You Arrogant Bastard

Fish Blast From the Pastula

Load this into your gastrula and metabolize it:
A procrastinatory look towards DCo's last post had me looking at the Internet Archive Wayback Machine. I was trying to find the secret code required to combine two computer games, both of which were based around creating vulgar movies with talking animated animals wearing suits, published by a now-defunct software company. I was unsuccessful in my search, so I tried to find the old CMGN websites (first internet-published literature, predating both CiM and QGGOAT. Parody newspaper from sixth grade circulated via email, and later, the web- contributors included none other than Dizardo himself). They were no longer on the Angelfire servers, so I tried to back a step further and hit up those 7th grade personal web-pages, (e.g. http://www.expage.com/page/sublimtym) but, alas, they are all gone as well, along with all of the slogans and the 'favorite band' lists (Sublime, Rage, Reel Big Fish, Kid Rock) and their blistering hate towards Kitt, which I guess would have made much more sense in context back then... it really was a unifying theme on those three or four pages that were all set up by Seth and Scall- the violent murder of Kitt.

Now while all us fresh new college kids reflect upon our glorious days of yore and wonder why the kids at college are all so socially awkward and hook-nosed Jewish, we certainly must not forget the forerunners of DCPS student domain-namery, the perpetually aliased Alapo and Luasn. Yes, Holtzmaniac is archived. Here's a little piece of the action, in case you missed it back in '01.

Also up there on the Holtzmaniac archive page are DCo's old ramblings, very similar to the MINDFUCK dialogues concocted over Spring Break that year. I challenge anyone to find the missing pages I cited earlier. Go!

Come Dub With We

Did you know what?

Saturday, September 25 at 10:00 PM marks the debut of Dubbing in the Boneyard, your default favorite college radio broadcast. Details!

Sitting in the ivory DJ chair will be myself and Eli Dvorkin, a hip young lad formerly of Georgetown Day School, whose blood flows with a shocking amount of DC soul despite his Canadian roots and Maryland residence. We will be spinning all of my favorites in hip-hop, reggae, soul, funk, fuck, and fresh electro-punk. Listen while you drink cheap Swedish vodka in your room and prepare for the evening! The show will flow with admirable sonic coherence, and we will make your goddamn feet move, if you are standing, and make your goddamn wheels spin, if you are a paraplegic. Details!

Saturday, September 25, 2004 and every saturday to follow forevermore
10:00 PM to Midnight
You can listen live at http://www.WBAR.org
You can request motherfucking songs at AIM screenname: WBARrequest
You can request songs and talk to us on the air by drunk-dialing 212.854.9944

Click the kindly old gent to see the flyer.

What Kids Do in College

Fill out those applications, kiddies- you wouldn't want to miss out on this glorious lifestyle!

Self (1:57:23 AM): what it is
Reptile (1:57:39 AM): what up cuz
Self (1:57:50 AM): nuttin
Self (1:57:53 AM): hows SUNNY CAL
Reptile (1:58:04 AM): going quite well
Reptile (1:58:12 AM): hows nyc
Self (1:58:23 AM): going quite well as WELL
Reptile (1:58:42 AM): WELL thats good to hear
Reptile (2:01:04 AM): so what have you been up to
Self (2:01:44 AM): just... reading and drinking
Self (2:01:47 AM): thats the cycle
Reptile (2:01:51 AM): nice
Self (2:02:00 AM): yous?
Reptile (2:02:06 AM): same mostl
Reptile (2:02:07 AM): y
Reptile (2:02:37 AM): but ive had to cut back on my drinking since i almost got alcohol poisoning accidentally
Self (2:03:08 AM): shit man
Self (2:03:11 AM): what happened
Reptile (2:03:28 AM): well i was drinking vodka and propel fitness water
Self (2:03:33 AM): hahaha
Reptile (2:03:40 AM): which apparently makes it so you get more fucked up
Reptile (2:03:55 AM): some stupid shit about eloctrolites or something
Reptile (2:03:59 AM): which i didnt know
Self (2:04:13 AM): aye
Reptile (2:04:17 AM): so i drank an amount i thought would get me normally fucked up
Reptile (2:04:30 AM): but i got completely shitfaced
Reptile (2:04:56 AM): and ended up falling asleep naked and puking on my roommates bed
Self (2:05:05 AM): hahaaha
Reptile (2:05:22 AM): he was pretty mad at first but he got over pretty quickly
Self (2:05:32 AM): how did you manage to wind up naked
Reptile (2:05:50 AM): well i was at this beach themed party where there was a pool
Reptile (2:05:58 AM): which i was standing next to
Reptile (2:06:10 AM): saying i was going to go in but i wasnt planning to
Reptile (2:06:22 AM): then someone pushed me in
Reptile (2:06:38 AM): so when i got home i took off all my clothes which were wet
Self (2:06:40 AM): ah
Reptile (2:07:22 AM): funny this was was that when some people came in to see if i was alright, i for awhile refused to put clothes back on
Reptile (2:07:41 AM): and was talking to campus safety people naked as well
Self (2:08:15 AM): hahaahaa
Self (2:08:21 AM): thats great
Reptile (2:08:39 AM): so i think im getting a fine
Reptile (2:08:44 AM): but not sure for how much
Self (2:10:00 AM): well thats what happens when:
Self (2:10:10 AM): you drink vodka and propel fitness water!
Reptile (2:10:14 AM): yeah
Self (2:10:21 AM): :::applause::::
Reptile (2:10:23 AM): i know that now
Reptile is idle at 2:22:14 AM.

