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1.12.2002
Sour Cream Maidenhead
What was that Dexter-momma nightmare you had the other night? She was hiding in your wine closet with a shaven head and Jose Canseco bobble head doll? Think back to her son filming you unbeknownst --- I have seen the tapes at my local 7-11. How old is she now? 74? (Jerry Rice kicks ass/23 day countdown to war in Kashmir) The Master is googly eyed and moksha paradigmed. Indeed. Don't squeeze the crack whore!
"Hi Bryan,
Though u donno me , please answer my query . I WANNA ACCESS RESULTSET VALUE IN A VARIABLE. UserTypeId I M NOT ABLE TO DO SO. HOWEVER IT RETURNS GOOD DATA WITH THIS STATEMENT %=rs2.getInt("UserTypeId")% WHY SO ? WHAT SHALL I DO TO GET VALUES FROM RESULTSET TO VARIABLE?" - sanjay deshpande Well Sanjay, I suggest you go fuck yourself and stop wasting my time. - Bryan I think Mr. Whipple might be o.k.. I sure loved him in those commercials.
You know, "Don't squeeze the Vermin!" Then again, it is hard to know the real score when you are deep inside Cowboy Junction. 1.11.2002
Not sure Whipple has "The Edge"...
By the way mutherfucker, there is a logic behind the naming of Wax Italians. I think you really wanted to say Lancing Bone becuz you is a homo! OK, so here's my rear entry: Проекты Трудового кодекса Российской Федерации представлены Государственной Думой Федерального Собрания Российской Федерации для ознакомления и обсуждения. Документы предлагаются в в виде архивных *.zip файлов. Тексты сохранены в файлах формата RTF . 1.09.2002
a better adventure i've never read
glad i could help -kurt btw lou whipple has been found he'll be arriving soon i'm thinking LANCE BARONE 1.07.2002
Veteran Hassle
Was at Butte College applying for my G.I. Bill money of about $800.00 dollars a month for taking "full load" of 12 units --- hard, insensitive classes like Creative Writing, Hispanic Film, and Native American Anthropology--- (really) ---hee hee, what a racket; the bureaucratic mess of California School System and the Federal Government combined is a formidable force in which to trifle if you are a humble Navy vet. I walk in, high as a pregnant grasshopper on mifepristone, when an odd looking guy approaches the counter. The first thing I notice about him is his horrible limp, his left leg appears to be completely dead. He has to drag it with him with both of his hands clutched around his thigh. He is in white corduroys, blue Keds, and a frilly pink and blue Hawaiin shirt. There is a plastic name tag in black and white on his chest. Jethro. He peers up at me at searches for my eyes through his scratched Coke Bottle glasses. "You a vet?" he asks in a deep, baroque voice. "You need help?" Maybe I should help you, I am thinking, but I immediately belay the thought as I smile. "Sure. I just need to apply for my G.I. Bill Benefits. I have my DD 214 form right here." He takes the form and immediately cracks, "Wow, I heard the Navy was for fags. I was in the Coast Guard. I worked in an office." "Oh," I answer with desperate nonchalance. "Do you have the forms I need?" My mind is suddenly too high. It is shifting gears while all I am trying to do is slow down to a more manageable, easy speed. This, this dude cannot be real. My tricky brain must be trying to fuck with me. I can't blow this. Eight-Hundred bucks a month for writing crazy neo-prose crap and watching Mexican movies is too good a gig to blow. Especially as I am here at the Counter of Control. I must maintain. He hands over the neccesary papers to me, farts, and turns around in order to struggle back to his computer. I had noticed that his bulbous eyes were vacant. Nthing but a sorry pair of defective optical lenses mounted on a hollow shell of defective brain. But that is not my problem at the moment. My challenge, if I choose to accept it, is to complete the government forms, with black ink, in the next ten minutes before the office is closed. Money, hurry, go... I feverishly attack the paper sentinels. Name, social, address, the usual bureaucratic entanglements. Major? Major they ask? I don't have a major. I already have a degree! Money. But I don't think that that is what they have in mind. O.K.. Think. Spanish. Spanish is now my major. Voided check for direct deposit, thumbprint, DNA swab from my inside cheek, stool sample on appropriate card. What the hell do they want that stuff for? Am I seeing correctly? 23. My first born will be named Willy Bungholio S. 24 My favorite car is green. 35. (Hurry!) Never known the pungent odor of Autumn Marijuana Festivals. What computer file will they put these answers into? To what outcome is this process leading? If I can fill this paperwork out they, the assembled tax payers of America will give me lots of free money. Quickly. I can hear Jethro approaching the counter. His dragging foot sounds like a snow shovel scraping across jagged black-top. "You all done there, guy?" he intones with the casual flippancy of a ensconced state worker. "Yes." I scribble my signature and the date. "It's too late, you know." He points his pasty finger up at the clock. Five minutes too late. "But it has to be turned in today." By this time I am a hopping frog glued to a heating stove. "Why?" I ask in supplication. "You know we all have rules to follow," he smirks from behind his plastic authority. I am sure you understand." Desperation. Easy money. Sex. Drugs. The pleasureable essence of good food. Yes. I'm on a diplomatic mission from Alderaan," I say in desperation. Don't you understand!" I yell. His face blanches to a pale mauve color. "Oh, I see. O.K. then. All right. No problem." WORLD PEACE You have to love the COAST GUARD 1.06.2002
"Doing the bull dance,
feelin' it, workin' it, workin' it..." roust trembling shelled ones for sandy dancing...Oh Fair martyr-Bull! DotH NOT now goth woth dith...spheww! Thand in my mouth! HAH! |
