Enough with the sissy-mary poetry crap. I had these pictures on my computer for over a year. I figured it was time to do something with them. I decided to force you guys to look at them. It's that horrible cliche of visiting a friend and being forced to watch the slides of some boring vacation.
Without further gilding the Lilly, here is my 2005 Japan vacation.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Barely Poetry
I could probably rework this into something passable as poetry, but meh. It's not my style. I know this fetid piece of work did do one thing right. It did let me channel my thoughts and feelings. I hope it carries over into the explanation I owe someone.
(profound title here)
Danger risk perilous
gamble chance venturous
wager hazard challenge
brave daring treacherous.
Clash discord estrangement
strife hostility rent
confrontation friction
schism rift dissent.
Infuriate anger
enrage provoke choler
fury madden explode
irate bristle furor.
Reflect mull meditate
think weigh deliberate
ponder reflect savvy
cogitate ruminate.
Reconcile acceptance
concession concordance
resolve settle attune
assent acquiescence.
Placid calm dulcify
peace allay mollify
becalm quiet tranquil
soothe serene pacify.
(profound title here)
Danger risk perilous
gamble chance venturous
wager hazard challenge
brave daring treacherous.
Clash discord estrangement
strife hostility rent
confrontation friction
schism rift dissent.
Infuriate anger
enrage provoke choler
fury madden explode
irate bristle furor.
Reflect mull meditate
think weigh deliberate
ponder reflect savvy
cogitate ruminate.
Reconcile acceptance
concession concordance
resolve settle attune
assent acquiescence.
Placid calm dulcify
peace allay mollify
becalm quiet tranquil
soothe serene pacify.
An Apology
Looks like I pissed off GSX-RGirrrl. I knew I was taking a risk, but I thought she would allow me a bit of levity. I was wrong.
GSX-RGirrrl, it will never happen again.
GSX-RGirrrl, it will never happen again.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Safety Dance: Unintelligentsia
Watch this video now before GSX-RGirrrl shits a cow and has this removed.
*removed by request*
*removed by request*
Hawaii's Most Wanted Male
Unfortunately it wasn't for sex. Crap.
We trolls tend to be shunned by beautiful women. The only time we get said women is when we kidnap them and lock them in a dungeon or tower or something. Then some lame fairy in shining armor comes in and cockblocks us.
The last couple of days reinforced the aforementioned rule. Trolls don't get the women. Not unless we have something they need. Mainly brute force or specialty tools.
Imagine my surprise when GSX-RGirrrl called me and asked me over...
To service her motorcycle. sigh...
When I got to her house she had already drained the oil and removed the filter. All that was left for the oil change was to install a new filter and fill up with some over-priced motorcycle oil. The troll came in handy for holding the bike upright so that GSX-RGirrrl could check the oil level properly.
Now because she gets embarrassed easily, I won't mention that her funnel looked like some weird female urinal/bedpan thing. It was just as effective at funneling oil as a urinal too. And GSX-RGirrrl has a hard time pouring oil without spilling it everywhere. Luckily she sits or squats when she pees. If it was a real urinal scenario, we would have had to mop the floor.
Now it was time for me to whip out my specialty tool and jack off on her rear. I mean jack up her rear. Of the bike. Whatever.
Brute force and a Pitbull Stand later, and the bike's rear was off the ground. Now it was time to clean the chain. Motorcycle chains need to be cleaned and lubed regularly to prevent premature wear. GSX-RGirrrl's chain had been cleaned in, oh, never, so it was about time. The troll thought he had to clean the chain and was getting ready to get dirty when he was pushed aside. GSX-RGirrrl wanted the privilege of getting crud under her nails.
Since there was no need for brute force, the troll had nothing better to do than take pics with a phone camera and think up a blog.
GSX-RGirrrl got way too into the cleaning and decided it was time to brush her teeth. The last time she brushed them was around the last time she cleaned her chain. Never.
