[…] Now, I’m no NASA scientist, but I have been known to volunteer my consulting services to anyone in Google’s engineering department that I can reach by viral E-mail campaign. In return, they tell me that an average of 500 visitors/month is good, but would improve significantly if I were to offer more doctored jpegs of the cast of Deep Space Nine.
Filed in February, 2008
Up the Academy
[…] I’m a walking body bag. If my body’s a temple, it’s the Temple of Doom. There’s even a little bald dude in there that rips out chicks’ hearts.
On My Deflowering
[…] If you’re here because you heard about my ad space, don’t worry; it’s still on the market. I won’t let myself get tied down by any single blog. There are just too many blogs in the blogosphere, and I’ve got plenty of ad space to go around.
The .45 Caliber Menace
I noticed the other day that a blog neighbor, Fanton, had a challenge out at Digital Sickbag to create a blog movie poster. I thought this was a great idea, so decided to get in on the action. Behold, my entry:
I also noticed I’m a finalist in the What Was Willy Reading? contest at The [...]
Sicko This Country
[…] I haven’t been to a doctor in years, aside from semi-regular STD screenings that are necessary for me to continue having promiscuous sex. Even to get these screenings, I must first prove that I am high-risk by bringing photos of myself having IV drug sex with rabid monkeys.
My Bloody Valentine
[…] I used to make a practice of littering my personal information around in the hopes of having my identity stolen. My identity hasn’t been doing me much good and if some Nigerian con ring wants to assume the insurmountable debt and FBI record, they’re welcome to it.
I Called Her .22
[…] They said they didn’t know for dogs, but were plenty knowledgeable about internet sex slavery, selling “decommissioned” warheads to jealous Muslims, and smuggling conflict diamonds for the De Beers Corporation.
Mr. Fix-It
[…] Once I realize that the bitching has yet to make the thing work again (this could take years), I will MacGyver it into being half-ass operational with a syringe and a used condom wrapper, neither of which are in short supply in the pile under my bed.
