Why would Arnold regret taking steroids? I hate when people bring up non-issues like this, and I expect better from hard-hitting George Snuffleupagus. "Man, it really sucked taking those steroids which allowed me to get big and famous and eventually be put in charge of the fourth largest economy in the world. I wish I hadn't done it." Well, of course, he wouldn't say it quite like that, but I'll dispense with the Arnold speak (Kah-LEE-four-nya) since I'm too lazy. Plus it is kind of shitty to make fun of someone just for how they talk. Almost as shitty as making fun of someone over their name. If foreigners would just learn to speak properly it'd save us the trouble of having to be jerks about it, though.

While we're on the subject, fuck Elmo. Give Bert and Ernie two turn tables and a microphone, because they are where it's at. And for the last fucking time, they're not gay, they're puppets. ETP can dispense with the comments about his stance on Grover's bad-assedness because I already know where that's going.

Google search:

"mitsuwa marketplace" & parking

Dude, there'e plenty of parking, just so long as you're not retarded and you can find the fucking place.

Google search:

Dog Fucks a Cat

Because if a dog was having sex with a cat, he wouldn't be making love to it, he'd be fucking it.

I thought I'd post a link to point out that this site is still up.

It's a good thing that this is a hoax, because I undoubtedly come into enough contact with the FBI in chat rooms that I don't need them bugging me via my inbox. Besides, I already know that once the FBI does come looking for me, they won't bother e-mailing first.

Yeah, pretty much. It's really frightening to me that 'blogs continue to be taken more and more seriously. Like with ABC declaring 'bloggers the "People of the Year." I don't know if any of you know this about me, but I write a 'blog. It's really shitty. One of the nice things about 'blogging is that I can say whatever the fuck I want without having to do any kind of research if I'm not up for it. Real journalism sounds like a lot of hard work, and that really doesn't appeal to me when I'm too busy making jokes about 13-year-olds. Also, I really can't be held accountable if I'm wrong about something. That's pretty neat. If there's some kind of 'blogger code of ethics or a peer review panel of some sort aimed at keeping a certain level of quality then sure as hell don't sign me up for any of that jazz.

Yes, I know that the news media doesn't value a lot of this stuff nowadays, either, but it's not like we need to make it any worse than it already is. Going along those lines, when the joke of a news media declares 'blogs legitimate it is this odd circular/incestuous kind of thing that as such should be rendered irrelevant, but it isn't. And yeah, I know, not all 'blogs are as shitty as mine. Many of them are actually even worse, like that crapfest on seeds. But at least that one isn't trying to make some kind of pseudo-intellectual point like a lot of us cock knockers. In the end, even a "serious" 'blogger is still just that -- a 'blogger. They're not journalists, because 'blogging is a forum that allows one to skirt all of the things that give true journalists a sense of integrity. Again, I'm not saying that there's much if any of that integrity out there, but there's no sense burning the whole fucking place down just because no one is home.

Yeah, I'll show you an overaggressive culture of organized youth sports. Look, I don't even know what that means, but it's obviously dirty. In all seriousness, though, some of the stuff they mention in that article is just fucked up. I want to learn how to purposely dislocate my shoulder to ease pain, except that I don't.

"It's impossible for a 13-year-old to have this kind of wear and tear."

No it isn't. Okay, I'll stop.

Seriously, this sports shit in this country has gotten out of hand. It's bad enough with all the time, energy, and money that goes into watching sports. Yeah, getting all emotionally invested in bunch of illiterates playing with a ball is probably pretty healthy. You really shouldn't be getting so excited and bent out of shape over shit that you can't control that has no real bearing on your life unless if you're actually involved somehow or you're a heavy gambler.

But there are always going to be stupid assholes who take shit to extremes, and when it comes to being an extreme asshole, no one does it better than parents. Regardless of the reason -- a need to live vicariously through your child, your own personal ego, whatever -- if you find yourself pushing your kid anywhere near that hard on something ridiculous like sports, you should probably be shot.

