Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Draft...
Tree
I don't know what it does
Sometimes when I look at it
it is only wood,
coarse, dense, solid,
hard to the touch
That is only
when I am only wood as well,
shell of a human
being only body
less soul, robbed from me
by a long soulless day
But at times
when I am bodiless soul
I see it for what it is:
waiting in the winter,
burning in the summer,
catching fire with light
of the sunrise
Melting with the sunset
into silhouette
of leaves
holding hands
upon hands upon hands
with all the others
across the horizon.
It is;
I am;
Sometimes this is enough.
~
12/29/2004 08:01:00 PM
Friday, December 24, 2004
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
...to the whole "family" here at Argy.
I think of all of you as my friends, as a family of sorts. Don't worry, though, I'm not your creepy uncle, you know, the one who drinks too much and invades everybody's personal space at get-togethers, hugging anyone who doesn't want to be hugged, making you wish your face was anywhere else, maybe directly behind the exhaust of a '76 Grand Prix that's burning oil and hasn't had a tune-up in 20 years, instead of in the path of his whiskey-breath and flying spittle.
I'm not him.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
~
12/24/2004 11:53:00 AM
Monday, December 20, 2004
Extra-Large Scoop
Last night I saw an empty, discarded ice cream cone upside down in a snow-covered parking lot. It was a blustery evening, the world was a whirling snowglobe, and the cone looked perfectly out of place: "Like selling ice cream to the Eskimos..." is what they say, isn't it? Then I leaned over upside down to look at it, and suddenly it all made sense: the cone was right-side-up now, and the Earth atop it was the biggest scoop of vanilla in all of history.
~
12/20/2004 02:28:00 PM
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Xmas Blues
If Xmas is supposed to be this heavenly holiday where we all give gifts and treat each other the way we should all year long, THEN WHY ARE XMAS LIGHTS FROM HELL!?
Geez, sure, I understand a built-in-expectency, but on Xmas lights? And a planned obsolescence after about 1&1/2 years? You torture yourself getting up the tree and the outside lights and then, no matter how careful you've been, a half-strand blacks out every other day...
Xmas light manufacturers should be [insert expletive-filled nastiness here] harshly for this. Okay, fine, my $30 vacuum goes bad every few years and I buy a new one? But Xmas lights? Every year? That's just plain old Scrooge mated with the Grinch to form heartless, evil executives bent on ruining Xmas by propogating mass frustration and anxiety.
Terrorists won't be bringing down Xmas, but the Xmas light manufacturers will, once we've all gone crazy and begin killing each other in last minute shopping road-rage exacerbated by the latest failing strand of decorative bulbs.
Make me a strand of lights that'll last me five years? I'll pay twenty bucks a string instead of $2.99. Really.
That's what I want for Xmas. Besides, you know, Peace on Earth, which just might be tied in with failing Xmas lights anyway.
~
What I really meant to say: I'm losing my mind, but I'll be back on Argy soon. Hope you're having more fun than I!
12/18/2004 02:55:00 PM
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
testing, testing, 1 2 3
(tracy here, just checking out some ftp probs for shaneriffic)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks T r a c y!
-Shane
12/15/2004 02:35:00 PM
Monday, December 13, 2004
Apologies
I've been errant in writing anything "real" here lately, and I probably will be for a while. So here are some old favorites I've written that have ended up in some hip, fun places here on the 'Net. Just click on the magazine logo, and be sure to peruse the site too.
"Hype" for those crazy Canuckles at The Shore:
The Shore has a very cool print version, published by a great buncha folks, only available in Canada so far. They're a talented crew, and the mag will go far. Copies are available at most Chapters Books and other locations listed HERE.
(Yours truly has a little ditty in it, too.)
~
12/13/2004 03:56:00 PM
Sunday, December 12, 2004
My soldering technique needs some work, but it's getting there ... Glass-cutting's a breeze, though.
~
12/12/2004 08:29:00 PM
Saturday, December 11, 2004
The 2004 Swimming Pool Massacre
More about me and dead animals. Yay.
My uncle who lives next-door has an above-ground swimming pool that he's retiring after this season. He drained about half the water and didn't bother covering it for the winter.
