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May 15, 2002
To quote one of the members of my group at the ImprovOlympic, after the voting for our second Cagematch appearance was tallied, "Damn! I'm naming my first-born child 69-12!"

So, that was nice.

I took a series of paranoid self-portraits with my lomo camera, but then I set the distance wrong, and I wound up exposing the film slightly when I tried to get it out of the camera, so I don't know if they'll come out at all. Nevertheless, I will call it art.

SLEAZY GUY, MACKING ON A HOT BLIND CHICK

(whispering in her ear) You have to read it in the original French...uh, French braille. Do they have that?

A memo went out about the relaxed summer dress code in the office. I still fall a fair distance short of it on my best days, but it's nice to be a little closer to respectability without having done anything about it.

QUOTE FROM "TRAINSPOTTING", TRANSPOSED OVER A DISCUSSION MY SHOW LAST FRIDAY

MOTHER SUPERIOR: Aye, that's Heiden for ye.
RENTON: He's always been lacking in moral fibre.
MOTHER SUPERIOR: He knows a lot of different kinds of monkeys.
RENTON: That's hardly a substitute.

I first heard about the news a few days ago, and I've been avoiding mentioning it until now, but if this forum is to have any integrity, I have to address controversies, so here goes. The suggestion has been made that it was the sheer force of my will, in the form of several pages worth of updates and epic poems, that suddenly restored Manute Bol to the public consciousness, but I am not proud of the result, which is that Manute will be appearing on the second edition of Celebrity Boxing on FOX at the end of May. I am glad that Manute will get some cash for the appearance, because he has had a rough few years, what with the civil war in his native Sudan, but I am concerned that his opponent, William "The Fridge" Perry, is going to kill him. Manute does not stand a chance. He will break. I know Manute Bol better than he knows himself. Friends have seen me wracked with guilt and attempted to console me by pointing out that as long as The Fridge doesn't get in close, Manute will be fine, because Manute has long arms and superior reach. To that, I can only respond with reference to Street Fighter II. Did anyone ever try to play with Dhalsim, the Indian mystic guy whose arms and legs stretched? Did you pick him as your main guy? No? That's what I thought. He looked like a great idea on paper, but he got killed every time out. Even Zangief, the Russian guy with the mohawk and the fucked up chest hair, could take him. Manute is going to break, and, unwittingly, I delivered him unto his doom.

I have hatched a vague plan involving The Fridge and pork chops, but it probably won't work. I don't even really know what a pork chop looks like.

Jesus. If my intellect had human form, it would be Manute Bol. The man broke his teeth the first time he tried to dunk a basketball. He's seven feet and seven inches tall, and god knows how his teeth got involved in dunking, but they did. Manute Bol is modern man: elongated, tricked by nature itself into these strange parlor games, eternally out of his element, and I have betrayed him. With friends like these, eh, Manute?

A HORRIBLE LESSON

It is the first day of a new semester. EDWIN, a young college student, has decided to switch majors, and he is ready to embark upon his new course of study. The path to class is a long and winding one, taking him through corners of the campus where he had never before had a reason to go. Finally, he arrives outside the building.

EDWIN: What a long walk! This is all rather unfamiliar. But I am ready to dedicate myself to my studies.

EDWIN enters the building. Checking a sheet of paper, he notes that the classroom must be a short way down the hall. He arrives at what he supposes must be the right room, and he takes a seat. He is early, because he is a good student, and therefore he is the first person in the room. The TEACHER enters the room shortly thereafter.

EDWIN: Hello. I am here for class.
TEACHER: Good. I like having students.
EDWIN: I plan to work hard.
TEACHER: That is refreshing to my ears.
EDWIN: Will the other students be here soon?
TEACHER: Yes, and then we will get started.

EDWIN fidgets, hoping that class will start soon. He perks up when he hears feet outside and the door to the classroom opening. The other students have arrived. But Edwin is shocked to discover that the other students are trolls, with knives!

EDWIN: (to himself) Shit! I have heard about these guys! They are honor roll students...in stabbing!

The trolls, with knives, take their seats. They are sleepy and bleary-eyed, having stayed up late the night before. They are hardly paying attention as the TEACHER begins to speak.

TEACHER: Good morning, class. I am your teacher. It is my opinion that the Socratic method of teaching is best. Therefore, I will be asking a lot of questions.
EDWIN: (to himself) I am safe for the moment because the trolls, with knives, are sleepy, but if the teacher targets them directly with questions, they will wake up fast, and then it's curtains for me! The only way these trolls, with knives, respond to stimuli is by stabbing everything around them!
TEACHER: The first question is for...
EDWIN: Me! I would like to answer the first question.
TEACHER: Okay. What is the square root of pi, multiplied by the year Admiral Perry's fleet arrived in Japan?
EDWIN: 12?
TEACHER: There is no truth in your answer, Edwin. We will move on to the next question. You, there, in the first row, will you tell me...
EDWIN: I will tell you!
TEACHER: Edwin, you did not know the answer to the last question. What makes you think you will know the answer to this one?

Some of the trolls, with knives, are beginning to stretch and stir.

EDWIN: I want to redeem myself!
TEACHER: Fine. Subtract the weight of a Swingline brand staple from that of a jumbo paper clip, and give an example of a poem that has the same number of syllables as the remaining measure.
EDWIN: (to himself) Shit! Why did I major in such useless knowledge? (out loud) Uh, "Jabberwocky".
TEACHER: Yes, but you left out your unit of measurement, so I cannot accept your answer. Now, I'd like to hear from someone else.
EDWIN: Call on me again!
TEACHER: Edwin, your grade is in the shitter because of your incorrect answers. If you care about your academic career, which may be at its end, you will be silent.
EDWIN: (to himself) This is a fucking quandary! My health...or my academic future? I must decide...
TEACHER: The American educational system is in decline. We will listen to loud techno music.
EDWIN: No!

Awakened by the sudden blast of loud techno music, the startled, cranky trolls, with knives, stab the shit out of everyone in sight.


That will probably be the last appearance of the trolls, with knives, because people have been saying that they are too intense, and the lessons they teach are too horrible. I have enough trouble without a bunch of people protesting my damn webpage.

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