Sports can be fun, sports can be entertaining, and sports can be beneficial to one's health, but when all that goes awry we've got, well, a whole new ballgame. You'd think parents would clue in once surgery is either on the table or being suggested by said parents, but then you just don't know how screwed up some parents can be.

On the other hand, though, if kids wanna get hurt -- fuck 'em. Let 'em get hurt. I think this comes back to one of my old tenets: everyone really just needs to die (except me and the people for whom I say otherwise).

I've been trying to de-invest myself in sports because it's all so dumb. But I know that I'm still gonna take in the occasional Cubs or Broncos game and still get pissed when they suck. And I'm still gonna listen to Jim Rome (even if the sports shit is not why I like that guy). If I can just not take it so damn seriously, I'll feel better about it from my end. Doesn't do anything, really, but it's what I'm aiming for.

I could be wrong, but this might be the lamest 'blog ever. I'm not even sure I'd call it a 'blog; it's just shit about... Seeds. Look, if you're into gardening and all, that's cool. But c'mon now. I'm guessing that Blogger's "next blog" button is responsible for this one showing up in my referral log as opposed to a legitimate link. If past history is any indicator, though, there's a chance this person may link me back now that I've made fun of them.

Seriously, this post was not supposed to ramble on like this

Yes, more car shit. But hold on, I think this is kinda funny. Well, actually, it's this. Yes, you can actually buy one of those in BMW's online store (you may have also seen similar offerings elsewhere, like the kids' Mercedes that they've sold at FAO 'Spensive). I find it simultaneously funny, cute, sad, and annoying. Funny and cute with the right kid behind the wheel, of course. Sad because, man, those are some yuppie fuckin' parents right there. And annoying because kids have no business having that kind of a sense of entitlement at that age -- especially albino kids (or little blonde-haired ones, for that matter). Sorry, I just had the need to make a joke about albino children; I'm better now.

Well, you know, maybe at least the kid in the picture for that car won't be self-entitled for long, not with dad looming in the background in the real M3 ready to run little Jimmy's ass down. Okay, his name's probably not Jimmy, but something like Preston or Carson or whatever the hell rich pretentious fucks are naming their boys these days.

I also find myself wondering what kind of suspension that thing's got. I'll bet you it's better than a lot of the shit you'll see out on the road these days, including the Ford Fuckus Focus with its "European inspired" suspension. If you see one of those commercials, just laugh, because it's a joke.

Getting on with some kind of point, though, I'm a firm believer that kids should have to suffer with their first car. I did, so everyone else should, too, because I said so. As I've said before, nothing pisses me off more than seeing kids driving in around in something like a 3er. Yes, I'm a spoiled asshole, but fuck if I didn't actually put in some time for this one, as opposed to mommy and daddy being loaded.

You know what my first car was? A 1986 Hyundai Excel. If you have any inkling as to what these cars are like, just sit back for a minute and take that in. If you have no clue as to the awesome non-power of the '86 Excel, go out into the middle of the street and sit there for awhile. Maybe move forward at about five miles an hour from time to time. Whether or not you're in an actual car while performing this exercise is entirely optional, because the end result is the same -- you're probably better off walking.

The Hyundai was given the moniker of the Rice Burner back in the day. Seriously, had it been powered by rice (you know, one time I actually saw some kid with a Japanese car that had a window sticker that said "Powered by Rice," and I totally would have wanted one if I wasn't anti-car stickers), it might have performed better. Check that, it might have performed. The rated horsepower on the engine? 68. That's not a typo; 68 fucking horses. Could they at least bump it up to 69 so it'd at least have some kind of a cool air to it when I told people the embarrassing stats? No. You're getting your 68-horse Korean shitbox and you're gonna deal.

Here's how bad it was: ETP had like a '72 or '73 VW bug back when I had the Rice Burner, and he could easily beat me if we were in some kind of sad little race at a stoplight or something. We actually once had a theory that the Burner was so slow that it could actually go backwards in time and create fuel as you drove.

