I thought no one knew!

I have one question. What the fuck?

I found this on the wall in the hallway of the house the other day.

I can only assume that this is the work of my Italian friend Mossimo, since he’s well known to not understand or use english verbs unless absolutely necessary.

Who writes on a house?

C’mere you little midi-capable looping station you!

The image you see at left is me kissing my brand new Gibson Echoplex Digital Pro… in the FUTURE. That’s right. I took that picture of myself kissing it in the future because right now I don’t have the fucking money to buy it. I will, someday, however, and when that day comes I will kiss it like a newborn for all to see, only it will be better because it won’t barf or shit on me!

At least I assume it won’t. I haven’t read all of Gibson’s documentation on it but I’m fairly sure they left that out.

It will cost me over a THOUSAND DOLLARS to buy this piece of equipment, if you count it and the midi footboard and the shipping to get it to my house. That’s right. Someday I will be a THOUSANDAIRE. Think of it!

One. Thousand. Dollars.

Say it to yourself and pinch your wee little nipples, because that’s a fuckload of money to Jim Hodgson, baby. It makes me randy!

RANDY.

Oh yes, I will own the Echoplex Digital Pro.

I brought my.. pencil!

Tonight at Blockbuster with my girlfriend, I had one of the greatest and most purely wonderful moments that it has been my pleasure to experience.

“Psst, hey babe” I said, getting her attention and indicating the xbox game container I was holding. Then I opened it to show her the empty insides and simultaneously ripped a fart so loud it rattled the New Releases wall.

I immediately descended into the greatest full body laughing fit of the millenium as she left for other parts of the store to hide her association with me. I followed her, laughing my proverbial ass off. It’s no fun being an uncouth and unacceptible beast if you let your girl hide every time you do something retarded.

She says people give her looks in public all the time that seem to say “What a nice girl to put up with that retard like that”.

In the immortal words of David Lee Roth, god among men: “I don’t feel tardy!”

It’s a beautiful day in Buckhead. Let’s shoot each other!

Well, I saw The Village last night, and I really enjoyed it. I didn’t want to go at first, but my girlfriend did, so we went. I’m glad we did, because I suspect Collateral of being rent-worthy, but not big screen worthy. The Village is tip top, however, and I saw it for only $6.50 thanks to my age-old ID card from when I worked at GaTech. That got me some foul looks, and I suspect the ticket lady was wise, but hey, two bucks is two bucks. Am I a loser? Yes!

This weekend I got a bit bored during my Saturday night gig, and since I have already been yelled at for playing too many notes in simple songs when I get bored, I amused myself by playing mind games with the drunks. There was a rather haggard-looking girl in the front row gyrating wildly and shaking the areas where “what she got” would be if she had it. I waited for her to turn her back and yelled “SLUT” in a high-pitched voice. I did it a few times, but she started to get wise so I layed off for a bit.

Later in the night a guy named Julio sat in on drums and was entirely awful. he sounded like a drum set falling down a flight of stairs. After he finished, I pointed to the girl and said “Nice work man, this girl will sleep with you!”

She exploded.

“You fucking asshole! I am SO NOT LIKE THAT! You fucking DICKHEAD!” she shrieked.

“Ok, she’ll only make out with you” I said.

“FUCKING ASSHOLE” she shrieked even louder, dissolving into unintelligible shrieks after that and disappearing to the back of the crowd. I caught glimpses of her every few minutes, staring at me and mouthing words like “Asshole” and “Bastard”.

I tried to tell her I was only kidding with her, but she was mad as hell and having none of it. About twenty minutes went by, and I noticed her making out with a guy in an electric blue shirt and those clear sunglasses that cool people like Jennifer Lopez wear.

I found out later that she had been kicked out the night previous for fucking some other guy in the bathroom.

I composed this poem for her, and it is a tragedy that she will likely never read it.

Roses are red,
and I was right
you are a slut.

The end!

Examine, if you will, the mechanical nipple.

A number of weeks ago, Francisco was flopping around with all of his gear as we were about to start playing. He was having trouble with his tuner, so I offered to try to fix it. In the process, I made it worse, so now it has, as you might imagine, become my responsibility to fix it.

However, I am hindered firstly by my shitty soldering iron and secondly by my utter lack of skill at soldering. I am inclined to throw the thing off a fucking bridge and just buy him a new one, but that flies in the face of my economic policy, which is never, ever, ever to spend any money I don’t absolutely have to. Like for burritos, for instance.

Anyway, I burned the shit out of my finger with the soldering iron trying to repair the damn thing, and eventually just left it for my much more skilled roommate Europa to look at. Hopefully he can fix it, because I believe that this particular tuner is the devil.

I don’t truck with no devil, baby.