Have I got your attention ? Good. There is no free pron. For those of you that feel like sticking around, there is, however, the following post.

I’ve recently switched my schedule at the shop and kept the same bedtime. This has had a very odd effect on my waking habits, because now that I get five hours of sleep a night consistently, my sleep habits are as follows:

Go to bedroom.
Ask my wife to roll over so I can get into bed.
Kiss her gently and tell her to have sweet dreams.
Promptly pass the fuck out and sleep a dreamless sleep until that the damned alarm starts chiming.

That’s it. Makes things real simple, don’t it ? Ah, you’d think so. Instead, getting no sleep on a daily basis has completely transformed my waking hours. I often find myself daydreaming about a hundred things, all at once. These daydreams only consume a few seconds, but in those few seconds I find myself pondering the impossible, the querulous, and the things that can make the sanest of all men go absolutely mad. Here's a few things that kept me occupied for a handful of minutes....

I. Is it so wrong that I want to create an entire website dedicated to photoshopped babies as Spider Jerusalem, with word balloons spouting such filth as “Here was a time when I liked a good riot. Put on some heavy old street clothes that could stand a bit of sidewalk-scraping, infect myself with something good and contagious, then go out and stamp on some cops. It was great, being nine years old.” and “This is the chairleg of truth, Fred! Can you hear it? It says 'Shut up', Fred! Can you hear it?”

II. If you do a Google search for “duck farts” can you actually find a link with an audio clip ? And do I really wanna know what a duck fart sounds like ?

III. Will someone, anyone, make a game as good to me as the “Dungeon Keeper” series was ? Really, anyone ? Because we’ve had a couple of near misses over the last few years, but no one has really understood how much fun it is to set up the good guy and wipe the fucking floor with him….

IV. If I’m in Rome, and doing as the Romans are doing, why is it I always get arrested and have to explain that; No, I don’t speak Italian nor do I know where my passport is.

V. Is there an actual solution to the issues I keep having cross posting in FTTW articles in Vox, or am I simply attempting to smash a square peg into a round hole and not seeing an inherently broken system for what it is ?

VI. Who is John Saxon ?

VII. I will raise my child to be an honorable man. I can do no greater good in this short lifetime.

VIII. My god, this is terrifying. How do I get one and use it effectively to torture my enemies ?

IX. If it’s okay to laugh at a camel, why is it not okay to laugh at a midget ?

X. I really, really like the Pipettes.

XI. When I was a kid, I had Scarlet Fever. I had a 106 degree temperature for two days and all I can remember from that time is that the ants on the wallpaper were making the most curious designs.

XII. If I actually stopped to count all the times I swore I’d quit smoking, I’d have something to do until December.

XIII. I don’t have the right shape of face for a bowler hat ? Do I ?

XIV. I still have all my fingers and toes. Yay Me!

And that’s a small portion of my day. A few of the things that flit through my head when I’m not trying to determine why a particular piece of software didn’t land when it was supposed to or why I keep blowing out the DS3 to New York every damn night when there's only seventy sites.

How about you ? Anything good in that brain of yours ?

thefinn just needs a nap.

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Like there aren't enough of these. Everybody with cable and a blog has written a review of The Sopranos finale. But screw them—I wrote about it yesterday, I'm writing again about it today. Because the series finale will go down in history as one of the most influential, controversial, and quite possibly brilliant endings to a series television has ever seen.

SPOILERS AHEAD THERE I SAID IT NO BITCHING

The episode itself was extremely entertaining, but moved slowly. The climax—didn't quite feel right. Though the “crunch” of Phil's head was satisfying to say the least, it didn't feel like the climax of an episode that was supposed to end this story. So my friends and I were just sitting there, waiting for the big “BANG” in whatever form it came in. The only bang there was in the end was my feet hitting the floor when the screen went black, while I screamed “What happened to the fucking cable?!?”

Only one person died in the episode. There was very little gunplay. And for anyone who regularly watches The Sopranos, that was no surprise. The series isn't about that. We've gone three, even four episodes in this series without a gun even being drawn. What was so impressive about The Sopranos was the complex dramatic elements to the storytelling, with violent deaths simply highlighting the microcosm we were being shown.

But that's just it—those deaths just highlighted the story we saw. We weren't the ones who had to live in that world. And for four minutes last night, David Chase gave us the opportunity to step into the shoes of the man himself, Tony Soprano.

In the last scene, to the tune of Journey's Don't Stop Believing”, we watch as Tony, Carm, AJ, and Meadow congregate at a restaurant for dinner. One by one, Tony first, they arrive at the restaurant. Meadow brings up the rear, and actually has enough trouble parallel parking that the last we see of her, she's running across the street to the restaurant. The whole time, camera cuts make us completely aware of everyone in the diner: a group of boy scouts, a man in a trucker cap who is shifting suspiciously, another who continually stares at Tony, and a group of thugs that seem to be looking his way a little more than normal. While you're watching this, your heart is thumping—you know it's the end, you know something has to happen, this is the big one, will you even hear it coming...

...and then instant black. Silence. And a shitload of really, really pissed off people.

I was one of those pissed off people. I felt jipped. I felt like David Chase was flicking off all the loyal fans who have been with this series from the beginning. I needed closure, dammit!

And today, after reading reviews and debates online about the ending, I realized something. I didn't need closure. Tony needed closure.

What that last scene did was put us into Tony's shoes. Let us see what the world is like for him. How he is constantly on guard, watching over his shoulder, constantly thinking, “Is this it? Will I die here, tonight?” And he never had an answer. So he had to cope with it just like we all have to cope with the shit that we don't know about life. Tony had to be the kind of guy that could go out into a public place, not knowing whether there was a bullet in that place waiting to be put in his head. In the end, Tony was a metaphor for the human condition, and we got to experience that last night.

One of the reasons some people might not have liked the ending (and the reason I didn't like it in the beginning) is that it had a significant impact on your affect. Chase built up more tension in that four minutes than in any other place in the series, and then he yanked the fucking carpet out from under us. It was a shock. There was no resolution for our tension, our anxiety, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. But Chase did that on purpose. It was his way of saying to us, “You fools have no idea what it feels like to be this guy you've watched for almost sixty hours worth of film. Let me show you for a second.”

It was a surprise ending, because if you see it the way I do, you will never watch an episode of The Sopranos in the same way again. I've suffered from panic attacks and anxiety, but last night, just watching the end, my adrenaline was pumping so hard I thought I was going to go crazy. A lot of therapists and psychiatrist agree that the release of adrenaline is directly related to anxiety disorder. And for me, Chase gave us the best ending possible. Now we know exactly why Tony was in therapy. Yeah, he had issues with his mother. Sure, he lived a fairly immoral life, was shitty to his wife and kids at times, and went through more deaths than most of us do in a lifetime. But in the end, it was what he had to deal with every day, all the little things, the constant fear, the responsibility to keep other people safe—that's what made Tony go into the therapy that became such a staple and pleasure of the show. I'm not sure I would have made that connection had I not been on the wild ride that was the last four minutes of The Sopranos. And so, with as much passion as I had last night when I cursed David Chase for the travesty of an ending, I praise him now.

Give me a break! Sometimes it takes a little time to recognize brilliance.

Uber's Corner Archives

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TOMORROW (today now) I will be participating in the Cancer Society's RELAY FOR LIFE.

Is there anyone here who's life hasn't been touched, in some way, by Cancer? Anyone?

Thought so.

I'm walking in memory of my Mom (Mugs) who passed away in January after a 7 year battle (and believe me, it was a battle) with Cancer and in honour of my Dad (Bill) who just this past Sunday had a Cancer filled Kidney removed (he's doing great, he's home and driving me nuts).

Our team is called REMEMBERING MUGS, in honour of my Mom Margo (Mugs).

You can check out our website.

You can help us in a couple of ways:

1) you can pledge me on-line if you wish... here's the link; and/or

2) You can also purchase a luminary in memorial or in honour of a loved one, they're $5 each. What's a luminary? It's a candle in a paper bag that lines the relay lanes at night, lighting our way =) If you wish to purchase one, here's the link.

This doesn't go towards my pledges or my team's total, but they are really cool. If you do purchase one, let me know and I'll take a picture of it for you! We're the BURLINGTON location.

Email is callmedeb(at)gmail(dot)com

3) Hug your Mom.

