleven Hours= A very dedicated dead girl. Of course her feat is negligible compared to the daily exploits of my legendary son of Ireland roomie, James. On a good day he would start drinking at 10am continue throughout the day and night, usually stopping somewhere around 3:00 am with a twenty-four plus drinks in his system. What was he like on a bad day; double the drink intake and you have a good idea. He was collegiate idol, my Kelly Clarkson if you will.

By the way I do know that it is a bad form to speak lightly of the dead, however I am going to make an exception in this case. Sometimes it is necessary to cull the stupid from the herd. I have participated in many an alcohol-laden night, sometimes consuming a couple dozen drinks in the course of a few hours.

One particular night I drank to the point where I vomited blood, lots and lots of blood. My friends decided the best course of action was to lay me on my back in bed and to continue partying on. I don't really blame them, since shortly before the red sea parted from my mouth, I threatened to throw each of them out my window and actually did throw a telephone at my roommate of the time. Luckily, I missed his head by two or three inches and instead shattered the phone against the wall. Anyway, I was left alone, up to my own devices, and very possibly dying; if I had died it would have been sad. I doubt the world would have ever recovered from my loss, I am that damn important. However, it would have been my fault that death occurred and had a misanthropic blogger decided to make light of it so be it. Dead people have better things to worry about, like brains and staving off the demons of hell.


Go to Hell

Pinata: Survival Island is the reason why I watch movies. It is pure, unadulterated cinematic crack. AMC Fear Friday kicks ass.

And, I thought Nicholas Brendon had no career outside of Buffy.

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