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7/18/2005 I am a boiling pot of seething rage. I am a volcano of anger. I am a hot cup of pissed off soup. I am a tingly lump of enraged mosquito bite. I am a tangled knot of wrathful shoelace. I am an inflated balloon of angst-filled hemorrhoid. I am a stinky wad of unhappy diaper.

I hate Harry Potter.


7/17/2005 Stomping on kittens.

Some people write openly about what they're feeling, post it on the web for everybody to read. Not us cowards, though.

Nope, we stomp on kittens.



7/12/2005 You know you're retarded when you go through your own website looking for recent updates, and are disappointed when you don't find any.

Turns out, I'm retarded.

7/10/2005 Hidey-ho friends and neighbors! I damn near fergot that I had me a website! No worries, however, I've come back to spew idiocy into the ether once again. For those none of you interested in my life, I won't talk about it any more, other than to say I'm back on the wagon, TV-wise. Video games, however, are another story. I also feel I should mention the fact that I've been out of the house somewhat more than usual, and without the accompaniment of my faithful computer, ISHMAEL, I've been unable to keep the creative juices flowing and the fapping as frequent. I'm sure you can understand how this puts a kink in the creative process.

I'm on the cusp of writing a lot again. If y'all care, and if y'all beleive me (I wouldn't), There shall be more words here. Can I get a Hallelujah? No? Can I get a Yay? How about a Meh?

Forget it.

If you can read this and you know it, clap your hands.....or send me an email.



5/2/2005 Okay, so yesterday wasn't my best day for writing. Not that any other day is any better. But, I'll be damned if I'll apologize for offending any of you! You uppity colored and over-compassionate honkies...damn your eyes, all of you!

Did you know that 'honkey' is not kosher with Microsoft's spellcheckers? 'Honky' is, however. Who knew? I always thought that both spellings were acceptable. Thank God that Microsoft is on the ball, and has taken the initiative in defining acceptable racial slurs along with everything else.

Anyway, TV. I used to not watch much TV. I went maybe a year without really watching anything except the Discovery channel (not the faggy design shows, you fags) or the History channel (not the faggy diving shows, you fags) or other non-sitcom type goodness. I didn't avoid TV to be cool, but the separation from the constant onslaught of commercial advertisement and repetitive jokes that are only funny because the laugh track tells you its funny gave some insight. It sort of gave me this holier-than-thou attitude towards people who spent their days gushing over episodes of Stupid Actors Being Lame or Unoriginal Exploitive Reality Show.

Recently, my situation has changed, and I've had free time in the evenings. This is a novelty; I've been working at night for years and years. Since I've been working nights for years, I don't have any kind of social life to speak of at night. Therefore, I have resorted to television.

I'm off the wagon.

The only difference between then and now is that now I just look down my nose at the shows themselves instead of the people who let themselves get carried away with them. I still hate TV, but now I hate it the way heroin addicts hate the smack. I'll curse its name as I'm pushing the plunger.

There is so much to write about how and why I hate TV, but I don't feel like typing any more, and really, isn't one short newsy columny thing a day for two days more than you ever expected? Sure it is. Now fack off.




Alias does standup...

Woo-hoo and whiz-bang! Hey, hey kids, it's time for another fun installment of Boring Shit Nobody Really Wants To Read But They Feel Obligated To Because Their Friend Put It Online!

As both of you know, I write stuff on this website approximately once a month. So, I felt it was about time to write more, in order to keep my approximations approximate. I don't have anything to write about, so I'll just riff off of the crowd, like those nifty Hollywood-style stand-up comedians and comediennes, who for some reason are spelled different just because they lack the all-important penis.

Hey, so I see we have some jews in the audience tonight! How about them jews, huh? Oh, I'm supposed to capitalize that. Somehow, Jews think they're good enough for capital letters. Fucking Jews....Some black folks too, huh? That's a race a man can get to love. Hard working, them black folks are. They just need a little encouragement. (Insert rimshot here) I'm just kidding, my soul sisters and brothers! Black people though, those black people, I tell you....um....I got nothin. OH! Here we go.

A black guy walks into a police station, and he gets shot. BADA-BING! Ouch! What the fuck? Security, remove those people throwing glasses at me? Yeah, the brown ones in the front there. Thanks.

Sir, you in the front, what is your name? Hernandez? OOOOHHH! We gots us a spic here! How's them beans, paco?