Thank you all for your support now and over the years. I really do appreciate it.

~~~

Want to be part of a community that takes up the fight? Help me support the fight against cancer by pledging me for my participation in the Cancer Society Relay For Life. The Cancer Society Relay For Life is an overnight non-competitive relay that celebrates cancer survivors and pays tribute to the lives of loved ones. It involves teams of 10 people who take turns walking, running or strolling around a track to raise money to support the work of the Cancer Society.

It's a night of fun, friendship and fund-raising to beat cancer.

Funds raised through Relay For Life make a difference. They help the Cancer Society fund the most promising research projects in the country, provide information services and support programs in the community and advocate for public policies that prevent cancer and help those living with it.

Help me support the fight against cancer by pledging me for my participation in the Cancer Society Relay For Life.

It's easier than ever - just click the link at the bottom of this message.

Thanks,

Deborah Beckers

Click here

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As promised a few contests for our birthday celebration.

1. White Men Can't Rap. Or Can They?
Brought to you by Seetwist

So here's the deal. When it comes to hip-hop, most people have one of two views regarding Caucasian emcees. The first is bullshit label-created "rappers" like Vanilla Ice. The Backstreet Boy of hip-hop. The second is of rappers like Eminem. White people who actually have skill and talent to backup all the posturing they do. In order to promote these good artists, I am running the following contest for the Faster Than The World birthday week celebration.

Name 10 white rappers.

The Stipulations:
1) Eminem and Vanilla Ice cannot be used.
2) Rapper must have at least 1 song released on a label. No claiming you know 12 guys in the local scene who can emcee, just to win. They have to be somewhat known.
3) DJs do not count. Even badass hip-hop DJs like Shadow and RJD2. Gotta be a rhymer. Same goes for R&B. "Soul Singers" are not rappers, and Justin Timberlake can eat a dick.
4) Try not to use the intertubez or Wikipedia if at all possible. I'm sure someone already has a comprehensive list of rappers by ethnicity, but we'll stick to the honor system.
5) Ad Rock, Mike D and MCA count as 1 rapper. Why? Because I'm making the damn rules here, that's why!
6) By "white", I mean someone who isn't "black". I'm not going to get all PC here, but Asian people are not white. Mexicans are not white. The Cosby Kids are not white. Michael Jackson is not white (according to his birth certificate, anyway). Just use your best judgment...

The Payoff:
I will be giving away 3 prizes. The general prize is an all-cracka hip-hop CD mixed by me, and shipped out to anyone who can name at least 10. First Prize will be a custom CD plus a tasty cookie from the bakery I work at. Chocolate Chip, Peanut Butter or Oatmeal Raisin, your choice (and these things are HUGE). The Grand Prize will be something very special, and will be announced on Sunday when all votes must be in. It's not nasty, I promise. It will be given out to the person who can name the most cracka rappers out there.

2. Clues:
I already wrote an article about one of them, and mentioned at least one more in a post somewhere along the line.

Good Luck, and Happy Birthday FTTW!!

3. Short Story Contest
Brought to you by Jo

Amie Short Story Contest: Participants will write a one page short story containing one or more charaters from the storyline of Amie. One winner will be chosen. That person will get an autographed drawing of their favorite Amie character from the artist, J. W. Carbonell

4. Capture the Flag!
Brought to you by Uberchief

This one will be up tomorrow. Come back for it, ok?

5. I Want To Fuck You Like An Animal

You're gonna have to go to Jim's column today to read this one. But it has to do with music and fucking. Don't miss it.

Please send all contest entries to fttw.submit@gmail.com. Any inquiries go there, too.

Posted by FTTW Staff at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Today is the first birthday of Faster Than The World. We'll be celebrating all week, so keep checking here because we have some fun contests to go along with the celebration.

Each of the authors of FTTW has taken the time to write a "how they got here" story of how they came to be part of this site. Maybe some of these stories are not true at all. Maybe. Maybe some of our authors spent too much time at the FTTW moonshine still. We are not responsible for the accuracy of their tales. But we are responsible for them being here, and no matter what, we're proud of that.

We posted a few already, here's the rest.

Bonnie (Raising Hell)

For the past 5 years I have been telling Michele all of my crazy stories about my kids. We usually exchanged stories while sitting and having coffee in the morning at work. She makes the best coffee. One day Michele said, "you know, you really need to write this stuff down and I have the perfect place to do it!" I had been reading one of Michele's blogs for a while and I knew that a very wide variety of people would be reading the things I was going to write and possibly comment on them and that got me very excited! I have always enjoyed writing but never really had an outlet for it. FTTW gives me that outlet, along with a great bunch of people to pal around with. I have enjoyed sharing my stories as well as reading the stories that the other writers here at FTTW have to share.

Jo (Amie)

I had been working on my little comic for about 3 years by then. A close friend, Bloo, had told her mother, Bonnie, about my comic and she has been a reader of FTTW. Michele and Turtle had made an announcement that they were looking for a weekly serialized comic to post. She gave me the website to check it out and told me to e-mail Michele if I was interested. I did and we spoke briefly. I sent them a few pages of my comic and then next week I had my first posting of Amie on FTTW. That was almost a year ago and I've enjoyed everyday of it.

Dave (Roughin' It)

I was a regular reader and commenter of ASV, and occasionally emailed Michele. She did a guest appearance once on an internet radio program, God I forget who they were, anyway she pretended to blow up and get mad and dropped a few f-bombs, and I remember emailing her something like "you almost convinced me". She was a little down about it, cause she had convinced quite a few people and they were giving her shit about it.

Anyway, so we were fakey-internet friends.

I sent her a story I had written about my schmaltzy Christmas tree and she published it on ASV. My first blog post.

Later when a couple of hurricanes blew through this part of the world I did a couple more for her on refugees and stuff.

I can't remember the one I sent her for FTTW, no wait it was two, but she gave me guest appearances, and then asked me if I wanted to be a regular contributor. I have an ego the size of the room so I said "sure"!

I'm not really a writer, I'm more of an occasionally amusing story teller. I can be serious like anybody else, but other people do that so much better than I. I hope I make people grin or laugh, or remember something nice.

Josh (Dishful of Metal/Editor)

I don't remember exactly how it came about. I had helped M with some tech stuff occasionally. I sent her a Faith No More rock and roll comic and some other swag. She helped me with some graphics for another site I was running at the time (called Dishful of Metal, hence the column name). When FTTW was in its infancy as a web mag, she asked me to contribute, and when it started getting big, she asked me to be an editor, what with me making sciences and all.

Kristine (The Last Word)

Three months ago ProducedBy told me I had to write something or he wouldn't be my friend anymore.

That's how I came to FTTW.

Deb (I'll See You On The Ice)

I'd known Jo (of Amie fame) for a few years through LiveJoural on the internets. I don't even remember how we found each other on that, but we did.

So one day she sends me an emailing saying that the wicked awesome site that Amie was on was looking for a hockey columnist. She knew I LOVED l'hockey, so I emailed turtle asking if they were still looking.

He said sure, but we need a sample column. I pointed out that the season started the next day and I'll see you on the ice was born.

Courtney (Let Me Make You a Mix Tape)

Um, I'm new here, and I just wanted to hang out with the cool kids. Have you got any pot? ;)

I met Michelle through a very weird blog Tesco and I used to write called Musical Chairs (which, this thread reminds me of what I WANTED it to be).

Timmer (The Back Booth)

I can't remember when I started commenting on ASV. I know the little dead girl in the shopping cart was still on the front page and I seem to remember reading Michele's first 9/11 memorial, so...five years, six? How the hell did that happen?

Michele had asked me to write something for FTTW back in...I dunno...September...but last fall I wasn't writing all that much and what I was writing I completely hated. I was reading FTTW almost from the start even though the whole car thing kind of went right over my head.

I'd been writing at The Daily Brief but I was getting bored to tears over there. For some reason I thought I wasn't far enough on the right or far enough on the left to really get anyone to read what I wrote and then I had an epiphany of sorts. I fucking hate what politics is doing to our country. For the most part, I'm done with all of that. I still drop a post over there now and then when some twit pisses me off, but it's mostly a safety valve for my blood pressure.

What I like about FTTW is why I called my "column" The Back Booth. It has that late on a Friday night in the back corner of a favorite diner feel. I just like the exchanges that go on in the emails and the comments. It's fun. It's no holds barred. I laugh so hard my wife gives me a "the look" sometimes. I get the feeling I could play around with everything from album reviews to straight out, bom chicka bowm bowm porn and you guys would accept it...but it better be good porn.

Cullen (All About the Guitar)

