Why do I even have a chequebook? Next time, just give me a package full of pre-voided bank slips. That's all I ever use them for anyways.

Don't get me wrong, at this rate, I'll get through the entire chequebook within a year, but none of them have been made out with an amount.

Just in case you missed it, this update used to say how I broke my site again. I fixed it. On a totally related note, J is the Mac Daddy, and quite possibly the Daddy Mac as well.

It's one thing to ditch me. The sad truth is, I'm used to it. And go ahead, cancel at the last moment, effectively nullifying my day/evening. I'm still used to it. But fucking tell me at some point.

"These are OR scrubs."

"Oh are they?

Time to pick up the pieces and go home.

Sometimes I really wonder what on earth people think of me. By and large I don't give a flying fuck, but still, I wonder

Holy shit. It's temporary, and it's ugly.

Something this ugly has no right to exist

"No matter what happens, I've got that sofa problem covered"

That really doesn't apply to me.

Regardless, Jeff's house is absolutely amazing, and I thoroughly look forward to crashing in his spare bedroom for the next 5 or 6 years.

And because it looks much much nicer now, I'll also mention in a not-at-all-roundabout way, Patricia's site, and hopefully one day I'll convince her to let me host it for her to do away with pop-up banners once and for all. That's not exactly the #1 thing I need to convince her of, but it's somewhere on the list.

Semi-amazingly, I'm enjoying Final Fantasy XI. It shouldn't be called Final Fantasy XI, and I border on saying it shouldn't be called Final Fantasy at all but it's easily the best MMORPG I've played. Of course that only means it's better than Ultima Online (and the Beta Test, at that) but still. It's the best.

Through extensive research, I've discovered what Step Two is.

Apparantly, Step Two consists of raising a shelf a foot or two, to avoid Braining myself.

I need a vacation.

"If you're looking for sympathy you can find it between shit and syphillis in the dictionary."

Step One - Bed.

Step Two - ???

Step Three - Profit!

Submitted for your approval, A man, out for a night of recreation, is taken to a pub he's walked past many times, without giving a thought to the horrors it may contain.

His first impression is of a typical, perhaps idyllic downtown bar/eatery. The bar maid greets the man, and his friend, and tells them to sit wherever they like. His friend, who's been to this pub before, chooses a table near to the front of the pub, next to a door labelled "Staff Only".

The man, having earlier consumed approximately 3 litres of Coca Cola, in addition to several other beverages over the course of the day, feels a pressing need to use the men's room. Asking his friend where it is, he's told it's at the far end of the bar, down the stairs, and then down the hall.

As the man begins to walk to the far end of the bar, his friend asks if he wants something to drink. Yelling over his shoulder, the man replies he'll have a Coke. The pretty bar maid looks up and asks if Pepsi is okay. Weighing the relative merits of going without caffeine, or finding another open eatery at 11:15 PM, and re-exmaning his brand loyalties in the face of their multi-billion dollar advertising campaigns for close to an eighth of a second, he smiles at her and replies "Fine."

Continuing to the back of the bar, the man is overcome with a feeling of dread. The grill flares up, out of control a foot to his right. He realizes he has work in the morning and at this point he won't be home until well after midnight. He briefly makes eye contact with the short order cook manning the grill, and through that eye contact, the man realizes that the staff just want to close up and go home.

The Man finally reaches the end of the pub, to be faced with stairways leading up, and down. Tired to the point of being slightly disoriented, he overlooks the sign on the wall that says "Patio Upstairs Washrooms Downstairs", but heeding his friend's advice, makes the correct choice. And in doing so, he enters...The Twilight Zone.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the man is faced with a long, poorly lit hallway, stretching off into the distance. The ceiling is low, and being tall, the man finds he has to duck in places. The man passes several doors, none of which prove to contain a toilet. Finally the man reaches a bucket, filled with fetid, stinking grey muck, and a mop. The stench from the bucket makes the man gag. Continuing past the bucket, the man sees two green doors, side by side. The paint on them is chipped and worn away. On the closest one, a small brown piece of wood reads "Ladies". The far door reads "Men". From behind the Men's room door comes a sound; part grunt, part hum.

Pushing open the door, the man is overcome with the scent of body odour and alcohol. Staring at him, from just inside the door, is a scraggly old man, his winter jacket faded and grubby, and out-of-place in the 30+ degree, July weather. The old man looks surprised; clearly not expecting to see anyone down here at this time of night. He makes some raspy gasping noises, staring wildly around the room, then turns from the man and crosses the exceptionally small and low-ceilinged men's room to the mirror and sink in the corner, and makes a show of washing up.