After the cleaning, GSX-RGirrrl sprayed on some chain lube. I use a chain wax. It's a different thing, but similar results. One can of chain wax lasted about 3 years for me. GSX-RGirrrl used about half a can in one sitting. She likes lots of lube. I guess she likes it slippery. All that extra lube will probably fling off and end up under her fender or on her tire or something. Oh well.
Then it was clean up time. That means wiping your hands all over your tee shirt instead of paper towels or rags.
One of the last things cleaned was my stand. GSX-RGirrrl took her time cleaning it. I guess she thought it resembled a phallus because she rubbed it down with the crotch of her shorts. Dedicated cleaner, that girl. When I grabbed the stand to put it in my truck, it slipped out of my hands. Leftover lube? Something was fishy.
Somewhere along the line GSX-RGirrrl punched my arm. I'm used to it. Trolls elicit fear and anger in people. However, while normal guys would take the punch, trolls punch back. I think we went four or five rounds and I punched her arm pretty hard too. I'm hoping to see a bruise next time I visit. That would be as cool as finding quarters in the payphones.
Was it over? Haha. No. Come on, dear reader. You should know my luck by now.
Judge Smails: Danny, I'm having a party this weekend.
(pause)
How would you like to come over and mow my lawn?
The Band Teacher called. "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow," she asked. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
"Why, nothing. I'm free for the whole day." Yes!
"Oh cool. Can you help me pick up some furniture for our other house?"
ACK!
At least it would be a different experience. The Band Teacher has been a kinder, gentler lioness to the troll. No more battering the trolls.
Luckily the furniture needed didn't have to be anything special. Just usable. So we hit K-Mart, the lesser Walmart, and checked things out. We priced some things and decided to come back after lunch to pick them up.
Since Borders was in the area, we stopped there to look around. I found a movie I wanted to see, so the Band Teacher, being nice to the troll, bought it for me. It was The Promise. It's an asian fantasy/martial arts movie.
Then we went to the Suzuki dealership because I needed to order new tires for my bike. While the counter girl was finishing up the paperwork, I went to the showroom and asked the Band Teacher if she would buy me a new GSX-R 750.
"That one's $5900," said the counter girl.
Fifty-nine hundred??? For a 750??? Really??? I had an incredulous look on my face.
"Oh, the 750? That's 10 grand. I thought you were looking at the SV."
*cry*
Then the Band Teacher fed me lunch. Boy, she was really buttering me up.
We returned to K-Mart to pick up the furniture. I didn't really pick it up. When you're as smart as me, you find the young, uninjured sales people to do your heavy lifting.
Back at the Band Teacher's house... err... second house, brute force came into play again. I had to start putting together the furniture, starting with chairs.
But not just one chair. Nooooo. That's not a good use for your troll. You need to make him put together 4 chairs and a table. Yeah! And make sure you give him stone tools to work with, and have parts that never fit properly.
While the troll was slaving away, the Band Teacher set up the microwave oven and coffee maker she bought. I do need to mention that she threatened me several times with various kitchen knives, so I was a very well behaved troll.
I almost forgot to tell you about the funny part of the adventure. GSX-RGirrrl has this rather curious habit. She likes to smell things. She smelled the oil, the drain plug, the fill cap, the kerosene, the chain, the brush, the chain lube, and everything else she could get her hands on. She told me not to say anything about it though and ... um... oops.
We trolls tend to be shunned by beautiful women. The only time we get said women is when we kidnap them and lock them in a dungeon or tower or something. Then some lame fairy in shining armor comes in and cockblocks us.
The last couple of days reinforced the aforementioned rule. Trolls don't get the women. Not unless we have something they need. Mainly brute force or specialty tools.
Imagine my surprise when GSX-RGirrrl called me and asked me over...
To service her motorcycle. sigh...
When I got to her house she had already drained the oil and removed the filter. All that was left for the oil change was to install a new filter and fill up with some over-priced motorcycle oil. The troll came in handy for holding the bike upright so that GSX-RGirrrl could check the oil level properly.