People, if you like animals, don't make this mistake.
I never thought a squirrel would try to hang or reach down two-and-a-half feet for a drink, or be so clumsy as to slip, or whatever the hell happened. There's a creek fifteen feet from the pool with plenty of drinking water anyway.
But three squirrels did. And a cat. And of course they couldn't climb back out once they'd fallen in.
I noticed them today, pale, bloated and floating face-down. I called my uncle, offering to fish them out and bury them quickly and discreetly so my aunt wouldn't notice them, become utterly disturbed, and possibly fall into a funk. My uncle said we should drain the pool by punching a hole in the side. I said, Fine, do you have a drill and a holesaw? He thought he did, but he didn't, so he met me by the pool with a big hammer and a huge chisel. The chisel was almost exactly the size and shape of a railroad spike, and just as rusty and blunt. Unc is not Common-Sense-Guy.
I caught my uncle with that hammer and chisel once before, trying to remove the anchor bolts I'd sunk in the bricks around his front door when I attached his wrought-iron porch rails for him. He wanted to detach the now-rusted old rails and buy new ones, so there he was, frozen in mid-swing with the hammer inches away from the chisel when I yelled STOP!
"You don't wanna do that," I said.
"Sure, I wanna get these off," sez he.
"No," sez I, "you wanna take the nuts off, take down the rails, and reuse the anchor bolts if at all possible, 'cuz it's a pain sinking new ones. If you're not gonna reuse them and you can't bear to look at 'em, you wanna grind 'em down or hacksaw 'em off."
"Naw, this'll work," sez he, the heavy scent of vodka filling the air along with his words.
"Okay. But YOU DON'T WANNA DO THAT."
WHACK! ...went the chisel on the bolt.
...and one third of a brick shattered and fell to the ground in pieces. My anchor bolt stayed stuck right were I'd sunk it. I do good work.
Long story short, I was the one ended up fixing his brick by gluing back the large chunks and filling in the missing bits with pieces I molded from Sculpey clay. I'm not enough of a mason, nor am I fond enough of hard work, to have started tearing bricks out and replacing them wholescale the right way. It looks quite nice now anyway.
So I wasn't too happy when I saw him with that hammer and chisel again, out by the pool.
"You hold the chisel and I'll give it a whack," he said.
I give myself credit for not laughing out loud.
"YOU'RE going to take a bash at that chisel with ME holding it? No, I don't think so. I happen to like my fingers"
He bent down to where the pool meets the ground and gave it a good hit himself, but he barely dented the metal siding. I noticed, though, that the siding was corrugated in vertical lines, and he'd hit the siding with the chisel's dull blade perpendicular to the corrugation. So I gave it a try with the blade parallel along the creases in the metal, the chisel pointed at a downward angle to make a gouging cut. Water spurted from the hole. Hurray.
Unc asked me if there might be more poor critters under the water, and I told him no. I explained to him that, having read about the Westies, the New York Irish Mafia waaay back in the day, I knew that bodies float almost indefinitely unless you pierce the stomach and lungs and let out the air.
I had some fun with Unc and told him a little more about one particularly psycho Westy, the one who apprenticed as a butcher just so he'd know how to dispose of his victims' corpses. He sank quite a few in his day, was a regular pro at it. Not only that, he also removed the head or face and the hands and incinerated them, so his victims couldn't be easily identified. Sometimes he saved a hand wrapped in plastic in the icebox, presumably right there with the coldcuts and milk, just in case he wanted to put someone else's fingerprints on a gun after a future crime. And, to top it all off, in a moment of supreme paranoia he once cut the penis off a corpse. You know: just in case the victim's girlfriend might identify the body by looking at it.
Obscure trivia has its uses. Unc grabbed his crotch, said "Ouch," and indicated he liked his where it was. I agreed that I'd like to keep mine attached too, even, for some reason, after I'm dead, at least till I make it to the cremation oven.
