July 11th, 2003


the saga continues!

The man burst into Barb's to see a hideously obese sixty-year-old woman sitting at his favorite table.

"Hi, stranger," she said to him in a slow, breathless drawl that made him cringe. "Care for a drink?"

"I uh...um...terribly sorry, ma'am, I have a stockbroker's meeting to attend to at five, no, six, and I was just here to pick up a sandwich for...um..."

"Oh, what's the hurry, handsome?" she said, suddenly getting up and running long bony fingers over his face. She leaned so close he was breathing into his ear. "If there's one thing I've learned after all these years...it's that age...doesn't matter."

Just before she could give his ear a little lick a fist struck the old woman in the side of her face, knocking her to the ground. The fist belonged to a gorgeous brunette waitress with cold brown eyes and a face of pure unbridled fury.

"He's mine, bitch!" she shouted at the older woman, kicking her in the ribs. "Shoo, Granny, shoo!"

He had never seen a woman that old run so fast.

Spontaneously the acid in the younger woman's face turned to honey. "Hello, sir, can I take your order?" she asked.

"Sheila!" the man shouted. "I missed you." They embraced, reveling in the warmth of each other's bodies.

"I missed you too, Mark," said Sheila joyously.

Sponatenously they separated, as if suddenly reminded of something. "So...um...can I get you a drink or something?" she asked, her polite, buisnesslike expression barely hiding the fire in her eyes.

"N...no need for that," said Mark. "Have a seat?"

They sat down, trying so hard to act like strangers that it was obvious they weren't.

"So, Sheila," said Mark, trying to preserve his charming older-adultness, "been working here long? This where you've been all my life?"

Sheila giggled. Normally it would have disgusted Mark to see a woman his age giggle, but for Sheila it came naturally. "Is that a pickup line?"

"And what if I said yes?"

"I'd tell you it was the most awful pickup line ever."

They both laughed, then abruptly stopped. Decorum was important. Decorum. "Oh, Sheila," he said, "I've been thinking of you so much these last couple of weeks, and I have so much I want to say--"

"I've been thinking about you, too, Mark Adamson," she interrupted, "and there's something I want to say to you too."

Mark pretended to be surprised. "Really? After all these years? I'm flattered!"

She leaned closer. Their eyes met. "Mark...I've dated a lot of men before and after you...older men, younger men...experienced men, virgins...and they were all fucktards. But you know what, Mark?"


"You were the biggest fucktard of them all."

He blinked. "What?"

"Yes, you miserable piece of shit," said Sheila, still staring into his eyes with the same passion as before. She stood up. "You have no idea how long I cried after you left me. You have no idea how long it was before I could ever date another fucking man again! I hope you fucking burn in hell, you fucking son of a bitch, I so fucking hate you! If you ever come back to this restaurant again I'll rip your fucking balls off. You hear me?" she crooned into his ear in her bedroom voice. Before he could respond she threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately, her tongue darting into his mouth. Then she threw him into a chair.

"I love you, Mark. Don't ever call me," she said, not looking back, as she sashayed towards the kitchen.

Mark shook his head. Women and their mixed messages. He'd never get used to them.

Meanwhile, a seventeen-year-old girl outside the restaurant sulked away from the glass storefront, tears streaking her mascara. She had seen everything.

"I'm twenty-six," she told herself. "Not seventeen. My twenty-seventh birthday is in three days. I'm adult enough to handle this. I'm experienced enough to handle this..."

Music from the cafe's jukebox followed her into the distance:

"Oh oh let's twist again...like we did last summer...oh oh let's twist again...like we did last year...Woh oh oh oh oh..."

(no subject)

Don't Copy That Floppy: '90s high school propaganda (embedded 16mb streaming Windows Media format), by Vivendi, Spectrum Holobyte, the Software Protection Association and several scary-sounding "educational" organizations

b3ta captionizes better than I ever could:
>> Retro anti-piracy propaganda <<
Fuck - we wish we were American. Then we
would have had the sniggering joy of being
subjected to this 1992 education film
about the evils of software piracy. In rap.
Yes - you read that right. In muthafucking
wiggidy whack rap. Rubbishtastic.

Damn straight...this video is freaking hilarious. Today the idea that piracy could destroy the computer game industry is preposterous (open source, people!), but remember that the video was produced in an age where the U.S. government and big corporations genuinely believed they could brainwash kids out of doing drugs and joining gangs with the power of television. If a horrendously gay rap video qualifies as television, that is. Worth a good laugh.

Ooh! Extra goodness: They have an early 1992 screenshot of Neverwinter Nights, which was supposed to be the first online game. YES, NEVERWINTER NIGHTS WAS IN DEVELOPMENT FOR OVER A DECADE. Twenty years in development...wow. Hard to believe a game I pirated received as a gift that came out two years ago has been in development since I was seven. And to think it started as a game about little white stickmen running around on an Apple IIe...it boggles the mind. Thank God the game has been totally redone so many times before release.

And to think I thought Duke Nukem Forever's production team was taking its time...