I never read ASV, but I read a lot of sites that were big ASV readers. When Michele and Turtle stood up FTTW, Emily at "It Comes in Pints?" and Dean at "Dean's World" announced FTTW. I headed over that day and became a serial commenter. Punk, fast cars and fun. What more can you want?

So, when the innerwebs zine was stood up, it was an honor to be asked to write a weekly column. It's been a fun ride. Sometimes, when it gets hard to keep up with the weekly grind, I begin to contemplate stepping out, but I'm glad that I've decided to ride it out. With the blog up, there's yet another avenue for fun.

I enjoy reading all your stuff and can't wait to see what it yet to come.

Richard (Sudden Valley Ranch)

I've been reading whatever Stefi (Obscene and Heard) writes for years, when she mentioned at one of her blogs doing a column for FTTW I followed the link and was a little puzzled. There was a whole pack of youse just writing about what you wanted to write about, it was, to me, almost too genius to be such a simple concept. Seriously, I was surprised that I had never run across such a good idea before. (Okay, I've seen digests, team-blogs, e-zine type stuff before, but they're all very rigid about their content or they suck or both.)

I saw the submission notice, tossed something in and Michele asked if I wanted to write regularly. Since I had a blog I was posting to once or twice a month the idea of getting anything written on a regular basis scared me and I said no. Then I continued to hang around, submitted a couple more things, and then I finally decided that maybe if I had a weekly commitment to other people I might be able to exercise some measure of discipline that I was unable to just for
myself. I asked Michele if the offer was still good and here we are. Plus my blog was infiltrated by a friend/family member so I don't even feel like posting there anymore, so FTTW was a fresh start in that way.

Seetwist, author of Aurgasmic

How I came to FTTW:

A few years ago I was frequenting Fark.com and posting a lot in the music forums. A thread popped up about Michael Patton selling his old autographed Apple computer on eBay, and much Patton fellating did ensue. People tossing around obscure album references and basically trying to one-up each other with their Patton knowledge. Of course, I had to join in...

I had just seen the guy perform live with Rahzel in Boulder, Colorado a few nights earlier and happened to have a recording of the show. I mentioned that I'd hook up a few of the more hard-core fans in the thread with a CD if they wanted it, and a number of people responded. There were quite a few posts to the effect of "Where the hell is Woodpecker From Mars, and why isn't she participating in this Patton thread??" I figured she was a big fan, so I emailed her and told her that I'd send a disc her way if she was interested. The next day I logged on and she had sponsored me for TotalFark.

Jump forward to March of this year. I had no job and was living off of my savings, and I had a lot of free time. I was filling it photography and writing music reviews that nobody ever read. On a whim, I asked her if she needed someone to contribute a few columns to FTTW about music and graffiti. She said "Hell yeah!", and I started the next week.

Nothing special about my story, just another hookup from a hawt chick who apparently digs me a lot... =)

Ernie, author of End Zone:

A few years ago, I think it was 2004, I was reading a site called The Soxaholix, which is like a Red Sox blog in cartoon form. Anyway, they did a post that was all about Michele's new, at the time anyway, Yankee blog called Empire of the Yankees or Evil Empire Strikes back or something like that, I don't remember, but I remember it had of course, Bucky Fucking Dent as part of the main site design, a great big picture of him right on the top of the page. So yeah Michele I found you from a Red Sox site how about that! Ha ha!

So I went over there and visited and there was lots of Yankees fans arguing with Red Sox fans. Since I was not a Yankee fan, and it was a Yankee site I kind of browsed around but I did not really give it a lot of thought. I did think Michelle's posts were funny though, even if they were all about the Yankees, so I started going back there just to see what would show up next. It was like, A GUILTY PLEASURE.

Then I started clicking around on the site links and found A Small Victory, which I became a regular reader of, because Michele would write about how much she liked the Misfits and Zombies and cool stuff like that. And it actually made me go and dig around in my basement
for my old cassettes and find my old Misfits tapes which I had not listened to in years and that was cool. It was like a re-discovery. So thanks Michele for helping me re-discover The Misfits.

And Michele did that Kids for Katrina thing to help out the hurricane victims, which was just an awesome thing for her to do. Then ASV went away. But I kept it in my Bloglines list anyway. I had a feeling Michele would come back someday, and one day there was this update in my bloglines 'Tap tap tap, is this thing on?' Michele came back to ASV with her new co-writer Turtle and they wrote stories about cool things like muscle cars and punk rock bands and being on the road in a punk band and all kinds of other neat things, and there were some people that would leave interesting comments all the time like kali and cullen and finn and pril. Then Michele and Turtle decided to leave ASV in the past and create Faster Than The WORLD.

And that's my FTTW story. Wow this is long ass. And there you go.

Uberchief, author of Uber's Corner and An Audience of Shadows:

The summer before my senior year of college, I decided that spending three years becoming a psychologist would kind of get in the way of my drinking, so I decided to become a writer. After spending the year writing two novels (don't ask, they both suck) I found an eight to five job as an editor, which I figured was a perfect job for a writer. As an editor, I had a lot of down time waiting for people to get work to me so I could stay late and finish looking at it for them, so with the help of a friend, I stumbled across TotalFark.

Turtle and I continually crossed tracks in the threads, and he is honestly one of the funniest motherfuckers I've ever known. I got to know Michele in some of the threads, and if I remember correctly, she kept me in line. Then one day, I was off work and "relaxing," and cruising TotalFark, and everything on there was completely stupid, so I started writing ridiculous fables about animals who killed their parents, committed sodomy, and knowingly passed on STDs to each other, and posting them in random threads.

Pretty soon, Uber's Corner was born, where I gave people advice through my fables. Not long after that, I got the invitation from turtle and michele. Uber's Corner about to bite the dust, because there's no way I'm going to spend time on that when I can work on FTTW.

This site embraces the spirit of the Internet. We are pioneers in the new world of writing. Fifty years ago, it was pulp. Now, it's us, at home, with keyboards and connections, delivering words and ideas of inspiration to the world, to which we owe so much--NAY!--to which we owe, OUR LIVES.

NOW SALUTE THE FLAG MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

(we are going to have a "design the FTTW flag" contest this week, so look for that).

The Pirate, author of Any Port in the Storm

A few months ago, my employer found my blog. I had a fair amount of work-related stuff in there so I paniced, deleted the blog and completely freaked out about not being able to write. Enter Travis; the voice of wisdom and reason, suggesting FTTW. A week later I was here.

Or Alternately...

While on a business trip to Easter Island for a friend of mine who used to work in the midget porn industry (but now imports casket wood from Easter Island), I stopped in Santiago. There, I was arrested for mastrubating in the bathroom of an oxygen bar by a couple of Chilean soldiers. It seems my fevered moaning interrupted a secret tryst and they were extremely upset. At my trial, I learned one of the soldiers was second-cousin to the magistrate. I was sentenced to 5 years hard labor at a rubber tree plantation. Over the next six months I kiestered enough rubber to construct a rubber raft and eventually floated down the nearest river to the Pacific. After floating around for 79 days, I was rescued by an Indonesian Freighter bound for New York. Eventually, I found myself panhandling on Broadway. I would recite dirty poetry for pennies. Turtle heard me, dropped in a nickel and told me to look up FTTW if I ever made it off the streets.

Yeah.

-------------------------

The editors thank you all for sharing your stories and for making this past year so much fun.

Come back for some birthday contests tomorrow and Saturday!

Posted by FTTW Staff at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (19) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Thursday will mark the first birthday of Faster Than The World. We'll be celebrating all week, so keep checking here because we have some fun contests to go along with the celebration.

Each of the authors of FTTW has taken the time to write a "how they got here" story of how they came to be part of this site. Maybe some of these stories are not true at all. Maybe. Maybe some of our authors spent too much time at the FTTW moonshine still. We are not responsible for the accuracy of their tales. But we are responsible for them being here, and no matter what, we're proud of that.

We'll post a few of these a day.

Seetwist, author of Aurgasmic

How I came to FTTW:

A few years ago I was frequenting Fark.com and posting a lot in the music forums. A thread popped up about Michael Patton selling his old autographed Apple computer on eBay, and much Patton fellating did ensue. People tossing around obscure album references and basically trying to one-up each other with their Patton knowledge. Of course, I had to join in...

I had just seen the guy perform live with Rahzel in Boulder, Colorado a few nights earlier and happened to have a recording of the show. I mentioned that I'd hook up a few of the more hard-core fans in the thread with a CD if they wanted it, and a number of people responded. There were quite a few posts to the effect of "Where the hell is Woodpecker From Mars, and why isn't she participating in this Patton thread??" I figured she was a big fan, so I emailed her and told her that I'd send a disc her way if she was interested. The next day I logged on and she had sponsored me for TotalFark.