I had already spooned out the four poor drowned animals with a shovel, so now I said goodnight to Unc and finished a deep hole. I know, I know: I'm 'Animal Guy,' the local nature enthusiast, and normally I give an animal a little pat goodbye before burying it. But the smell was hideous, and I'd been downwind of the carcasses the whole time I dug. I just said "Sorry" to each one, then piled a foot of earth over them, followed by a huge stone, just in case a raccoon or possum might be hungry enough to dig them out. Not likey, as the neighborhood critters come over to my back yard and feed well on table scraps and leftover birdseed every night, and I didn't see how they could've stood the smell either. But it never hurts to play it safe where Nature and corpses are concerned.
You and I both are smart enough to know those drowned animals didn't die particularly quickly. But I'm very purposely not thinking about it. Empathy hurts sometimes. At least the water was damned cold, so they probably went into shock and exhaustion quickly. That's all. That and, of course: I'm sorry.
The 2004 Swimming Pool Massacre was over. But the criminal, human carelessness and stupidity, is always unfortunately on the loose, and remains unpunished but for the guilt and pity I'm working hard to avoid.
~
12/11/2004 11:59:00 PM
Copper Moon in a Gunmetal Night Sky
~
12/11/2004 06:44:00 PM
Friday, December 10, 2004
Goodbye.
I'm sorry.
I wish you'd been my dog.
Driving home late one rainy night I saw a dog lying on the side of the road. There was no blood, no obvious wound, but it was still and appeared to be dead.
A dead or wounded dog in the street is oddly disturbing, especially in suburban America. You'd be shocked too. Think about it. You probably pass "roadkill" every day. Squirrels, raccoons, deer, sometimes even crows or geese. But, if you're like most people, you rarely give them much thought. Nature grows and reproduces and expands and teems constantly, inconveniently getting in the way of the human scheme of things. It's a simple fact of life. And a squished squirrel is just another animal that wandered out of (what's left of) its habitat and unwisely got itself in the way of concrete, metal-on-wheels, and Human Progress in general. Didn't it know any better? Human life rolls ever forward, always at a breakneck pace. Stay away, little creatures, or the pace of human life may break your neck.
Me, whenever I see "roadkill," I feel a flash of sadness and I say I'm sorry. A tiny moment of respect and acknowledgement. That's about all that can be done, other than driving carefully and attentively.
But a dog prompts a more extreme reaction. It was a part of human life, someone's pet. And questions ... What was the dog doing in the road? Did it slip its chain? Or was it abandoned? Is a caring owner searching for it, distraught or even crying? Is a child somewhere heartbroken with loss? Or did the dog escape from an abusive home?
When we think of a dog we usually think of a happy, well-fed pet. Maybe we even picture a cartoon canine, carrying the morning paper or a pair of slippers in its mouth, or sleeping cozily next to a warm hearth.
But a dog lying on the side of the street is immediately disturbing. Out of place. It just looks WRONG.
So why was everyone driving right past?
These thoughts flashed through my mind when I saw it. I drove right past.
Then I turned around and went back.
I parked at a nearby apartment complex. It felt strange, walking down a road no one ever walks down, at night in a slight mist of rain, all so I could kneel over what might be an animal carcass. At first I waited for the cars to pass so no one would see me; I just felt I'd look creepy. But suddenly I didn't care who saw me. What am I doing? I'm doing exactly what someone SHOULD do. I'm making sure the dog is dead and not suffering or in need of aid. I'm NOT just driving past.
I bent down to feel the dog's pulse, but stopped halfway to look at it. It was something like a Doberman mix, black, tan and white like a German Shepherd, but short-haired. Its eyes and mouth were open, large teeth bared, and it didn't look happy. Don't get me wrong, there was no agony or great malice in its expression. I think it died suddenly and without suffering. But it looked, well ... ticked off. Extremely annoyed. As if its last thought had been, "What, that's all? It's over, they killed me? JUST LIKE THAT?"
Human life rolls ever forward, passes by, rarely stops or even looks back at what it has done. Just like that.
I reached out to touch it but hesitated again. It definitely looked dead, but what if, against all odds, it were still barely alive? And TICKED OFF. If its jaws were to snap at my fingers, I'd quite likely jump six feet in the air and wet my pants. I pushed those thoughts away, though, and laid my hand on its neck, the way you might touch a friend-in-need reassuringly on the shoulder. Lightly but firmly I pushed my palm and fingers into the hollow between its thick, corded neck muscles and its windpipe. The dog was still slightly warm, maybe half as warm as it should have been, and there was no hint of a jugular pulse.