As you can see, I have given that car relentless shit from the day I first took the wheel, but it has to be done. I mean, it was even just an Excel GL, not the fancy-schmancy GLS. I believe the advantage of getting the GLS over the GL was that the GLS had a sliding tray under the passenger seat that you could store shit in. Don't give me that look, that sliding tray right there is fucking class.

But no, I had the GL. Aside from the fact that it was about ten years old by the time it became my daily driver and the aforementioned joke of an engine (which that kids' M3 can probably outdo), the car wasn't horrid. At least in the sense that it really never gave me any serious trouble for the years I had it. As long as you didn't turn on the AC at a stoplight so that the car would stall and leave the people behind you not pissed but simply laughing at you, you were good. Oh, and as long as you had no desire to use the AC on really hot days, because that would cause the engine to overheat. I learned my lesson quick on that one, and instead started using the heater on hot days to try and keep the engine a bit cooler. Looking back, I don't know how the engine could overheat with as little as it seemed to be doing, but oh well.

AC and power and age and other random shit issues aside, it at least got me from point A to point B every time I needed it to. It was sad to see that car go, except that it wasn't, when I got my Civic. We ended up trading the Hyundai for $500 along with a couch and a chair that was decent enough for me to use up until fairly recently when I got my bad-ass Pottery Barn couch. Okay, I don't think you can refer to anything from the PB as "bad-ass," but it seriously is a nice couch. Getting off on another tangent here, but I always felt that we got the better end of the Hyundai-for-furniture-and-cash deal.

Yeah, for as lame as it was, that car was pretty good to me, especially when you consider that I'm a bad person and I really don't even deserve the kindness of inanimate objects. Despite giving me no serious issues all the time I had it, the Hyundai finally died about a half year after we bartered it away. I think blowing a major seal was what finally did it in, and when I say "blew a seal" I'm not talking about the kind of seal you'd see in the ocean or in concert. I think about the Hyundai from time to time and feel kinda bad for it, knowing it's just in a junkyard all alone somewhere, but I'm stupid like that. Of course, the feelings of sadness and sympathy always faded quickly when I remembered that I'm no longer driving the Hyundai.

But you know, if I look back far enough and stretch things enough, I could argue that the Hyundai wasn't even my first car. I could say that the honor goes to one of these (which they still make in a not-so-different form nowadays). Actually, you know what? That picture pisses me off, because I had an older model that was identical except that it didn't have the gas tank thingy that you see in that picture. That white lid opened up to reveal nothing more than a cylindrical cavity that you could put the nozzle of the companion gas pump into, but it served its purpose. I always wanted the version that had the thing for the pump nozzle. I even had that goddamn gas pump, but could I use it effectively? No. I had to sit there putting the plastic nozzle up against the flat plastic side of my shitty car merely pretending that there was a hole there like some kind of retard who doesn't know how to gas up his wheels. Shit, even the Hyundai had a place that I could put the gas nozzle into. Not like that procedure did any good; I was probably able to Fred Flintstone it in the Cozy Coupe and go way faster. No more humiliation at the hands of VWs; I have a yellow plastic roof and an orange plastic body!

Looking back, I realize that older boys could have probably found some use for that cylindrical cavity I mentioned. No, I never did anything like that because, as you may recall, I didn't have that particular feature on my Coupe. But if I had had it, maybe I would have stuck my dick in it at some point; who knows.

I was a weird kid anyway. Like there was this one time that this neighborhood fat kid and I got ahold of some cans of spray paint, and we proceeded to paint the fences in my grandparents' backyard. The fences and, oh, our asses. Yes, there was one point in my life where I spraypainted my own ass. Look, I was young, okay? It's not like this happened yesterday. And since you really must know, the color I used was brown. Whether or not that was meant to have some symbolic value or if it was just the only color still available is an issue for historians to debate. All I know is that for the next several days my grandparents spent time asking other people the best way to remove paint from a child's buttcheeks, and that too was kind of embarrassing.