Come on, that was funny! You fucking people....I'm leaving. You people have no sense of humor. You'd think that the fucking ACLU annual fundraiser would have some fun people at it...Jesus....

(Alias walks off stage. Sounds of a mauling are heard.)




4/3/2005 HEY! It's APRIL FOOL'S DAY! Oh, wait, that was yesterday. Fuck. It was the day before? Oh well.

I put up a new movie to look at. I think it's sorta funny. You might too. Gander at it.

In lifely news, in five more days I shall no longer be duly employed. As a member of the elite group of Americans with only one job (and one that pays slightly more than minimum wage, at that) I shall have countless seconds of free time on a monthly basis during which I may compile random groupings of words into 'stories' or 'columns' or 'articles' or 'incoherent drunken ramblings.' Whichever suits my mood.

Furthermore, fuck all of yous. Hard. In the ear. With a shotgun. KA-POW! Like that.


4/2/2005 The Pope died today. He was very old. You probably don't know who he was. Hope you were right dude.
3/302005 Mitch Hedberg died today. He wasn't very old. You probably don't know who he was. RIP, dude.
3/13/2005 My anger from a week ago, it wasn't enough. One thing that gets me moving like nothing else is anger. This sucks, because I am not an angry person. I need to make my own anger. That makes me into an asshole. I get bitter. I get cold. I get cruel. Just the way you love me. But that anger that I got from outside, it didn't last. I worked a week of 14 hour days, and barely finished it intact. I have nothing to look forward to but more 75-hour work weeks. This is not angering, this is is wearying.

This is sort of good, I guess. I thought that working my ass off, I would lose my creative urge, and my need to put horrible, disturbing things on paper or hard drives. Turns out, I was wrong. I was a little worried that a regular job might turn me into a happy, normal, functioning person. I was wrong. I'm not worried about that any more. I will always be a fucking mess, turns out. Good for the world.

You all suck, by the way. If you're reading this, you suck. But at least you aren't watching TV. The longer I go without watching TV, the more I become convinced that it is a horrible invention. It was a great step up to something else, but somewhere we got lost, and stayed on that step, buying MopNGlow and Oreos. Donate your TV to somebody who really needs it: the trash.



3/6/2005 Thanks to certain ass-y people, I am unable to sleep. The whole anger thing has me twitching and whatnot. Maybe I'll type the situation up at some point and call it fiction. I get the feeling that it will be over soon anyway, so maybe I can fictionalize my life sooner rather than later. Since nobody but one vagino-american would have ANY clue what I'm talking about, that that particular person is not likely to read this before it stops being pertinent, I will move on to happier subjects.

   Upon further review, it becomes clear that there are no happier subjects. I start my new job tomorrow. I should finish a good book this morning. Neither of those things gives me any great joygasms. I feel the urge to punch brick walls and stomp on babies, like those French people making wine...but....out of babies...I will call it L'Enfant du Pieds 2005. See, writing it in italics made it foreign. Oh well, I try to sleep now. I will giggle and seethe at this incoherence in the morning, methinks.





Just a short one this time. Due to a lack of distractions, I have added the vast majority of the content from the old site. Not that you haven't already read it. It was just easier than writing new stuff. Enjoyed.
3/5/2005 You ever have one of those days? I know, I know, this isn't a 'blog,' and I am not supposed to bitch about my day and stuff, but I don't mean one of those days where you crap your pants and the bank robs you and you are informed by the hospital that you actually died four days ago and are now technically a zombie. I mean one of THOSE days. The days nobody else had...like in that horrible made-for-TV (and if it wasn't it should have been) movie made from a mediocre short story The Langoliers.

     Yesterday morning (not for you, yesterday morning for you was two days ago for me) I woke up, and nobody was home. This is normally a good thing, as I go into my Tom Cruise impersonation and go to the Scientology center to be audited about my past lives and engrams and whatnot (ha, ha, you thought I was going to say I danced around in my underwear, didn't you? Joke's on you, whores...I dance naked) but this was a different kind of nobody home. Nobody was home on Earth. I walked around and there was nobody there. This was the best day of my life.

   I mean that. I had dreamed about this day at least once every day for the last 10 years. I was free to blow things up, eat all the food in the supermarket, blow things up, steal cars, blow things up, smoke random plants in the police station, and blow things up. The first thing I did, though, was take a nap. That was a bad idea. See, I wasn't the only person left behind for a day, or stuck in a time gap for a day, or put in a bad movie for a day, or whatever. See, it happened like this...