Now because she gets embarrassed easily, I won't mention that her funnel looked like some weird female urinal/bedpan thing. It was just as effective at funneling oil as a urinal too. And GSX-RGirrrl has a hard time pouring oil without spilling it everywhere. Luckily she sits or squats when she pees. If it was a real urinal scenario, we would have had to mop the floor.
Now it was time for me to whip out my specialty tool and jack off on her rear. I mean jack up her rear. Of the bike. Whatever.
Brute force and a Pitbull Stand later, and the bike's rear was off the ground. Now it was time to clean the chain. Motorcycle chains need to be cleaned and lubed regularly to prevent premature wear. GSX-RGirrrl's chain had been cleaned in, oh, never, so it was about time. The troll thought he had to clean the chain and was getting ready to get dirty when he was pushed aside. GSX-RGirrrl wanted the privilege of getting crud under her nails.
Since there was no need for brute force, the troll had nothing better to do than take pics with a phone camera and think up a blog.
GSX-RGirrrl got way too into the cleaning and decided it was time to brush her teeth. The last time she brushed them was around the last time she cleaned her chain. Never.
After the cleaning, GSX-RGirrrl sprayed on some chain lube. I use a chain wax. It's a different thing, but similar results. One can of chain wax lasted about 3 years for me. GSX-RGirrrl used about half a can in one sitting. She likes lots of lube. I guess she likes it slippery. All that extra lube will probably fling off and end up under her fender or on her tire or something. Oh well.
Then it was clean up time. That means wiping your hands all over your tee shirt instead of paper towels or rags.
One of the last things cleaned was my stand. GSX-RGirrrl took her time cleaning it. I guess she thought it resembled a phallus because she rubbed it down with the crotch of her shorts. Dedicated cleaner, that girl. When I grabbed the stand to put it in my truck, it slipped out of my hands. Leftover lube? Something was fishy.
Somewhere along the line GSX-RGirrrl punched my arm. I'm used to it. Trolls elicit fear and anger in people. However, while normal guys would take the punch, trolls punch back. I think we went four or five rounds and I punched her arm pretty hard too. I'm hoping to see a bruise next time I visit. That would be as cool as finding quarters in the payphones.
Was it over? Haha. No. Come on, dear reader. You should know my luck by now.
Judge Smails: Danny, I'm having a party this weekend.
(pause)
How would you like to come over and mow my lawn?
The Band Teacher called. "Hey, what are you doing tomorrow," she asked. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
"Why, nothing. I'm free for the whole day." Yes!
"Oh cool. Can you help me pick up some furniture for our other house?"
ACK!
At least it would be a different experience. The Band Teacher has been a kinder, gentler lioness to the troll. No more battering the trolls.
Luckily the furniture needed didn't have to be anything special. Just usable. So we hit K-Mart, the lesser Walmart, and checked things out. We priced some things and decided to come back after lunch to pick them up.
Since Borders was in the area, we stopped there to look around. I found a movie I wanted to see, so the Band Teacher, being nice to the troll, bought it for me. It was The Promise. It's an asian fantasy/martial arts movie.
Then we went to the Suzuki dealership because I needed to order new tires for my bike. While the counter girl was finishing up the paperwork, I went to the showroom and asked the Band Teacher if she would buy me a new GSX-R 750.
"That one's $5900," said the counter girl.
Fifty-nine hundred??? For a 750??? Really??? I had an incredulous look on my face.
"Oh, the 750? That's 10 grand. I thought you were looking at the SV."
*cry*
Then the Band Teacher fed me lunch. Boy, she was really buttering me up.
We returned to K-Mart to pick up the furniture. I didn't really pick it up. When you're as smart as me, you find the young, uninjured sales people to do your heavy lifting.
Back at the Band Teacher's house... err... second house, brute force came into play again. I had to start putting together the furniture, starting with chairs.
But not just one chair. Nooooo. That's not a good use for your troll. You need to make him put together 4 chairs and a table. Yeah! And make sure you give him stone tools to work with, and have parts that never fit properly.