Still repulsed by the smell, and the unexpected occupant, the man takes in his surroundings. A filthy, unflushed toilet which the last person neglected to flush, and with stall partitions wrapped so tightly around it that the man wouldn't be able to turn around with the door closed. A small sink, currently in use by the scraggly-looking man. A small urinal, hung high on the wall, the white caulking around it's pipes the only thing in the room that didn't look filthy.

Warily, the man stepped up to the urinal, turning his back on the old man at the sink, unzipped, and let fly with a stream of urine.

Behind him, the old man resumed humming, grunting occasionally. The man decided he didn't want to know why the old man was humming, and that, by and large there wasn't a single place on Earth he wouldn't rather be at that moment. Eventually, his bladder voided, he slipped himself back into his pants, zipped up, flushed (noting that the caulk was indeed fresh as he nearly knocked the urinal off the wall) and turned around.

The old man was staring at him, wild-eyed and grinning. Teeth the colour and size of baked beans glittered in the light from the one flickering flourescent tube. With the hairs on the back of his neck raising in panic, the man took a fleeting half-step towards the door to the hall, beyond the old man. The old man shuffled to the man's right, cutting off his escape...but no, the old man was simply shuffling over towards the toilet stall, allowing the man access to the sink.

The man washed up, taking advantage of the tub of pink goo that passes for hand soap, rinsed, looked at himself in the mirror, briefly thought of the pretty bar maid, and tidied his hair. Behind him, the old man continued to hum, grunting occasionally.

Done at the sink, the man reached for the paper towel dispenser, when the feeling of dread returned. Unsure as to why this time, the man felt rooted to the spot. The old man's hoarse grunts came more regularly now, and he'd ceased humming. Having decided that the old man was harmless, he was ignored. Unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, the man looked back to the sink, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Deciding that it was just a combination of the late hour, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the grunting, wild-eyed man behind him giving him a case of the jitters, the man had just started to chide himself for being so foolish when he saw it.

It had been there the whole time. Almost at eye level, but the sheer insanity of it all wouldn't let it register in his mind. Quickly he wrenched open the door, stumbling out into the hallway, leaving the old man, and the men's room to their madness. Stiffly walking back up the hall, ignoring the side doors until he reached the stairs, which he dashed up, back into the pub his friend suggested. Boggling at what he'd seen, the man walks back out to the front of the room, past the pretty bar maid, and sits down across from his friend.

"Find the washroom alright?" asks the friend.

Retinas still burning with the image of what he's seen, the man stammers, "Ummm, Y-yeah. Yeah I found it."

"You okay, man?"

"There...There was a sign. A sign...on the paper towel dispenser. In the men's room. The sign said, "Drinking Beer, Wine, or Spirits during pregnancy may harm your unborn child". The sign. The sign which was in the Men's Room."

"Oh yeah, I remember that. That's weird, huh? It seems kind of out of place in there." grinned the friend.

"...In...the Men's Room...my unborn child..." muttered the man, his world shattered.

Mad jokes.

Hopefully I'll still remember more than a handful by the time I actually get to update properly.

Mmmmmm. It's so beefy!

For Lara Croft: Tomb Raider - The Cradle of Life

To go the fuck away.

I'd better be careful.

I think possibly my life makes a little bit of sense at the moment. Which means it's probably teetering on collapse. I think, in preparation, I'll clean my room.

Oh, and I got me a proper office today. I don't think it'll last though. Oh, and work on Body Building Ninja Dwarves has begun.

Baited. The. Hell. Out. 4 Times. In 2 days. By 3 different people.

And I totally didn't see it coming in 2 cases.

I'm moving to a different town.

Don't get your hopes up, kid.

In brighter news, Jeff's Bachelor Blow-out went off quite well. 6P NBA Live action. Roughly one Two-Four to each guest. The Party Bus downtown. Disturbing amounts of barbequed food. Andrew bothering every person he could find. Glow in the dark tits. Booty shaking. really chatty Andrea.

You want the bus. I saw you looking. You love the bus.

Now I just have to remember when the Tux fitting is, and I'll be all set.

Only, it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

Not even top 200 material folks. It sucked.

But it could have been.