Of course it didn't snap at me, and suddenly we felt ... familiar. Almost like friends. Nothing to fear. Just a body, probably two hours cold (which would have put its time of death during rush hour.) Just what was left after a beautiful animal left this world for something beyond.
It had a collar on, and I took off its dogtag and walked to my car. There, with the light on, I wrote down its license number. Then I walked back and put the tag back on. I didn't move him, as he was on the curb out of traffic, under a streetlight and unlikely to be hit again.
Maybe it was a trick of the headlights of a passing car, but he didn't look quite so angry now. I'd given him the only thing I could: Respect. Acknowledgement.
I patted him on the side, said I'm sorry, and walked back to my car.
The next day, when the local Dog Warden/Animal Shelter was open, I would call and find out that his expired 2003 tag indicated his owners lived a good five miles away. That was about all they could tell me. No one else had called in to report it. We would speak softly, the woman at the shelter and I, both a little sad but neither of us new to these things. She would notify the owner then, but I would be left with questions. Questions and memories. The memory of a beautiful animal growing cold on the side of the road. But also the memory of stopping, not passing by, and the satisfaction of having done something right, however small it might have been.
Respect. Acknowledgement.
Goodbye, my friend. I'm sorry. I wish you had been my dog.
~
[I'll probably take this story off ArgyBarple in a day or so, as a magazine or two I know of are asking for non-fiction, but they only want "currently unpublished" stuff (even if there're only a half-dozen of you reading here, heh!) Not that I think this is brilliant, nor do I usually write non-fiction, but I like the "message" of it and I wouldn't mind seeing it get around a little. So if it disappears soon, you'll know I did some rewriting and submitting.]
12/10/2004 10:28:00 AM
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
I don't know. It means something to me. Maybe something about Bureaucracy and the Void.
(Click the thumbnail to see the image.)
~
12/08/2004 10:37:00 PM
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Coffee Talk
Want good coffee? Find someplace that sells coffee bought from a roasting company that doesn't "jet-roast" in huge quantities. This puts out just about all the major chains.
Starbucks? Ha!
(Art by Kieron Dwyer. Click on the image to get the whole interesting story behind it. Per Dwyer, feel free to display the image as you like, on t-shirts, posters, and other not-for-profit uses... More info here.)
In fact, it's tough these days to find java that's not jet-roasted, especially in the States. You really need to find an eccentric company who has the kind of machine the coffeeman in a small old-world Italian town uses to supply nothing but the local folks, the type that cooks only 100# of beans at a time. The controls are still very automatic, with dials and settings and such; if the person using this apparatus has any sense and experience, s/he'll deliver beautiful beans.
I worked for a company with just such a mechanical beastie, and I can tell you the joe was fine.
As to why they used such a relatively small machine, I can only assume they couldn't put together the capital to expand the company any larger (they liked money, and they would've if they could've.) But before you know it, they had a reputation for the best coffee in Cleveland, they'd found their niche and they were stuck in it.
The owner was a flaky ex-hippy who liked to smoke a cigar and explain his lot in life by saying he "was a businessman who just happened to like coffee." The last half of that might have been true. Otherwise, he wasn't exactly Donald Trump. In the '70s he had started a well-known, popular coffeeshop in a trendy section of town, a sure-fire business that would require an extraordinary talent of ineptitude to muck it up. But, where there's a will, there's a way. For example, he was heavily into astrology at the time, so if the forecast was bad on a particular day, he refused to open shop. We can only imagine what his bookkeeping looked like, or where his profits went. Not surprisingly, somewhere near the end of the Road to Bankruptcy, he sold his café to a company that made it one of the most successful local chains in Cleveland, and to this day it holds its own against Starbucks and Caribou and the national franchises.