While the troll was slaving away, the Band Teacher set up the microwave oven and coffee maker she bought. I do need to mention that she threatened me several times with various kitchen knives, so I was a very well behaved troll.
I almost forgot to tell you about the funny part of the adventure. GSX-RGirrrl has this rather curious habit. She likes to smell things. She smelled the oil, the drain plug, the fill cap, the kerosene, the chain, the brush, the chain lube, and everything else she could get her hands on. She told me not to say anything about it though and ... um... oops.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Pigs and Indecision
Today was the first day trail riding in three weeks. I had missed the previous weekends due to work and people being off island. There were three of us today. It was supposed to be four, but the last guy didn't show.
Now since we're lazy and weak, plus we use all-mountain and freeride bikes, we use trucks to shuttle our bikes to the top of the trail. Before we get started, we usually gear up at the first lookout on the mountain, a place called FM.
I don't know why we call it FM. We just do. We have tons of really stupid nonsensical names for places. I just learned not to ask and to just go with the flow.
At FM there were a bunch of tourists. Among these touri (I want to make my own words) were some pretty, young, blonde girls.
"Excuse me sir. How much do you want for your young daughter? Don't need to get mad sir. Don't worry. I have lots of experience handling young girls. I've dealt with lots of them."
And off we went to the top of the trail.
Lucky us. Right where we park our trucks was a Game Warden. They're the cops on the mountain. While we were unloading our bikes, he came over to talk to us.
All the things we wanted to say started flowing through our minds: F*kk you cops! Die Pigs! Down with the Man! You don't own this land! Power to the people! Kiss my ass, copper! Help help, I'm being oppressed!
"Yes officer, how can we help you?" (Did I mention we're cowards?)
Turns out he just wanted to inform us on the proper areas to ride bikes. And we were so ready to run him through.
Off on the trail we went. Yeehaw! I think it's about 4-5 miles. Lots of fun, lots of pushing. Then we got back to FM.
The other two guys took a car to pick up the truck. I waited with our bikes and gear. I had nothing to do, and I wasn't about to entertain the touri, so I rode around on the new Session 77. It's a cool bike. Seven inches of suspension travel. Top quality components. Hydraulic brakes. Everything. It even has a nifty "lock out," feature.
The lock out feature reduces the length of the front fork's travel. Reducing the travel also reduces the amount of power lost during pedaling. All you need to do is flip a switch and compress the fork.
Then here comes an idiot (me). I flip the switch, pedal the bike up to speed, nail the front brakes while leaning forward.
Luckily I jumped off the seat and got my feet on the ground, thus preventing severe bruising of the ego. A little girl saw me though. I will have to hunt her down and kill her now. She knows too much.
After a second run, we headed off the mountain to eat lunch. My friend asked me to call GSX-RGirrrl. She's one of the girls featured in my Twilight blog/video. We had a friendly dinner together a week ago. You can read it in the Back Off and Island Girl blog. At the end of the dinner, GSX-RGirrrl (hereafter referred to as Girl) suggested we do it again. So my friend wanted to know when Girl wanted to eat.
It turns out this girl does not eat. Maybe my comment about her ass getting fat got to her? Is she starving herself? She said she had to work all week so she couldn't eat. She must be building a pyramid for Pharaohs or something because if she has to work so much that she can't eat, then she must be a slave.
And she shouldn't worry about the size of her ass. It has a nice curve to it. I would try to prove it to her, but I lost my french curve when the hurricane (1992) trashed my house.
I'm guessing Girl is just indecisive. Wishy-washy. Can't make up her mind. Can any other female fill me in on this? To me, deciding on eating is a rather simple manner. I know I'll be hungry in the evening, so I'll shoot out a day that I know isn't a religious or state holiday. Simple. It's not like we're trying to plan a Mars mission.
