That's right, kiddies. The Spork-master is here at last. Bringing the penetrating power of the fork and the practicality of the spoon, I am here to enlighten all of you to the way of the plastic cost-effective utensil. Not really. I wanted to start a journal (that's right, I'm calling it a journal. Eat THAT "diary"-land) and the muse on my shoulder was just screaming "SPORK-MASTER!" Yeah, my muse has problems. She always smells like gin. We have an intervention planned for later this week, so keep your fingers crossed. She can be violent. Just ask anyone that survived the great Vietnamese hooker intervention of '97. Not a pretty sight. I can still hear the screams. "But I love Chun Lei!" Scary stuff...

Anyway, back to the topic at hand: me. That's right ya bastards. This is all about me. For the most part, I'm probably the only person that will read this so I'm gonna talk about myself, as well as to myself. Kind of like right now. First post, just me and the Government chip in my head recording all my thoughts to know what I'm writing. It's very Albert Camus. Or Anne Frank. Wait, which one had the blog about old muscle cars? I'm confused again.

In theory, this may actually take on a serious tone. A running account of my hopes, dreams, and feelings. Most likely, though, it will be elaborated set-ups for me to use phrases such as "...before setting it on fire and throwing it BACK at the monkey." Sad, I know. If I can actually manage to not tell anyone that I know about this then I'll write the good stuff. And by good stuff I mean trivial bits about my boring life that will make you weep openly for joy that you aren't me.

Well, as far as I'm concerned this was the greatest first post of all time - including back when Egypt was all "Check out our library" and Pharaohs scribbled useless information about themselves on papyrus. Oh, yeah. I so rock. I rock so so hard. Deal with it, Missy. The Spork-master is here, and he's ready to type.....slowly and poorly. I can smell the typos from here.

Past / Present