After losing his first shop, he lived in a tent and ate a lot of peanut butter for a while, then somehow got enough capital together to buy his little roaster. One of his first customers was the café he used to own. He worked for them now, roasting and supplying their beans. The road was rocky after that too, as he had a penchant for hiring friends and relatives to run his new company, and they invariably mismanaged or just plain stole. But by the time I worked for him, he was reasonably well-established, supplying beans to a number of coffeeshops and restaurants as well as owning a couple cafés himself and franchising out a couple more.
For a while the company hired a fellow they knew because he kept buying green beans from them. Eventually they found out he was roasting his own at home using a popcorn-popper. They tested him out, discovered he had exquisite sensibilities and a natural talent, and immediately hired him to roast. A gift from God out of nowhere, he was. Then he became a serious student of religion, left to join a monastery, and they said "...and God taketh away."
Which is not to imply the company owner and operators were Christian; they were practioners of some odd, cult-like, bastard offshoot of Santaria and, in addition to sacrificing innocent chickens to deities such as Ogun the Earth God, they also occasionally asked us disturbing questions like "would you be able to help us build a trailer to transport some goats to a religious gathering?"
Um, sorry, NO...
One of my friends made the mistake of helping the owner move from his old house to a new one, and he was treated to the disturbing sight of chicken skeletons hanging from the basement rafters ...
Remember what I said about eccentric companies? Wasn't kidding, was I?
The point of the story is, you can also buy green and roast your own beans at home in a cheap popcorn-popper. If you really want good coffee. Just Google for more information, or maybe check out AskMetaFilter.
The end of the story is thus:
I didn't work for that company long and, being something of an animal rights activist, to this day I deny myself the pleasure of their coffee.
God may have given and taken away their first God-gifted roaster, but Ogun's confused, murderous flunkies chased me away from their beans.
~
12/07/2004 10:09:00 PM
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Summing up the American Political Situation
In Ten Words or Less:
"Everybody lies, but it doesn't matter since nobody listens."
-a quote from the 25th Anniversary Edition of Murphy's Law.
Not unexpectedly, many of Murphy's quotes apply well to politics, but this one especially so.
~
12/02/2004 02:30:00 PM
>2 December...
~
Time for me to start budgeting. How about you? Traditionally I don't pay any bills in December, but this year it's looking better...
12/02/2004 10:40:00 AM
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
"SOL"
(...a little communiqué from the trenches.)
--------------------------
From: _______, P___ (SOL)
Sent: Tuesday, November 30, 2004 10:15 AM
To: Shane (SOL); Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Hi,
All I know is 3676 Davis Road N.W. Dover,O
And yepper it is collect frt.
Tanks,
P___
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Tuesday, November 30, 2004 10:27 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
P___ keeps replying to these things a day after we're all done with them, heh.
Shane
From: Burns (DYR)
Sent: Tuesday, November 30, 2004 11:29 AM
To: Shane (SOL)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
I said exactly the same thing (and have been saying it for weeks now!) And he probably makes more than me and you put together!
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Tuesday, November 30, 2004 11:47 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Well, on the other hand, he'll never have A__'s job. They hired K____ specifically because they felt she could move into A__'s spot if A__ left. (And no one, especially management, really thought she'd come back full-time after having the twins. I guess they all expect women to end up at home with babies, you know.) So, with all of P___'s years starting ages ago at ______ Chemical (or whatever it was then), he's kind of screwed out of the top spot by someone totally new to the organization.
This is probably because P___ is a little "different" than what is considered here to be "corporate material." He often wears flannel shirts, and he wears a watch on a chain hooked to his belt that looks like the wallet-chains bikers and punks wear. He's very informal, which is good, but sometimes means he hiccups or burps at his desk without even an "excuse me." He drinks a glass or two of wine every day at lunch, and K_____has loudmouthed that all over the building (literally loudmouthed it, loud enough for everyone to hear, when P___ wasn't around.) You know how it is, P___ initially takes a little getting used to.
P___'s a really hard worker though, and is usually pretty attentive. He's ten-times as good as D_____ _______ was, that's for sure! ...and better than most of the old _______ Sourcing team was, as well.
And K____, she fits the corporate mold perfectly. She's totally midwestern, drives a nice car (I think an SUV), is conservative and voted for Bush, has a "midwestern" attitude, dresses in pant-suits and such, etc etc...