Oh crap. I think I figured it out. Despite what Sockfoot says, my looks make babies cry. I've had sideshow freaks give me standing ovations. Girl must not like me. Or I probably smell bad. Hmmm... so I think it would be best to fire the first salvo. If she doesn't like me then too bad. I'll eat double portions of dinner hahahaha! And I won't have to worry about my ass getting fat. Though it is ugly, it's made of steel. Mountain biking does that, you know.
In the end I will probably beg and play nice. I'll do my best to set up yet another group dinner thing no matter how hard the parties involved try to avoid eye contact with me. After all, there's something about Girl that I like.
I want to mount her,
And ride her...
bright red GSX-R600!
*******late add**********
WTF is with Match.com? They're now advertising on MySpace using a webcam-like ad. It gets really annoying. I mean, I was just there posting the link to this blog when I saw the ad. I had my pants around my ankles before I realized they were NOT going to get naked. F*CK!
Now since we're lazy and weak, plus we use all-mountain and freeride bikes, we use trucks to shuttle our bikes to the top of the trail. Before we get started, we usually gear up at the first lookout on the mountain, a place called FM.
I don't know why we call it FM. We just do. We have tons of really stupid nonsensical names for places. I just learned not to ask and to just go with the flow.
At FM there were a bunch of tourists. Among these touri (I want to make my own words) were some pretty, young, blonde girls.
"Excuse me sir. How much do you want for your young daughter? Don't need to get mad sir. Don't worry. I have lots of experience handling young girls. I've dealt with lots of them."
And off we went to the top of the trail.
Lucky us. Right where we park our trucks was a Game Warden. They're the cops on the mountain. While we were unloading our bikes, he came over to talk to us.
All the things we wanted to say started flowing through our minds: F*kk you cops! Die Pigs! Down with the Man! You don't own this land! Power to the people! Kiss my ass, copper! Help help, I'm being oppressed!
"Yes officer, how can we help you?" (Did I mention we're cowards?)
Turns out he just wanted to inform us on the proper areas to ride bikes. And we were so ready to run him through.
Off on the trail we went. Yeehaw! I think it's about 4-5 miles. Lots of fun, lots of pushing. Then we got back to FM.
The other two guys took a car to pick up the truck. I waited with our bikes and gear. I had nothing to do, and I wasn't about to entertain the touri, so I rode around on the new Session 77. It's a cool bike. Seven inches of suspension travel. Top quality components. Hydraulic brakes. Everything. It even has a nifty "lock out," feature.
The lock out feature reduces the length of the front fork's travel. Reducing the travel also reduces the amount of power lost during pedaling. All you need to do is flip a switch and compress the fork.
Then here comes an idiot (me). I flip the switch, pedal the bike up to speed, nail the front brakes while leaning forward.
Luckily I jumped off the seat and got my feet on the ground, thus preventing severe bruising of the ego. A little girl saw me though. I will have to hunt her down and kill her now. She knows too much.
After a second run, we headed off the mountain to eat lunch. My friend asked me to call GSX-RGirrrl. She's one of the girls featured in my Twilight blog/video. We had a friendly dinner together a week ago. You can read it in the Back Off and Island Girl blog. At the end of the dinner, GSX-RGirrrl (hereafter referred to as Girl) suggested we do it again. So my friend wanted to know when Girl wanted to eat.
It turns out this girl does not eat. Maybe my comment about her ass getting fat got to her? Is she starving herself? She said she had to work all week so she couldn't eat. She must be building a pyramid for Pharaohs or something because if she has to work so much that she can't eat, then she must be a slave.
And she shouldn't worry about the size of her ass. It has a nice curve to it. I would try to prove it to her, but I lost my french curve when the hurricane (1992) trashed my house.
I'm guessing Girl is just indecisive. Wishy-washy. Can't make up her mind. Can any other female fill me in on this? To me, deciding on eating is a rather simple manner. I know I'll be hungry in the evening, so I'll shoot out a day that I know isn't a religious or state holiday. Simple. It's not like we're trying to plan a Mars mission.