Again... Tangent. But I know ETP loves that story, and this may be the only semi-legitimate chance I get to 'blog about it.

Hey, I'm not bitter about the Hyundai or the gas tank thing, but now you can at least see where I come from and why I need my aggressive "sport car." I mean, in addition to the fact that I'm a shallow, arrogant, selfish, material-driven prick. I paid my dues, motherfuckers. Now get the hell out of the way if you see those xenons in your rear-view.

I like the ideas that some people come up with for physical therapy.

So some extreme skiier was out making an extreme skiing film, and now he's experiencing extreme death. There's just no way that I can't chuckle when I see things like this. The whole notion of any of these ridiculous "extreme" sports coupled with someone losing their life over it is pretty funny to me. I also have trouble garnering any sympathy for anyone who dies doing something that they know up front could easily get them killed.

"The draw is (that) I like to get scared," Stall once told an interviewer. "It's about taking the sport to a new level -- about skiing where people wouldn't have thought possible 10 years ago."

Or how about places people wouldn't have cared about skiing ten years ago? Well, I hope it was worth it, just so you could "get scared."

I really have no qualms with laughing at these people since they're dead anyway and it's not like they're going to feel bad or something. I suppose it's pretty insensitive in light of the fact that there are always people left behind who are suffering when someone like this eats it. In the end, it's not their fault that so-and-so was a complete fucktard. I suppose you could argue that it's their fault for continuing to hang out with the fucktard, though. Okay, time to quit while I'm ahead.

Fuck, am I gonna have to watch the Oscars now, too? You know what they need to do? They need to make a show starring both Wil Wheaton and Chris Rock so that I don't have to bother with shit like CSI and the Academy Awards. Seriously, you can't tell me that isn't a great casting idea right there.

There are probably some people who expect me to be extra bitter and pissed off today, since it's Valentine's Day. Well, maybe not, because then that would imply that someone out there gave a shit. But no matter, since I'm really not going to be any more angry at the world today than I am most every other day. Well, okay, maybe a little more.

One thing I most definitely cannot be bothered with is to come up with any decent new material. As such, I punt, and just refer back to my thoughts last year, because I know that I won't be able to top that.

Luckily for me, the few people I spend time with really don't give a shit about Valentine's Day, so I don't have to feel too bad. In fact, I'll (probably) be going out to dinner with a friend who's in a relationship with someone else. They have kind of an odd relationship anyway, so don't read anything at all into those dinner plans. ETP and BOETP, as far as I know, are still anti V-Day. They had a bad experience surrounding February 14th one year, so they turned their backs on the "holiday."

Coincidentally, when they were going through that, I was having a particularly bad time as well. Even worse than normal Valentine's Days, since that was a period of time when I thought I might have cancer or something. Not kidding on this one. And, you know, not to be a downer or anything. That, of course, being a total lie, because I'm looking for nothing but excuses to kill your potential buzz today. And there's not much more that can ruin good times than cancer.

We keep the ball rolling by talking about something else guaranteed to kill the mood: my balls. You see, in early February of that year, I found myself a happy little lump. Yeah, a lump in the last place a guy wants to be finding lumps. It wasn't really attached to either of my boys, but I knew it was something that wasn't supposed to be in there. And once something like that shows up, you can't help but have the "C" word constantly running through your head. Now, luckily, it turned out to be nothing serious. Just some kind of mass that can form in there, one that doesn't hurt anything but won't go away unless if they go in there and remove it. Really no need for that; I just refer to it as my third ball and go on my way.