I just wonder if P___ will be one of these like E_ K_______ who gets "downsized" and screwed out of his retirement when he's in his fifties.
Shane
From: Burns (DYR)
Sent: Tuesday, November 30, 2004 3:22 PM
To: Shane (SOL)
Subject: RE: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
I think I may hurt P___ anyway.
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 9:27 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Heh, P___'s a character. He probably complains behind my back because I do 9-5 and I don't come in early and I don't appeal to his German work ethic, but he's funny. He and his wife celebrate about 8 or 10 anniversaries a year. K____ and I picked up on it. It seemed like he was always telling us he was celebrating his anniversary. It turns out they celebrate the anniversary of when they met, the anniversary of their first real date, the anniversary of their first kiss, and every other thing you can think of besides their wedding anniversary. It's cute.
P___'s a big dog nut too. He paid, like, $100 or something to have a photo-realistic picture of his dog painted on a dog-shaped rock by some craft-artist. Then he gave it to his wife as a surprise gift.
It was a gift for one of their anniversaries.
Heh.
Shane
From: Burns (DYR)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 10:29 AM
To: Shane (SOL)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Awwwwhhhhh.....that is so sweet. OK .... I will lighten up on him......but he is still stupid some times!
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 10:35 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
YES HE IS!!
And P___ does make some disgusting noises. He clears his throat all the time with this big "UHH-HEHH-HUHH" noise that's just obnoxious, and it's kind of a conscious thing--you know?--it's like it's loud and obnoxious on purpose. And S____ N____ has this constant hacking cough that just sounds like he's losing his lungs. I wonder if he's a cigar-chain-smoker or something, or if he's so out of shape that his lungs can't support him. And the girl on the other side of my cubicle wall makes insanely loud slurping and sucking when she drinks (always through a straw.) So, between P___ and everyone else, it's a regular party here.
I feel like I'm getting nostalgic about this place or something. Maybe it means I'll finally get a new job soon.
Shane
From: Burns (DYR)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 10:45 AM
To: Shane (SOL)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
YOU CANNOT LEAVE!!!!!!
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 10:57 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Maybe they'd hire two people to take my place?! They'd need to, just because the only reason I keep up is because I haev almost five years experience. If I leave someday and they use it as an excuse to hire two people, it will be good for Sourcing and for A__ and everything! If they hire just one person, they're screwed. Seriously screwed.
Shane
From: Burns (DYR)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 11:02 AM
To: Shane (SOL)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
I REPEAT.....YOU CANNOT LEAVE!!!!!!
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 11:08 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
I shouldn't gossip. I wonder what they all say about me sometimes.
"His hair is a mess again and he's wearing those ratty old tennis shoes."
"He smells funny today."
"Every time I pass his cubicle he's surfing the Internet."
"He showed up at 9:15 again today."
"WHAT DOES HE DO AROUND HERE ANYWAY?"
I know people have asked that last one. Luckily I think D___ T_____ and J__ M____ explained to them what a PA does and how it, um, "keeps everything running."
Shane
From: Burns (DYR)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 11:15 AM
To: Shane (SOL)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Are you being paranoid? And where is your self-confidence? I don't know why you would even think those thoughts. We all think you are invaluable and if anyone ever said anything different to us we would set them straight! The CSR's even praise you around here. If not for you this whole SAP system would be a mess.
Of course we don't have to see your hair, shoes, or smell!!!!! :) I actually had a little girl ask me one day if I had even combed my hair that day. Wear shoes that are comfortable. And I am sure that you do not smell! Unless you eat onions on your hamburger and I really do like onions on my hamburger!
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 11:32 AM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
It takes confidence to admit your hair is messy and you smell bad sometimes!
Shane
~
File under: Not exactly "fiction."
Addendum:
From: Shane (SOL)
Sent: Wednesday, December 01, 2004 2:05 PM
To: Burns (DYR)
Subject: RE: P11000008MLM source list needed
Heh. P___ just burped. Loud. Then hiccupped a few seconds later. See what I mean?
Shane
12/01/2004 11:59:00 AM