Oh crap. I think I figured it out. Despite what Sockfoot says, my looks make babies cry. I've had sideshow freaks give me standing ovations. Girl must not like me. Or I probably smell bad. Hmmm... so I think it would be best to fire the first salvo. If she doesn't like me then too bad. I'll eat double portions of dinner hahahaha! And I won't have to worry about my ass getting fat. Though it is ugly, it's made of steel. Mountain biking does that, you know.
In the end I will probably beg and play nice. I'll do my best to set up yet another group dinner thing no matter how hard the parties involved try to avoid eye contact with me. After all, there's something about Girl that I like.
I want to mount her,
And ride her...
bright red GSX-R600!
*******late add**********
WTF is with Match.com? They're now advertising on MySpace using a webcam-like ad. It gets really annoying. I mean, I was just there posting the link to this blog when I saw the ad. I had my pants around my ankles before I realized they were NOT going to get naked. F*CK!
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Conan, Subotai and Lane Meyer
I'm going to steal my compadre's mojo here and do some picture blogging while I tell this story. I'm doing this for my buddy because he'd never do it for himself. He's the kind of guy that is heard but rarely seen so he needs his loud mouth buddy, Sockfoot, to shove him into the spotlight.
On with the show.
I'm pretty much a nerd.
Because I'm a nerd I suffer from bad self esteem, nearsightedness and an uncontrollable compulsion to do things like play online video games. In fact the first online game I ever played was one based on Star Trek.
Actually the depth of my nerditude was sadder than that.
Anyway, now that the laughter is dieing down, I can go on with my story. While I was nerding around playing Star Trek I met this other guy. For purposes of identification we'll call him Lane Meyer. You know, John Cusak's character from "Better Off Dead".
In fact the similarities of this guy to Lane Meyer are striking. He's got a car he's not too keen on,
and he wishes he had another one.
He's constantly being hounded by kids,
he's mostly surrounded by strange people,
and he wishes some French chick would come along and teach him the international language of love.
In fact I'm pretty sure that sometimes he wonders if it's all worth while.
Lane Meyer has never admitted it out loud, but I know he thinks he's a nerd too.
After a while Lane Meyer and I got to be friends. (Lane Meyer is the short one on the right with the facial hair).
While it's true we were nerds, we soon figured out that in the world of Cyberspace Gaming we were viewed as bad asses.
So we set off together on a grand adventure through many pixelated lands. This is me in Cyberspace,
(U stop laffing or imma pwnz0r ur cyber-aZZ, beOtch!1111!!!!)
And this is Lane Meyer.
Pretty bad ass, eh?
For six years we've been kicking cyber-booty together. It's been a lot of fun, but sometimes we'd take a break from wreaking cyber-havok and just talk.
One of the recuring themes in our talks was how Lane Meyer seemed to get no action with the ladies.
You see Lane Meyer is constantly surrounded by hot asian chicks.
This might have something to do with the fact that he lives in Paradise.
Well, I don't know if it's exactly Paradise, but the sun shines a lot, it's warm and wet and there are lots of scantily clad women, so if it isn't Paradise it's got to be pretty close.
Ummm ... sorry I lost my train of thought there.
Oh yeah, Lane Meyer is always pretty bummed because he's convinced to an absolute certainty that women, especially hot women, don't notice him at all.
Lately it's really got him singing the blues.
I've tried to talk to Lane Meyer about this problem. I've given him a lot of advice and tried to bolster his confidence in himself,
but for some reason he doesn't seem to hear it.
Truthfully sometimes I think he enjoys suffering,
but he's my buddy so I've got to keep trying to help him.
However this time, instead of trying to straighten him out,
I'm going to try talking directly to the ladies instead.
Ladies, I think Lane Meyer sells himself very short in the looks department, but according to Lane Meyer he looks like this ...
but even if that's the case, which I don't believe, I want you to look past that. Instead I want you to know that my buddy Lane Meyer works a job that doesn't pay him what he's worth,
but he works hard at it because he knows it's an important job.