Virtual European Tour: Paris

The Virtual European Tour is a series of brief impressions of well-known European cities. Click on images to view the bigger picture.

After a few days in Amsterdam, the Whiskey Gang was tired of staring at whores behind thick plate glass. It didn't matter if they were dead or alive anymore. And the local flower (the noble tulip) was all over the place and the boys had viewed their share and were satisfied.

So it was off to Gay Paris, the city of lights, the city of romance, where the whores roamed free on the streets and the local flower is a filthy old man. When it comes to baseless city comparison, Paris holds two major trump cards: every single building in the city is aesthetically magnificent, and sandwiches are sold out of restaurants directly onto the street. Forget walking inside a room: the hat-wearing French have no time for this. Sandwiches are prepared in advance (how long in advance is impossible to determine, since the dumbass French can’t fucking speak English like a regular person), and then shelved in streetside windows,as plump waitresses stand there and wait for you, yes you, to come by and purchase one. You place your order, which is always the same, a croque monsieur, a poor man’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner: Cheese, Ham, and Delicious Bread, grilled for several seconds in a hot sandwich press.

The crew was shacking up in Montmartre, the bohemian capital of Paris, a cultural hotspot full of fabric stores and children, children, children. Water runs down through the sides of the streets at night, to wash away garbage, to provide a delightful piss valley, and to promote the pompous neighborhood attitude: “We live on a hill.” The centerpiece of the neighborhood is the Sacre-Coeur, a giant white basilica. Nobody has ever been inside, and nobody knows what it represents. Such is the mystery of the Sacre-Coeur. For more information about mysteries, please visit http://www.world-mysteries.com/

Behind this monolith is a neighborhood where delicious crepes can be bought (I think that’s the only place in Paris where you can get them), and in front of it is a view of the whole town. At night, hundreds of lights on the Tour Eiffel (in English, Eiffel Tour) flash as though the whole structure was a prop in the giant dance club that contemporary Europe thinks it is.

Paris suffers from one major flaw, which is its drunk-person transport system. The metro stops running at 12:30 am on weekends, and cabs, of which there are not nearly enough, are overpriced and will not carry more than three people. This makes escaping the drug-addled twentysomething from Canada exceedingly difficult. Do not accept the offer to “crash at the house I am house-sitting”- a cab will come eventually. And you will be compensated- with knowledge!... for the extra time you spend hanging around empty bars with this sad, drunken lady. Apparently, you can get a quick, legal high from some strange canisters found only in sex shops. “It fucks you up beyond belief for ten seconds, but you get an awful headache the next day- worst hangover of your life.” Sounds great- we’ll note it in our travelogue. Thank god for you, woman. Please give me your contact information, so I may one day entrust you with my house as well.

These Movies Require Quicktime.
-Tour Eiffel- A view from the top, (673 KB)
-J. Russell Translates Hieroglyphics at the Louvre, (1.4 MB)

For Your Records...

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Keep up the good work, fellers.