Jump forward to March of this year. I had no job and was living off of my savings, and I had a lot of free time. I was filling it photography and writing music reviews that nobody ever read. On a whim, I asked her if she needed someone to contribute a few columns to FTTW about music and graffiti. She said "Hell yeah!", and I started the next week.

Nothing special about my story, just another hookup from a hawt chick who apparently digs me a lot... =)

Ernie, author of End Zone:

A few years ago, I think it was 2004, I was reading a site called The Soxaholix, which is like a Red Sox blog in cartoon form. Anyway, they did a post that was all about Michele's new, at the time anyway, Yankee blog called Empire of the Yankees or Evil Empire Strikes back or something like that, I don't remember, but I remember it had of course, Bucky Fucking Dent as part of the main site design, a great big picture of him right on the top of the page. So yeah Michele I found you from a Red Sox site how about that! Ha ha!

So I went over there and visited and there was lots of Yankees fans arguing with Red Sox fans. Since I was not a Yankee fan, and it was a Yankee site I kind of browsed around but I did not really give it a lot of thought. I did think Michelle's posts were funny though, even if they were all about the Yankees, so I started going back there just to see what would show up next. It was like, A GUILTY PLEASURE.

Then I started clicking around on the site links and found A Small Victory, which I became a regular reader of, because Michele would write about how much she liked the Misfits and Zombies and cool stuff like that. And it actually made me go and dig around in my basement
for my old cassettes and find my old Misfits tapes which I had not listened to in years and that was cool. It was like a re-discovery. So thanks Michele for helping me re-discover The Misfits.

And Michele did that Kids for Katrina thing to help out the hurricane victims, which was just an awesome thing for her to do. Then ASV went away. But I kept it in my Bloglines list anyway. I had a feeling Michele would come back someday, and one day there was this update in my bloglines 'Tap tap tap, is this thing on?' Michele came back to ASV with her new co-writer Turtle and they wrote stories about cool things like muscle cars and punk rock bands and being on the road in a punk band and all kinds of other neat things, and there were some people that would leave interesting comments all the time like kali and cullen and finn and pril. Then Michele and Turtle decided to leave ASV in the past and create Faster Than The WORLD.

And that's my FTTW story. Wow this is long ass. And there you go.

-------

So that's another two of many interesting stories. Stay tuned for the rest and stick around for a lot of birthday excitement this week on Faster Than the World.

And thanks for hanging out with us.

Posted by FTTW Staff at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Well, not just me, really. The AIDS Action Committee of Boston. This year, I am walking the AIDS Walk Boston again, in memory of my childhood friend, Darren. To read his story, click here. To support my effort and donate, click here. Anything you feel comfortable giving is much appreciated.

The Walk is June 3, 2007, and I can take donations through June 30. I am trying to raise $1000 this year, and I would need to turn that in by the morning of the walk. If I turn in $1000 that morning, in addition to the other special perks, I'll get a crown to wear. I promise to post a picture of me in my crown when I reach my goal.

Thanks to anyone who feels like giving. And thanks to the crew here for letting me spread the word.

Peace,
Courtney

The editors of Faster Than the World support this message.

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Thursday will mark the first birthday of Faster Than The World. We'll be celebrating all week, so keep checking here because we have some fun contests to go along with the celebration.

Each of the authors of FTTW has taken the time to write a "how they got here" story of how they came to be part of this site. Maybe some of these stories are not true at all. Maybe. Maybe some of our authors spent too much time at the FTTW moonshine still. We are not responsible for the accuracy of their tales. But we are responsible for them being here, and no matter what, we're proud of that.

We'll post a few of these a day.

-M/T

Uberchief, author of Uber's Corner and An Audience of Shadows:

The summer before my senior year of college, I decided that spending three years becoming a psychologist would kind of get in the way of my drinking, so I decided to become a writer. After spending the year writing two novels (don't ask, they both suck) I found an eight to five job as an editor, which I figured was a perfect job for a writer. As an editor, I had a lot of down time waiting for people to get work to me so I could stay late and finish looking at it for them, so with the help of a friend, I stumbled across TotalFark.

Turtle and I continually crossed tracks in the threads, and he is honestly one of the funniest motherfuckers I've ever known. I got to know Michele in some of the threads, and if I remember correctly, she kept me in line. Then one day, I was off work and "relaxing," and cruising TotalFark, and everything on there was completely stupid, so I started writing ridiculous fables about animals who killed their parents, committed sodomy, and knowingly passed on STDs to each other, and posting them in random threads.

Pretty soon, Uber's Corner was born, where I gave people advice through my fables. Not long after that, I got the invitation from turtle and michele. Uber's Corner about to bite the dust, because there's no way I'm going to spend time on that when I can work on FTTW.

This site embraces the spirit of the Internet. We are pioneers in the new world of writing. Fifty years ago, it was pulp. Now, it's us, at home, with keyboards and connections, delivering words and ideas of inspiration to the world, to which we owe so much--NAY!--to which we owe, OUR LIVES.

NOW SALUTE THE FLAG MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

(we are going to have a "design the FTTW flag" contest this week, so look for that).

The Pirate, author of Any Port in the Storm

A few months ago, my employer found my blog. I had a fair amount of work-related stuff in there so I paniced, deleted the blog and completely freaked out about not being able to write. Enter Travis; the voice of wisdom and reason, suggesting FTTW. A week later I was here.

Or Alternately...

While on a business trip to Easter Island for a friend of mine who used to work in the midget porn industry (but now imports casket wood from Easter Island), I stopped in Santiago. There, I was arrested for mastrubating in the bathroom of an oxygen bar by a couple of Chilean soldiers. It seems my fevered moaning interrupted a secret tryst and they were extremely upset. At my trial, I learned one of the soldiers was second-cousin to the magistrate. I was sentenced to 5 years hard labor at a rubber tree plantation. Over the next six months I kiestered enough rubber to construct a rubber raft and eventually floated down the nearest river to the Pacific. After floating around for 79 days, I was rescued by an Indonesian Freighter bound for New York. Eventually, I found myself panhandling on Broadway. I would recite dirty poetry for pennies. Turtle heard me, dropped in a nickel and told me to look up FTTW if I ever made it off the streets.

Yeah.

-------------------------
So that's the first two of many interesting stories. Stay tuned for the rest and stick around for a lot of birthday excitement this week on Faster Than the World.

And thanks for hanging out with us.

Posted by FTTW Staff at 6:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

ok.

I said before how much I love zombie movies and how disappointed in 28 Days Later I was. I mean the movie had a killer premise. A disease spread by sweat, puke, tears and piss that tears the hell of of Britain turning everyone into just really, really angry people.

But they fucked it up.

Move on to 28 Weeks later. I was in a subway in New York trying to get a glimpse of these posters that kinda looked like the posters for 28 Days Later....but I really couldn't see the posters clearly. I got off the train and stared at one. 28 Weeks Later!

Yes. Yes I was excited. Even though the first one, in my opinion, sucked. I was still excited. I mean how many movies show you the aftermath of what happens when the zombies (or "infected" in this case) are gone?

Well in this casse, nothing really. This shit is sooo sadly obvious, it is just sad.

Shaking cameras from the start. Blurry shots.

No suspense.

Even easy, almost gimmie "panic" scenes are shot to shit with this directors idea that "shaking the camera makes it all seem scary."

Well, it doesn't.

Instead of wondering what I would do in a situation like the ones presented in the movie, like I usually do in all good zombie movies, I was left there wondering when it was just going to stop moving around so much.

It's like watching a row of dominoes just waiting for the one retarded kid to accidentally knock the first domino down so we can finally , and I mean finally, see these fucking things fall.

And when everything does go to shit, it is painful.

No character development. I disliked everyone I was supposed to care about so when they died it was like "good riddance".

28 weeks later? They should have called it 28 years later cause that's the last god damn time I am ever going to see a horror movie made by the British.

Quick tip to the writer of the story.

Dead bodies are not, NOT creepy, scary or in any way icky.

Dead bodies will not suddenly come back to life and grab you. They are dead. Dead things can not hurt you.

Only zombies can.

And this is not a zombie movie. - T

Michele's review of 28 Weeks Later is in the blog. I wonder what she thought of it?