But anyway, on Valentine's Day that year, I hadn't yet found out that all was OK -- I was still waiting for my appointment so that I could go in and have them do an ultrasound on my sack. So, why the hell am I talking about this, other than to be an asshole and make people sick? Well, call this my own version of a public service message. Hopefully this might be useful for any guy who hasn't been through this and/or doesn't know any better, but just so you're aware: finding a lump down in your nutsack isn't necessarily bad, but you should definitely get it checked immediately. Also, be decently vigilant about examining yourself. Your hands are already down there all the time anyway, fellas, so take a few moments out once in awhile and do a quick check. You won't be happy if something seems amiss, but better to find it sooner rather than later if there's something there that doesn't belong.

So anyway, you're welcome. Have fun with your dumbass holiday, everyone. Or don't, really, because that would be better in a lot of ways.

This is another thing I've gotten sick and tired of. Look, is it irresponsible to put out products like fatty foods and cigarettes? I suppose you could make that case. But at this point, even someone who's completely fucking retarded knows what things are bad for them. Hey, I know McDonald's isn't healthy for me. That's one of the reasons I rarely eat there or at other fast food joints. Sometimes, though? I want something that tastes good (and yeah, sometimes that greasy slop does have its appeal). I'm willing to make that tradeoff, and I know that I'm making a tradeoff. I like how that shit tastes, and when I do make the rare choice, I want to be able to enjoy that taste without having it compromised because some fuck decided he needed deserved to get paid.

It's pretty much this same mentality that leads to me not giving a shit about tobacco companies. Yes, they make a product that's bad for us. But we know this. It's no longer the 1950s where they can get away with making people think it's good for us. The same goes for fast food and so many other things we do that are deleterious to our health.

If you don't want to face the potential consequences of something, stay the fuck away from it -- claiming ignorance of the facts is no longer an option because we're constantly bombarded with the facts. If you smoke, and you do it long enough, you're going to get cancer and die, or probably face some other negative health effects. If you eat enough fast food without mixing in some moderation or exercise, your health is going to suffer. At this point, with as much as we know about this shit, I have no sympathy for you if you get fucked up, and, in fact, I'm kinda hoping that you do end up sick and/or dead.

If you've played more than a half-minute of the first two Star Fox games (you know, the real ones for Super Nintendo and N64 that were exactly the same, but you bought and enjoyed the second one anyway), you can relate to Wednesday's Penny Arcade. Slippy really is this pain in the ass gay frog who bugs the shit out of you when you're trying to do something else. He's not the cool kind of gay guy you want to hang out with and compare decorating tips with. No, he's the kind of gay guy whose Arwing you want to blow up so he'll leave you the hell alone. The same goes for Falco, although you wanna shoot him down just because he's a fucking prick.

Quick, Ike, do your impersonation of David Caruso's career!

Fuck, am I gonna have to watch an episode of Rape Kit? In case if you don't wanna read the whole post to find out what the fuck I'm talking about, Wil Wheaton is going to play a role on an upcoming episode of CSI.

I will never understand the fascination with that show. First off, the title is wrong. Those people aren't crime scene investigators, they're the crime scene unit. They don't do anything except show up and get ordered by the detectives to run a rape kit. If you were watching a real show like Law & Order you'd know this already.

Second, I cannot stand the lead actor on the original CSI. Hey, check it out:

I could be that fucking guy on CSI! Where the hell is my inexplicably popular TV show? Actually, upon listening to that again, nevermind -- there was way too much life in my voice.

I caught all of the first six seconds of CSI: Miami the other night, and apparently, it's a requirement for all of the Rape Kit lead actors to be that way. David Caruso is completely lifeless as well, and I totally gave that show a fair shake. Or maybe he always sucked that bad and I didn't know it because I didn't watch Cop Drama.

I'm almost tempted to take in an episode of CSI: NY since Gary Sinise (no relation to Arliss) was at least cool at one point, but it probably won't happen. Now go put on your "CSU" windbreaker and run a rape kit while we stand around and make fun of the victim!

One more new product.

Could it be our wait is finally coming to an end?

