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Archive for "Feb 06 2005"

A Wicked Lip

Mikey seems a tad teed off:

Now the Jets, who have also offered to pay $800 million towards the cost of a new stadium that is supposed to help solidify a bid for the 2012 Summer Games that only Bloomberg and his Deputy Mayor In Charge of 76 Trombones, Daniel Doctoroff, have ever really wanted, are going to have to pay a lot more if they want the land. They are going to have to bid against somebody, the way you are supposed to bid in the city of New York for properties like this.

“…Deputy Mayor In Charge of 76 Trombones…’

I’m gonna be laughing on that all the ding-dong day today…maybe ’til Tuesday. Hey, Danny Doc? Why don’t you go off into an alley and shoot yourself now, before Lupica convinces your wife to pick up a knife.

read it all. Especially the last ‘graph.

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Paying Props to Mount Olympus

I’ve been asked when it was that I got into this “blogging” thing by some clueless men that I call friends.

I usually respond “1987. I bought a modem and found some bulletin boards, then learned how to hack my phone bill after I got the first $600 ticket for logging in overseas.”

“No” they (well, one particularly idiotic maroon) said. “I mean doing the global dialogue thing. You said you talk to people in Europe more than you talk to us.”

“How ’bout I shoot your ass now, Gumby, and get it over with, okay?– you jackass juice sucking jackoff numbnut. Those Euro fuckers got five dollars more on the ball than you do on a good day.”

I’ve been out here in the ether longer than some of you fuckers I play with day to day have been old enough to figure out a keyboard.

But, as far as dicking around with Yahoo wahoos (do you even know what Y.A.H.O.O. means?) is concerned, The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler, specifically King High MotherFucking Supreme Slayer of ShitHeads, Emperor Misha, was the guy whose rantings and fisking told me: “Kill them, Luke. Kill all the assholes, and tear some new ones while you’re at it. Upgrade the servers and go buck nuts.”

If I got a BlogFather, it’s that beauticiously crazy SOB down Texas way. He reminded me that speaking your mind is just… shit… an invigorating kind of rush.

Oh, and he convinced me Frank J. was right: BlenderBoy gotta be stopped.

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