Posted by Turtle Jones at 7:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (7) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Here's the latest prophecy from Furnace Room Cyril.

Aries – While you normally look forward to the weekends, planetary alignments are fucking with your outlook and attitude. That’s why you’ve been drinking alone in the dark. Keep it up because that’s as good as it’s going to get for you, until you start puking blood and get yourself to the hospital. Then it’s party time.

Taurus – Stay Home. I know it’s a bit of a cliché to be told to avoid travel, but you’re screwed if you go more than a mile or so from home, at least until mid week. Don’t even watch travel programs on TV. Sloth is your friend. Buy microwave dinners and adult diapers. Wear a helmet to bed, just in case.

Gemini – You’ll experience much clarity of mind this week. Try exercising your brain with sudoku or compulsive lying.

Cancer – If you did not read last week’s horoscope very clearly then you may have caught something. That thing about the condoms… remember, I said on the weekend? You fucked it up. Get tested for, hell, anything.

Leo – You’re bound to have a fantastic week. The universe is aligned in such a way as to make you feel invincible. Try doing something you’ve never done but have always wanted to try, like, say, jumping off a building.

Virgo – You have been working too hard. Try to relax this week and take some time for yourself. Instead of doing what others want, it’s time for those fuckers to do your bidding. Demand compliance, you’ll feel better.

Libra – This would be an excellent week to correct that karma you’ve been fucking with lately. Spend all your money on your friends, assuming you have any of either left. Maybe you should borrow from family or roll a few drunks.

Scorpio – You may find that you are short on energy early in the week, but your energy will increase later, as the antibiotics start working. That’s a good thing because that blind date on Friday will end with you running as fast as you can.

Sagittarius – I told you. I told you they were pissed off. Try not to lose your temper as you find yourself ostracized; they will use it against you. Your best bet is to not call anyone and pretend you didn’t notice. Cry alone.

Capricorn – For the love of Christ, try to finish at least one thing you started this week. There is a problem when you can’t concentrate on pleasuring yourself long enough to orgasm. For fuck’s sake, turn off the TV.

Aquarius – You have been ignoring that special someone in your life. When was the last time you saw your child? Last fucking Thursday? Yeah, it’s probably your kid. The cops will explain it to you. Be polite.

Pisces – You people, always with the perfectionism and the laziness. You are incompatible with yourselves. That’s why everybody uses you. You don’t know yourself, they recognize your awkwardness, and they take advantage. Meh, you’re used to it. Next week will be no different from any other week of your life so far.

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Broken down cars are the worst. Fucked up cars are hell. Sometimes you have to use them when you are just starting. It just happens. And some cars are broken down fun. Pure adrenaline O.D. fun.

This was a car that was amazing. A Ford something or other that we took a chainsaw to and cut the hood off. Hey hell, we lived in California so we can do this. Buy a car for fifty bucks and have fun with it.

We cut the roof off of the car and covered it in spraypaint. Ok. One thing I will say and always will say is one you start a fire others will throw wood on it. Figure out what I'm talking about and we can move on. The car became covered in spray paint. We left it outside to be painted by kids with a bunch of cans and nothing else better to do than inhale it or hit the car. It stunk like urine and cat piss, which I guess is the same thing, but the engine still rolled.

We took it to street skate jams and just parked in the middle of all the ramps and left it. Maybe we had to push a few ramps but hey, that was the way it worked back then. Take over a parking lot and drag in shit. I'm not getting all get off my lawn and shit, but I wonder why they don't have a car in those street sessions on NBC.

But anyways, one day the beautiful car was being attacked by this little shithead kid. I mean I really didn't care if you dented the car or anything like that. But, for christ sakes, don't smash out the fucking headlights. God damn. We are running on a barely legal thing right and now we were adding in no headlights?

I loved that car.

I hated that kid.

- T

Posted by Turtle Jones at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

FTTW is looking for a few good men. Or women. Or children. Hell, you don't even have to be that good. You can be semi-good.

If you ever wanted to write stuff on the intranets, now is your chance.

By stuff, we mean....anything. We could really use a movie reviewer, but we accept nearly anything. I mean, we have someone here who writes stories about adopting a baby who is CPA, so anything goes. News, sports, fiction, music, art, fashion, limericks, rants, love, sex, money, politics, religion, nothing is verboten here and everything is accepted. Oh, and cars. We really want someone to write about cars.

We prefer our writers to sign up for a weekly gig with us, but bi-monthly will do as well.

What are the rewards of working for FTTW? Just ask any of our writers about the perks of joining us. They'll tell you about the free meth lab and moonshine still located at FTTW headquarters. They'll tell you about the camaraderie, the laughs, the joys, the fun, the seasons in the sun.

They won't tell you about the pay. Because there is none. Unless you count self-satisfaction that comes with a job well done pay. We do. Because it's all we got.

Maybe some day we will be internet famous and people will throw gold at our feet and we will share some of that gold with our writers, but for now all we can offer you is a chance to be part of a great group of people who love, cherish and stalk each other.

If this sounds like your kind of gig, show us what you got. Tell us what your idea for a column and include a urine sample. I mean, sample of your writing.

We also are looking for one-shot writers, if you have something (anything but morose gothic poetry) that you want to share with the world as a guest writer for FTTW.

Send all submissions to: fttw.submit@gmail.com, with the header: LET ME IN!

Come on. You know you want to. That moonshine ain't gonna drink itself.

Posted by FTTW Staff at 6:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

We’re about to mark a bit of a milestone here at FTTW. One of many. We’re about to have our 200,000th visitor. That’s some serious shit to us. If it wasn’t for you readers this site would be nothing, and this isn’t going to be the last milestone we hit.

Not by a long shot. We’ve hardly started and we’ve got a long way to go. And you’re coming with us. Ride With Us. You know?

So who’s it gonna be? Who’s going to be that visitor? If it’s you, then you get something from us. How cool is that? You can win shit just for showing up and not knocking anything over.

The 200,000th visitor to the site gets a copy of a movie that I mentioned in my first Don’t Go In There post. City Of The Living Dead. It’s a great little horror movie by Italian master Lucio Fulci, and it's pretty fucking gross. There’s this whole thing with sheep entrails that’s just too fucking cool, man. I hope whoever wins it is disgusted by it.

Now, here’s what you gotta do. You gotta prove it to us. You see that little thing that says site meter? Click on that, and you’ll come to a site that lists FTTW stats. If the total at the top says 200,000 then you fucking won. Get a screenshot and email it to us.

Thanks for helping Faster Than The World become what it is.

-Dan

Also, we are tossing in a FTTW shirt for the 200,000 visitor. This is the first design coming out next week.

Like it?

- Turtle

Update!!!

We Realize that 200,000 was a google search

So basically right now, the first person to send us in a screenshot of the closet to 200,000 wins the shirt and DVD.

Email us at fttw10@gmail.com with a screenshot and you win!

WE HAVE A WINNER!

Congrats to Courtney of Midvale School for the Gifted who sent us this screenshot. Soon Courtney will be watching a cool DVD and wearing a t-shirt that will send her coolness factor soaring.

Thanks all for playing, and stay tuned for plenty more contests this month.

Posted by Dan Greene at 12:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (15) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

It's another first here at FTTW, weekly horoscopes! More info on this feature and its mysterious author later, but for now just take notes and do everything it says. You will be amazed.

Aries – Hopefully you didn’t beat off too much last night, because there’s a chance you could get some for real if you don’t act like an arrogant asshole and screw it all up. But you probably will because you’re usually a bit arrogant, aren’t ya? You also need to ignore your instincts this week, especially at work. But you can’t call in sick because they won’t believe you. Your only hope is to surreptitiously stick your finger down your throat and let people see you vomit.

Taurus – Sometimes you just need to put yourself first. Sometimes you just need to stay home, eat corn chips and masturbate. Sometimes this lasts all week, Taurus, so load up on the essentials before the video store closes. You’re going to whack it so much.

Gemini – If you help someone out, you’re a good person. If you help someone out and it ruins your weekend, then you’re a bit of a sucker. What the hell have they done for you lately anyway? If, on the other hand, the person has light colored hair and their name starts with the letter S (Sven and Svetlana are likely matches), then go ahead and help them. If you don’t know anyone who meets this description, try to meet one.

Cancer – The stars are aligned just perfectly for you to fuck indiscriminately, and maybe even use dirty needles if you’re so inclined. You got a good three or four days of solid fornication ahead. The stars have you covered so don’t bother with rubbers this weekend, it’s party time. The only thing that might get in your way is a whiny or logical partner, so stick with stupid sluts and/or man whores.