    I was sleeping in a park, on a bench. I've always wanted to be homeless, you see. I woke up, and the first thing I saw was, I thought, Mount Rushmore. Well, one of the faces from Mount Rushmore. Then, my vision cleared, and it turns out it was just a zombie. I screamed, like any normal person, because the zombie had a hand on my weenie.

     There is something undeniably horrifying about waking to a zombie grasping your tool. But it got worse. The zombie said 'How old are you? Sham-BOOIE!' And then, its nose fell on me. I then realized that, no zombie this, it was Michael Jackson! I slapped that pale bitch across the face (all of which came off in my hand, like in South Park) and ran like a dirty little whore, which is what I felt like after being probed so indecently by that weenie-hungry me-o-phile. And I ran. I ran so far away. I ran all night and day. Well, all day anyway. At some point, I woke up again and it was this morning and I had to go to work.

     Thus endeth a stupidly long news post that contains no news whatsoever.




3/4/2005 Okay, so, the Pope is going to totally die soon. Everybody is all sad. Boo, hoo, the old man is going to croak. I'm not catholic. I'm not any religion. I think organized religions are, as a group of groups, fucking retarded. Especially since the three largest ones all bow down to the same God, yet the followers of each really want the rest to die. Anyway, the old wrinkly Polack is huffin his last few cans of paint these days. You say 'BOO!' I say 'YAY!'

     People die, man. That's what people do. You're going to die. I'm going to die. Your mother is going to die, if the bitch hasn't already. Hell, you might help her along there. If everybody dies, and its a known fact, why the HELL does everybody get all fucking weepy when somebody shits the farm/kicks the bed/buys the bucket/etc.? You can look at any baby and go 'YOU'RE GONNA DIE!' Its mother will take it away from you, and people will think you're evil like me, but at least then maybe they won't be so surprised when the thing dies on them.

    Don't get me wrong, I know that it can be sad for somebody to die. If it's a kid, then of course it's sad. Dude got gypped, man. But, if its somebody with more than five decades under their belt, you gotta know it's coming. You can't look at your overweight, 68 year old neighbor with no hair and false teeth and think "that guy is TOTALLY going to be around to see Haley's comet next time!" If you're really close to somebody, fine, you can miss them. If it's your spouse or parent, okay, you mourn them, because it profoundly changes your life. But unless that dude got hit by a bus, you shouldn't be so surprised...

    Back to ol' Popey. The guy is over eighty years old. I'd tell you exactly how old, but it doesn't really matter, and I'm too lazy to check. He's EIGHTY. It is time for him to die. It's not like we can expect him to hold out for another two decades. For some reason, though, Catholics around the world are praying for him to recover. This says two things about Catholics.

     One, they are HUGE suckers. They still believe in the 'prayer' thing, when it hasn't done jack shit for them. If that shit worked, I'd be a millionaire, my parents never would have caught on to my marijuana usage, I would have gotten laid at the age of 12, I would be driving a Maserati, and all of you would be dead.

     Two, they don't understand how people work. The whole dying thing, I mean. You gotta die. Are they hoping for a miraculous recovery so the guy can just die NEXT week? Even if that happened, the idiots would still be surprised and get all weepy and shit. Doesn't that strike anybody else as monumentally retarded? The people who believe in HEAVEN are crying because the holiest man on the planet just died at the age of EIGHTY something (yep, still lazy). Let him die! When he dies, go 'YAAAAAY!' Not because he's dead and no longer in pain and, as you catholic folks believe, has gone on to an eternity of happiness, but because he lived so fucking long. Give the guy a 'YAY!' for what he did, not for what he didn't live long enough to do. That goes for the rest of the people who surprised the world by dying before never, too. Friend of yours have a relative die? They lookin' for some sympathy? "Be happy he's dead!" That'll earn you a black eye, but maybe, after the swelling goes down, you can explain to them why you said it, and maybe they'll be a little happier. If they are, shoot them. We don't want people TOO happy.

     (To anybody who actually read this ridiculously long post, email me for a free cookie. You're welcome.)




