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But wait, there's more.

There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?

Join codebastards, I dare you. Remember, codebastards are us.

I'm baded and jitter. So are these people. (And why not follow the previous, next, or random links?)

Need a band name?

Doug vs. Japanese Snack Foods: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

rant is where the heart is

diaryland: entry for 2002-10-16 (12:06)
In which our plucky young hero didn't, you know, smoke. Since you were wondering.

Dear everyone else who was there when that filthy hippie who started hopping around the extremely crowded dance floor in the middle of "Blister In The Sun":

Please accept my deepest apologies for not stepping on that idiot's head.

Trust me, it was not for lack of desire nor for lack of opportunity. Thanks to his pathetic, feeble attempts at crowd surfing, I had a prime shot when he was still clumsily on the floor, having just been dropped by the crowd.

(Yeah, I cheered when they dropped him, too.)

Next time, I promise, I'll step on his head. It won't be like I'll be injuring any bodily organs that half-baked patchouli freak uses, anyway. And we all agree it'd be a public service.

Just give me a call before the next show, okay? You have to remind me to wear my steel-toed boots.


(But aside from that, Vancouver was a blast. Mr. Show rocked, and the Violent Femmes rocked, and 54-40 was sold out, and the damned Flames won 3-2 over the Canucks at the hockey game we went to, but at least I didn't buy a $7 beer.)

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