Leo – This week is good for making changes on a spiritual level. If you’ve been thinking of learning about new religions, this would be a great week to get started. If you haven’t been thinking along these lines, you might consider getting drunk and starting a fight in your local place of worship. You either need to find God or turn your back on him, but for fuck’s sake, do something. You ain’t getting any younger.

Virgo – You’re slated for a fun filled week. Make sure you get out of the house. Attend a fair or carnival if there is one in your area; you may find love if you spend enough money. Try putting something new in your bum.

Libra – All you are going to do for the first half of the week is fight with loved ones. And you will lose a lot of those fights, and you will be perceived as a sore loser every time. This being misunderstood will affect every part of your life for the remainder of the week. Do not eat at any restaurants, including fast food joints. Asking someone to go to the drive through for you is cheating. You will be punished by the universe. Eat out and you will be eating spit.

Scorpio – If you know any Cancers then make sure to stay hooked up with them all week. Or at least on the weekend. Go to their parties, share their needles and have sex with whoever you find. Get it out of the way now, because next week…. Oh, dude. Just… party now, okay? Because you’re fucking in for it next week. But don’t worry about that now.

Sagittarius – Yours is a week to invest time and love in others. It may be emotionally draining on your psyche, but you will be a source of comfort to some troubled souls in your life. And a lot of people are really pissed off; did you know that you’re about to lose most of your friends? They went out the other night and got talking. They’re fucking sick of you.

Capricorn – You have a lot of activity ahead so only eat things that you can hold with one hand. Try harder to find money on the ground or in people’s wallets. As a matter of fact, leave town and practice looking for it in a strange city. You may also find love with a homeless person there, so make sure to look into their eyes as you walk by and they tug at your pants leg.

Aquarius – You are fucked at work. Your boss found that thing. You are so fucked.

Pisces – You romantic fucking geek. Keep carrying your book of love poetry and hoping girls will talk to you if you follow them long enough. It’s gonna happen for you this week, I swear. Don’t change a thing. Because it’s worked pretty well so far, hasn’t it? I can tell you’re still hopeful, but no, I am being sarcastic. You are not in for any sexy fun. You couldn’t find love at the petting zoo.

Posted by A Guest Author at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (9) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

by Branden Hart

Although I once had an extreme predilection,

For only things offering pleasure and fun,

I’m beginning to notice a growing discretion

For the world since this new stage of life has begun.

Things that at one time were taken for granted,

Whose relative import could not be conceived,

Were thrown in my face when this new seed was planted,

Along with ideas from which I was bereaved.

I now face the world with a grim fascination,

So quick to observe that to which I was blind,

My old views now subject to emasculation,

I search for the questions to answers I find.

Complexity hides in the shadows and corners,

Of minds that ignore its presence and strength,

And god forgive all who do not end up mourners

When its place in our world is discovered at length.

For years we see nothing but visible surfaces—

Textures and colors describe what we know.

And then, in the light of the knowledge of purposes

Structural traits begin slowly to show.

As humans we’re blessed with the will to decide

For ourselves how to live and react to the world,

It’s a gift far removed from the folks who deride

Those to whom sublime knowledge has just been unfurled.

I pledge now to seek out the answers to questions,

The ‘Whys’ and ‘Why-nots’ we are told to ignore,

And I forgive those, and their many transgressions,

Who actively choose to grow older no more.

Branden writes Uber's Corner and the ongoing novel An Audience of Shadows

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Today, I get a little serious.

As I am sure a lot of you people know, I have a favorite TV show. Yes, it is a weird TV show, but it has influenced me in many ways. It was a happy show with wholesome memories for me. Today, I learned of some sad news and I thought I would share it.

PASADENA, Calif. - Dabbs Greer, a veteran character actor who played the Rev. Robert Alden in the TV show "Little House on the Prairie," has died. He was 90.

Greer, a Missouri native, died Saturday at Huntington Hospital after a battle with kidney and heart disease, his neighbor, Bill Klukken, told the Los Angeles Times. B.J. Goodwin, coroner for McDonald County, Mo., confirmed the death to The Associated Press.

Goodnight Mr. Greer.

Today, when we are cropping our shares, we shall plow and till in your name.

See you in reruns.

- T

Posted by Turtle Jones at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

The beautiful and serendipitous phenomenon of finding drugs.

The first time I ever saw weed, it was found weed. I was in grade school; my friend’s older brother let slip that he’d found his Dad’s stash somewhere in the house. My friend and I were looking for hash when we came across a shoebox in the back of his Dad’s closet. No hash but lots of weed, which neither of us had seen before. “Holy shit” my friend said, “Mom has this at her house too. Lots of it!” We ended up stealing about half an ounce between the two of them.

There were these two friends of mine back in high school, Kirk and Tyrone. Kirk and I both smoked dope but Tyrone wouldn’t touch the stuff. Until one night at The Garage when he kind of had no choice.

The Garage was behind the driveway at another friend’s house, this guy Jason. His parents didn’t give a shit what went on out there. The Garage could comfortably hold about 15 or 20 people but usually managed to accommodate about 30 or 40. The first night I was there, I asked my friend how many people could fit in this tiny little room with the woodstove. He called out to Jason, “Hey man, how many people fit in here last New Year’s Eve?”

“Uh, seventy something, seventy two or seventy four? Seventy something.”

Fuck’s sake, you could hardly fit two Chevettes in here.

So, it was Good Friday, one night back in the 80s. On Good Friday where I grew up, you couldn’t buy beer or booze. Everything was closed. So that Friday night, everyone at The Garage was smoking. Except for Tyrone, who as stated didn’t smoke. But when you put one non smoker in a small room with about 30 potheads, it’s unavoidable. That guy’s going to get high eventually. And Kirk is blowing it in his direction as often as possible.

“Fuck’s sake Kirk, stop blowing that shit in my face.”
“Sorry man, it’s too crowded in here, I got nowhere to go. Jesus, everyone else is smoking hash too ya know. The whole place is hotboxed”

Looks at me, smiles his evil smile and blows more smoke at Tyrone.

Tyrone got high and it took him about three hours to figure out why he felt so good. He said he wished it hadn’t happened, but you could tell he was enjoying the buzz that had come guilt free… He didn’t actually smoke it but he did inhale.

A few weeks later we’re all having a cigarette behind the school. Tyrone notices a bag on the ground… with three joints inside. He kept one for himself and we all shared the other two. That evening he smoked the joint before he went out to buy a quarter ounce. Took him less than a month to get to quarter ounces. All you need is an excuse, I guess. The first one is free.

When I was working at the record store, the better part of ten years ago, this kid about 17 or so comes in to buy Punk O Rama 2 or 3… the one with that stupid Epitaph headed monster pissing on the wall anyway, whatever. 5.99 or something.

A couple of minutes after he left, I walked out from behind the counter and found a little bag on the floor. Scoop. Hit the back room and check it out… Nice, I just found a gram of weed. I wonder what loser dropped that.

Then I start thinking, and I know it’s the kid who bought the punk comp. A gram of weed and a new comp CD sounds suspiciously like a week’s allowance or something, or at least a bigger investment to him than me. And I feel guilty. And I can’t exactly leave the store to go looking for a teenaged kid because it might be his weed. So I decide to hang onto it, and figure that I’ll ask him if I see him.

But I didn’t see him again so I said fuck it and went home and smoked it with my wife. Pretty good too.

Earlier this week, I was walking home from work. Walking along, listening to music and thinking about eating dinner when I saw a little bag on the ground. Stop, turn around. Look again to confirm before I go picking up garbage on the side of the road. Nope, that looks like weed.

Nice, I just found a gram of weed. I wonder what loser dropped that. Stuff it in the pocket and get it home, open it up and it’s a funny feeling. This little pile of chopped up weed that I’ve formed into a little rectangle. I feel like I’m a kid again and I'm trying to remember that line from Reservoir Dogs… Mr. Orange says it, something like, um...

“I don’t even know what ten dollar’s worth… looks like anymore.”

But nope, that’s a weighed gram of doobage, all tied up in the corner of a sandwich bag. And I figure that it probably belonged to another kid and I start to feel bad. For a second.

Fuck that noise, like I never dropped dope before. Like I never lost weed before. Live and learn man, keep it secure. I hope someone found whatever I dropped and made use of it.

So what about you? Have you ever found drugs? Didn’t happen to find mine, did you?


Dan hasn't looked up all week.


Archives

Posted by Dan Greene at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

A while back (the link is no longer valid) I read a parenting column in some online newspaper. It was about shopping with kids.

As the author tells it, he's got three young daughters with birthdays coming up. he and his wife take the kiddies to Target to scan the toy aisles so they can make out their birthday wish lists. It is, of course, a horror show for them, resulting in the parents wanting to drink themselves