13/13/2098 I am sending this from...THE FUTURE! That's right! THE FUTURE! In THE FUTURE we always write the time in caps. That's just how we roll. Also, we have added a new month, the 13th month, Ahemmbuary. This month is the baddest month you have ever done seen, kid. We had to strap a bunch of rocket motors onto the planet and keep 'em running for like a week to slow Earth down enough to add a whole month, and now the planet is falling slowly into the sun, but it was totally worth it.

     Anyway, from the future, I'm here to tell you to all stop being such dumbasses. I already know that none of you will listen, and lots of bad things (the Great Donut Shortage of 2021, alien invasions in 2006, 2013, and 2021, that last causing the Donut Shortage, the huge cloud over the Atlantic that smells like farts, the huge cloud over the Pacific that smells like homeless people, and the huge cloud over the Indian Ocean that rains farting homeless people, not to mention World War IX, in which Ed Deroches saved the world) will happen. But my conscience requires that I try, anyway, in case Star Trek was right and you CAN change the future FROM the future, even though for you it's the present, and it is already happening, so you can't hump your grandmother or any of that jazz.

     In closing, don't worry so much about North Korea....its fuckin' Nepal you have to keep an eye on....Shazbat and Shalom, biatchbots. (That's FUTURE talk for 'Shazbat and Shalom, biatches')



3/3/2005 Here is a fucking news update. In the bloggy spirit of things and shit, I'll tell you about my life. My life, or 'loife' as I call it when speaking in a terrible Irish accent, is a horrible desert of normalcy. Damn you all for not giving me tons of money to make me fabulously, unusually rich so that I could do amazing things and get myself lots of attention for dropping thousands of dogs from an airplane 20,000 feet over New York City.

     I got a new job. That might explain that crazyness up there. Yay, money. Boo, getting up before noon. The sun is not a thing to be seen as much as a thing to hear about secondhand, as far as I'm concerned.

     This website, now. Oh, this website....what is there to say that has not been said? Nothing, that's what. I'll settle for repeating myself: This site sucks. Blow me.


2/28/2005 And you thought there'd be something new...
2/19/2005 I am the greatest person on Earth. I found a random old site backup on my hard drive. Now all of you can read the old horrible shit you had hoped was lost forever! I will still write more words for those of you who aspire to bulimia but don't want to use the old finger method. My words will make anybody hork a load.
2/17/2005 Holy bajeezus, do I suck. I mean, not like a shitty made-in-America vacuum suck, I suck like the biggest motherfucking black hole to ever have sucked.

Turns out, much of the stuff I had on the old AHEMM.org existed only there on the web server. I had no other copies.

Additionally, turns out, somehow all of the old web bits got magically fucked up. They got magically fucked up very, very badly. They're so magic and fucked up now that I have lost much of my 'work.' The only saving grace being that the word 'work' has to go in quotes for a very good reason. Oh well, c'est la vie. (That's French for 'fucking kill me')


2/16/2005 Happy new year, a few months later.

This site is dead. I buried it. I put a stake through it's heart. It began to decay. My muse went on vacation to South America and became hopelessly addicted to cocaine, had a sex change, and began working the beaches in Brazil.

Then...KAPOW, ZING, and BAM! That crazy zombie virus from those video games came and brought it back to life. The site, not the muse. Now it wanders through my mind, its face a shambles, its wiry hair clotted with crumbling earth, looking for brains to eat. Alas, I am fresh out of brains, so I will feed it all I do have: repetitive strings of words torn from an extremely limited vocabulary.

I apologize in advance for any upbeat attitudes expressed on here in the near future. I didn't mean it.


12/19/2004 Holy Bajeesus, this site looks crappier every time I touch it. I'm like a crap fairy. But, like, not the fairy part...

At any rate, I should have the site totally done soon. I mean like, you'll be able to look at junks and read craps that I have writted, just like you could do before I dove into the world of multiple colors and different fonts...and gaudy hyperlink effects...I hate rainbows.


This is the first news of the new layout. For all the old news, you can check out the news archives.

There really isn't much to say here. The site is still being worked on, and I think that with more boredom and the oncoming misery of winter there will be much more to read here.

In my life news, I am and have been out of school for a while now, and am the proud holder of what is likely to prove a useless degree. The years I spent in school weren't useless, I learned a lot of shit, but the subject I degreed in...well, degrees don't do much for folks in that profession. If I only knew then what I know now, I would have just become a pimp. Pimps have it made, man. All that pimp slappin and pimpin and wearing faux fur. That's the life...