He's also scary smart,
he's got a college education and a great sense of humor,
he rides a motorcycle,
he views the world in a very unique way,
and he is noble, loyal and trustworthy.
So to all of you hot chicks out there (you know who you are) ...
I want you to take a good long look at Lane Meyer. Really spend some time studying him.
A good way to get to know him is read what he's written here. Maybe he's not exactly built like a greek god,
but I think when you peel away the layers of self depricating humor and knee jerk self preservation mechanisms you'll find something much more rare and worth while.
Very truly yours, Nonwheezer's ... I mean ... Lane Meyer's weirdo friend,
Sockfoot
On with the show.
I'm pretty much a nerd.
Because I'm a nerd I suffer from bad self esteem, nearsightedness and an uncontrollable compulsion to do things like play online video games. In fact the first online game I ever played was one based on Star Trek.
Actually the depth of my nerditude was sadder than that.
Anyway, now that the laughter is dieing down, I can go on with my story. While I was nerding around playing Star Trek I met this other guy. For purposes of identification we'll call him Lane Meyer. You know, John Cusak's character from "Better Off Dead".
In fact the similarities of this guy to Lane Meyer are striking. He's got a car he's not too keen on,
and he wishes he had another one.
He's constantly being hounded by kids,
he's mostly surrounded by strange people,
and he wishes some French chick would come along and teach him the international language of love.
In fact I'm pretty sure that sometimes he wonders if it's all worth while.
Lane Meyer has never admitted it out loud, but I know he thinks he's a nerd too.
After a while Lane Meyer and I got to be friends. (Lane Meyer is the short one on the right with the facial hair).
While it's true we were nerds, we soon figured out that in the world of Cyberspace Gaming we were viewed as bad asses.
So we set off together on a grand adventure through many pixelated lands. This is me in Cyberspace,
(U stop laffing or imma pwnz0r ur cyber-aZZ, beOtch!1111!!!!)
And this is Lane Meyer.
Pretty bad ass, eh?
For six years we've been kicking cyber-booty together. It's been a lot of fun, but sometimes we'd take a break from wreaking cyber-havok and just talk.
One of the recuring themes in our talks was how Lane Meyer seemed to get no action with the ladies.
You see Lane Meyer is constantly surrounded by hot asian chicks.
This might have something to do with the fact that he lives in Paradise.
Well, I don't know if it's exactly Paradise, but the sun shines a lot, it's warm and wet and there are lots of scantily clad women, so if it isn't Paradise it's got to be pretty close.
Ummm ... sorry I lost my train of thought there.
Oh yeah, Lane Meyer is always pretty bummed because he's convinced to an absolute certainty that women, especially hot women, don't notice him at all.
Lately it's really got him singing the blues.
I've tried to talk to Lane Meyer about this problem. I've given him a lot of advice and tried to bolster his confidence in himself,
but for some reason he doesn't seem to hear it.
Truthfully sometimes I think he enjoys suffering,
but he's my buddy so I've got to keep trying to help him.
However this time, instead of trying to straighten him out,
I'm going to try talking directly to the ladies instead.
Ladies, I think Lane Meyer sells himself very short in the looks department, but according to Lane Meyer he looks like this ...
but even if that's the case, which I don't believe, I want you to look past that. Instead I want you to know that my buddy Lane Meyer works a job that doesn't pay him what he's worth,
but he works hard at it because he knows it's an important job.
He's also scary smart,
he's got a college education and a great sense of humor,
he rides a motorcycle,
he views the world in a very unique way,
and he is noble, loyal and trustworthy.
So to all of you hot chicks out there (you know who you are) ...
I want you to take a good long look at Lane Meyer. Really spend some time studying him.
A good way to get to know him is read what he's written here. Maybe he's not exactly built like a greek god,
but I think when you peel away the layers of self depricating humor and knee jerk self preservation mechanisms you'll find something much more rare and worth while.
Very truly yours, Nonwheezer's ... I mean ... Lane Meyer's weirdo friend,
Sockfoot
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