through lunch. Reading this, one gets the impression that these kids have never been in a department store before.

I've never heard of the practice of taking your kids "pretend" shopping for their birthday presents, parading them down aisle after aisle of toys, leading them to believe that the toy department is their own personal shopping mall and if they wish real hard, mommy and daddy will make their Barbie dreams come true! Mr., that's what commercials are for.

In my Reality-Based Parenting(c) world, I not only streamline efforts like buying/picking out birthday presents, I take every available opportunity to toughen my kids up and teach them the hard, mean lessons of life early on so they don't turn into sissies with a sense of entitlement.

Here's how it works in my world.

You plop your kids down in front of the tv, Nickelodeon being your weapon of choice. In twenty minutes, and without ever having to leave the comfort of your own home, your kids have found fifteen new toys they want, in addition to eight kinds of candy and four brands of cereal and you are presented with the opportunity to teach your kids some valuable life lessons and harden them up for the tough life ahead of them.

After they come to you with their hastily scrawled list of toys and games, you tell them you'll think about it, then you fold up the list and put it in your pocket. The kids are still standing there, wide eyed and shaking with giddy, over-sensitized commercial awareness.

Can we have Loaded Sugar Bomb Cereal?
No.
Can we have Chocolate...
No.
Can we have Donut Breakfast Sprink..
No.
Kool Aid?
No.
Twelve foot long fruit strips?
No.
A pint size, battery powered Lexus complete with vanity plate?
No.
That game with the six thousand marbles?
No.

You keep a harsh edge to your voice. And just wait for it. As if on cue, they howl, they cry, they pout and throw themselves on the floor and kick you in the shins and scream that they never, ever, ever get to have ANYTHING good or fun or new.

So you do what any responsible parent would do. You sit them in front of the stereo, turn down the lights and make them listen to Trent Reznor emoting about something he can never have. You sing along, making sure to pantomime your heart breaking. You make it resonate. When the final, heartbreaking notes of the song fade out, you tell them, If you think it hurts to not be able to get your damn sugar coated chocolate filled breakfast treat, just wait until that hot chick who has been teasing you in math class for three months tells you she's a lesbian.

When you put the kids to bed that night, you eschew the lullabies and put Stabbing Westward's Wither, Blister, Burn and Peel on repeat in their Winnie the Pooh CD players.

The next day, when you realize you've used the last of your 40 pack of paper towels and you make a panic run to Costco, you take them with you. You purposely take them down the toy aisle to see if they learned anything. There's rows of brightly colored packages; board games, mechanical toys, whirring lights and beeping robots and stacks of pink boxes stuffed with busty blonde dolls. You look at your kids and you can see their hands twitch involuntarily. But they keep walking. They don't reach for a box or try to play with the electronic drum set on display.

You can't help but test them a little bit.

"Hey look, Johnny. It's that new gizmo you wanted!"
"Eh. Why bother asking for it? It would only end up disappointing me later, anyhow."

You try to hide your proud smile. And when your daughter sullenly walks past the rows of Barbies, kicks one of the boxes and mutters bitch under her breath, you quietly pump your fist and say yessssss.

Michele is the author of The Gauntlet, which appears here every Tuesday.

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Everything I know about whitetails, I learned being hunted by orangutans in Borneo. Several years ago, I visited the island of Borneo in the course of my job. I was excited to be going there. You know, the jungle, toucans, orangutans and such. What an adventure! Well, it didn’t quite turn out the way I envisioned it and in the end, I was lucky to escape with my life.

I flew into the port city of Miri, Sarawak, just East of Bintalu and West of the tiny country of Brunei, on the north coast. As the flight from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia descended from the clouds, the view of fog-shrouded jungle peaks sent my mind reeling and my imagination into overdrive. Here I was, about to enter the green heart and the experience of a lifetime. If I only knew what was to come and how short life could be.

Miri is a bustling, noisy and somewhat crowded city of about 300,000 people. The air is steamy and oppressive, especially when you’ve just left home and temperatures below zero, in December. After a few hours of sweating like a professional wrestler in a cage match (I really don’t believe pigs sweat), you finally come to tolerate the heat and constant 100% humidity. The puking also subsided after a few hours and only then could I venture out to explore the city and all it had to offer. Big mistake.

A block from my hotel, I had the strange feeling of being watched. A few casual glances around the street offered no likely suspects. I kept walking. In the next block, I found a discount electronics store and stopped to scan the items displayed in the window. I caught a sliver of movement behind me, in the reflection off the window and whirled around. Nothing. As I turned to make my way down the street a whiff of something unnatural sent the hairs on the back of neck arise and I couldn’t stop my nostrils from flaring. Craning my neck around, the scent seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. I spotted two guys moving purposely down the street, staring at me. Something wasn’t right about them, but from a half a block away, I couldn’t tell what it was. I moved on, wary and cautious of every alleyway and approached the next intersection as if it was my last. The street was unnaturally quiet, now and the number of locals seemed to rapidly dwindle, fading away like the wisps of fog burned off the mountaintops in the morning sun. At the intersection two men strode toward me from both left and right. Short and stocky, they both sported bright orange hair and looked to be headed right at me.

I crossed the street and entered a drinking establishment. The place was quiet, muted and dark. I ordered a beer and nearly choked on the first sip; my throat was dry and tight. I leaned against the bar and looked around. I noticed a guy in the corner had orange hair growing out of the backs of his fingers, tufts of the stuff sticking out of his long sleeved shirt. I wondered why there was no music and looked to the jukebox against the far wall. Curse me, it had arms and orange hair on the backs of its hands. I tried to remain calm and appear as if nothing was wrong. I slowly lowered my head to drink, but kept my eyes on the jukebox and saw it begin to slowly raise a gun. My mind raced. I quickly scanned the room looking for an escape, but the jukebox had a clear field of shooting across the entire bar. He was well placed. I was being hunted by orangutans and had walked right into their bait pile! Slowly I began to walk at right angles to the orangutan in jukebox camo, nonchalantly allowing my gaze to slide across him, halting the slow rise of his rifle. I had a feeling that once that gun drew a bead on me, it was over. I sipped my beer and surreptitiously eyed the door, angling toward it as much as I dared without raising suspicion. I knew my nose quivered and my ears were pricked. I knew he knew that I knew I was being hunted and we both moved as if we didn’t. My heart was ready to burst and adrenaline coursed through my veins. I involuntarily crapped my drawers and kept moving. Ten feet from the door, I hear the click of the hammer as he pulled it back. Pure instinct and sheer terror sent my legs into overdrive as I dropped my beer and bolted straight through the door. The muted boom of his rifle reached me one step onto the sidewalk and I instinctively ducked, while feinting to the right, then tearing down the street to the left in a move that would have made Barry Sanders shake his head in awe. I didn’t stop for 6 blocks and it wasn’t until then I realized I had been shot. It was only a flesh wound, a small furrow across my left shoulder that would soon stop bleeding and eventually heal. I looked behind me and seeing a blood trail, immediately loped off down a side street with my shirt bunched up against the wound to stop the blood and end the trail that would lead the orangutan straight to me for the finishing shot. An hour later, winded and shaking, I entered my hotel, fairly certain he had lost my trail. I phoned my travel agent, demanded a ticket home and flew back out that evening. I now avoid that part of the world, whenever possible and pay better attention to every jukebox I come across.

I take this experience with me into the great north woods, every fall. I still-hunt and post and when I see a whitetail pause in its foraging; nose-a-quiver, ears pricked-I know what’s going through his mind and I’ll get that shot off before he drops his beer and heads for the door.

The Pirate is the author of Any Port In The Storm, which appears here every Tuesday.

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Well, it’s official. I’m a comic book geek again. And you know what—it’s actually pretty good to be back. It’s been years since I’ve been to a comic book store, and they are still just as funky as I remember them. Shelves of action figures, the smell of Mylar wrapping in the air, guys in the back playing Dungeons and Dragons.

And in the ten years of my absence, some more subtle things have changed. I remember when DC first launched the Vertigo line. With that move came the advent of adult comic books. Not that there hadn’t been comics around for adults before, but this move really brought it to the forefront. Then, being a grown man in a comic store was kind of weird and a little creepy. Now, it’s perfectly normal.

So I’ve been plowing through several series. The only bad thing about comics is that you’re subject to their availability. For instance, when I first started reading the Preacher, I got through the first volume in about a week. I immediately went back to the store to get the second volume. They had every other freaking volume except that one. If you don’t know anything about Preacher, it’s a story you cannot read out of order. So I went to every other store in town and never found it. I had to order it, and it still hasn’t come in yet.

But that’s not entirely bad, because I had to find something else to tide me over. That something was 100 Bullets. This is another great series, and I’m about two volumes into it now. In the meantime, I’ve continued to pick up new books. I read the first volume of Hellboy, and am very curious if the movie does it justice. I picked up the first volume of a great Hellblazer story arc, and I already know that Constantine doesn’t do it justice. John Constantine played by Keanu Fuckwad Reeves? Give me a break.

There are so many new stories out there. For some reason, comic books seem to contain the most innovative stories of any medium today. Economically, producing a single issue of a comic book is far cheaper than producing a television show with the same story. This makes them the playing field for people who might have never gotten their ideas out any other way. And thank goodness.

So folks, who among you will admit comic geekness? Come on guys, we’re all friends here.

Uberchief is the author of Uber's Corner, which appears here every Monday.

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I should preface this by warning that it contains some pretty graphic sex and quite possibly some hot photos, thereby insuring that everyone will read it…

Over the years I have read many books. To say I read a lot is an understatement. Oh hell, I’ll even admit that I used to read while driving, but I’ve never been arrested for it. Well, not yet, anyway. In fact, the best thing about writing at FTTW is reading the wonderful articles here. (shameless brown-nosing now out of the way:) And I have never done a book review, until now. I have finally found a book worthy of review by me. I give you an unsolicited review my latest read:

Where Did I Come From? By Peter Mayle, with illustrations by Arthur Robins

I was taken aback at first by the golden emblem on the cover proclaiming “Over 2 Million Copies Sold!” I haven’t had much luck with the tofu and latte mainstream crap on the bookshelves, today and I shy away from pretty much anything “award-winning”, or “best-selling”. I tend toward the more obscure gems to be found when digging deep into the local used book dealer, with the only exception to popular authors being Stephen King. I don’t care what anyone says, Mr. King is a real storyteller, but I digress.

The reference on the back cover is however, impressive: Doctor Spock gives it top grades for humanness (I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds important) and honesty (I know what this is-honestly), but says some may be offended. I should note that Peter and Arthur have also teamed up to bring us What’s Happening to Me? and hopefully after this offering will reunite to answer the timeless, Whisky Tango Foxtrot? The current Mayle/Robins books are part of an awe-inspiring series that includes the powerhouse, Why Am I Going To The Hospital? and the chilling, ball-breaker titled, How To Be A Pregnant Father. Guys, don’t read this alone at night. Scary. Scary. Shit.

The storyline is pretty straightforward with a mere casual glance. A healthy nod is given to red-faced parents all over the world to jump-start the topic.

If you have a kid older than 3, chances are you’ve been nailed to the post with at least one tough question posed 23 years before you were ready to give an answer. You know-your 3 yr old daughter catches you coming out of the shower and asks why your package is smaller than her tootsie-roll. “How do you pee with that little thing, daddy?” Yeah, kids are great.

The kids, themselves take the spotlight next with a few choice examples of speculation on where they came from. My personal favorite is little Tommy who nails it when he says that his dad got him from the saloon.

How does one become so wise at five? So far, I’m thinking this is a great book and I’m gonna read it to the little one and then I turn the page. Holy Shit! There’s mom and dad playing together with a plastic boat in the tub. Pop’s wang is swinging in the breeze and he’s hung like a horse. Hello! What are they going to do with that little boat? Mom? Yeah, she’s got a decent rack, but fuck me if she doesn’t look like DAD wearing a wig! Like I said, they need to reunite and answer the inevitable WTF? So while the fact that mom and dad are not made the same way is covered, you are left with a queasy stomach and wondering exactly how mom and dad are related.

The author tackles the subject with relish and doesn’t pull any punches when he tells children that breasts are like mobile milk bars and gives a quick thank you to breasts in general before moving on. One gets the feeling he wasn’t breast-fed as a child. A sort of honor roll of breast names is presented so our kids don’t get lost when their older siblings start talking trash about titties, boobs, bazookas, etc. After he touches on breasts, he moves on down, but I should not forget to mention I love the shot of the little dude getting a feed on, thinking, “ Ahhh. Milk. Wonderful Milk.”

When covering (or in this case, uncovering) the genitals, Mayle neglects the honor roll of slang. Wang, dang, sweet poontang, and all that. Then, he says that a penis is like peanuts, except without the “t”. WTF? I’ve been looking at mine for an hour and I just don’t see it. His only saving grace is that he promises mine is going to grow bigger someday.

I am patiently waiting… He also notes that vagina rhymes with Carolina, so he must have heard the one about, well, never mind. Anyway, no slang terms here-I was disappointed. I mean, what a dick!

Nonetheless, he dives into bumping uglies with gusto! I mean he goes out on a limb to note that we only play hide the sausage in bed most of the time and only because a bed is nice and comfortable. Obviously he’s never done the horizontal bop on a pool table, or pulled the “O” face in the mud at a rock concert, but he’s obviously given the missus a really tight hug, once or twice. That’s right, according to this book, babies come from really tight hugs and the guy’s penis gets bigger because it has lots of work to do. (That’s what she said) Making love (that means fucking) tickles and makes you wiggle. He says it’s like scratching an itch, but a lot nicer and yeah, I suppose that is right on target, isn’t it?

Anyway, he says it all ends with a big sneeze and then it’s all sperms, eggs and babies growing in the “woom” with a b. The book closes with a baby who comes out yelling like a pissed-off football fan.

I suppose this book is appropriate for all ages under 13 and lays out all the necessary bits for a complete birds and the bees story. Sex and babies are covered honestly and simply, just what every parent needs to educate the little ones with only two faults, in my humble opinion. First, the author uses to many analogies. I think the child will toddle away remembering itches, tickling, wiggling and a big, fucking sneeze. I think the analogies should be left up to the parents, tailoring to the child’s age and environment. Second, the image of mom and pop in the tub getting ready to utilize a plastic boat is wrong and for fuck’s sake, mom should NOT look like dad with a wig!

Pirate is the author of Any Port in the Storm, which appears here every Tuesday.

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There are very few things in life that bring real joy to a person. We go through the motions of our mundane existence, throwing out cliches willy-nilly (some of us). While both real and imagined glories pass through the cheesecloth of our minds as we ride the wheel to nowhere, I find that Denis Leary was spot on when he said that it is the little moments that add up to happiness. (Remember that bit? You smoke the cigarette, eat the cookie, have your orgasm and you're on to the next thing, whatever it is, blah blah).

In the moments of reflection, I'll usually put on some music. Something light like Slayer's South of Heaven or Coltrane's A Love Supreme(Pursuance!) or, as was the case this morning, a little Queen. Before the late Freddie Mercury debauched himself into an early grave (Pot, meet Kettle), Queen were a truly superb bunch of smarty-boots who started a little combo for the express purpose of thriving in the music business. They succeeded, even with Brian May's degree in infrared astronomy, in a long stay at the top of the charts and in the hearts of their countrymen, here and abroad.

There is something about taking a song and putting it in a movie as background music that changes one's perceptions, whether for good or bad, for the rest of your life. I can't hear Don't Stop Me Now by Queen without seeing the "zombie attack" scene set in the local pub from "Shaun of the Dead".

If you've not seen "Shaun", do so. I command it. While the movie is basically an apocalyptic horror comedy, it is, in reality, a love story between Shaun, the lovable (is he?) loser of a main character and his flatulent best friend, Ed. Ed, while not without a certain gaseous charisma, seems to be in the running with Onslow from "Keeping Up Appearances" and myself for Layabout King of the World. Still, defects notwithstanding, friends are friends to the end and in "Shaun of the Dead", almost all of the prats make it through the night and there is even a little twist at the end to ram home the point about this movie is really about relationships as well as the undead. 5 stars all around.

So now that I've enjoyed that movie way too much, I can never hear this Queen song again without seeing the scene where the jukebox comes on at a most inappropriate time (trying to be quiet to avoid zombie detection) and our reluctant heroes fend off the former barman with a bit of a round robin/free for all/get your licks in/balletic pummeling with (as they are known here in the southeastern United States, especially in courtroom testimony) "pool sticks". To the rest of the world, that would be a pool cue. Just imagine three people with pool