You've been Crossed, ma man

Hotbot search:

underage dog fuck free pics

At what point, exactly, is a dog underage, anyway? I figure I may as well get these jokes in now since I'll be getting hits from the dogfuckers as it is thanks to the change in posting name.

I've never understood why the Super Bowl is such a big deal. I mean, I can totally understand getting into it if a team you root for is playing. But otherwise, why? I blame it on what I lovingly refer to as "guy culture." This stupid fucking mentality that's based around beer, sports, Maxim magazine, and somehow convincing everyone that the Coors twins are hot when they aren't. Now, not that there isn't a time and place for the former two -- indeed, there are many times and places for them -- but building a lifestyle on all that isn't exactly what I'd call man's (emphasis on man) greatest achievement.

This pinnacle of this great achievement is Super Bowl Sunday, which is, apparently, the biggest event of the year in many mens' lives. Just to be clear, there's nothing wrong with sitting down and watching the game or something. It is the Lord's day, after all, the single worst fucking day of the week when you know you have to go back to work the next day and all the goddamn stores close early. But there are so many guys who really -- needlessly -- get into it. Not guys who are fans of either team. Not guys who are degenerate gamblers with their mortgages, kids' college money, and very lives riding on the outcome of the game. Just regular guys with no vested interest whatsoever. I dunno, perhaps being a sad excuse for a man prevents me from understanding it, but I just don't.

Just a quick aside since we're on the subject of football, but Terry Bradshaw needs to be put to sleep. I'd like it if his exit was slow and painful, but honestly, as long as you get him outta here I'll be happy. There are few bigger retards out there than Bradshaw. Well, sadly, there are, but Bradshaw is up there. As was once famously said about him, he's so stupid that he "couldn't spell 'cat' if you spotted him the C and the A." He's also never going to get over his bitterness that John Elway, who had the audacity to spurn the Colts because he didn't want to play there, turned out to be a much better quarterback than Bradshaw. Knowing that that pisses ol' Terry off is pretty funny

Back to the Super Bowl, I know that its popularity isn't driven entirely by guys. There are plenty of people who attend the Super Bowl simply because they're rich and they can. That's fine; I can understand that. I'm sure it's one big social event for them, so whatever. Then there are lots of people who tune in to watch the game specifically for the advertisements. This I cannot get on board with anymore because the commercials have been bloody lame for the past several years, and this year was no exception. What was once the source for the most creative, humorous, and entertaining ads (in the U.S., that is) is now just a string of tired and uninspired normal commercials. Of course, the ads were purposely toned down this year, thanks to everyone's fright that the FCC will come after them thanks to the newer, stronger puritanical mindset that we have in this country.

Yeah, it's been a whole year since the partially exposed tit of someone who no one cares about anymore was shown on national TV for a split second, irrevocably damaging children and altering human history. After last year's Reichstag fire, we've seen a marvelous string of threats and de facto censorship being pushed upon media and entertainment, led by Michael Powell and enthusiastically endorsed by Christian conservatives.

Working to ensure that we didn't see a repeat of last year, Super Bowl attendees and viewers were treated to Paul McCartney. That's right, everyone! Paul McCartney! A guy so fucking old and so not good anymore that he's the perfect cure for anything entertaining. Why doesn't that guy just stay home and bang his much younger wife? If I had no need for the money and I had younger poon back at home, I wouldn't fucking bother leaving the house -- especially if there was a chance my hip would go out from my onstage "dancing" (although I suppose staying home has that potential, too).

You know who I think should be the halftime entertainment for every major sporting event from here on out? Ashlee Simpson. Considering her reception at the Orange Bowl this year, I figure that if you keep putting her out there, it's only a matter of time before angry fans rush the stage and eat her alive. What is the fucking deal with Ashlee Simpson? Sure, she's untalented, but she's also not attractive by any stretch. To be famous, I really think you should have one or the other at bare minumum. Her sister, while also untalented and stupid, was at least hot back before she started decomposing. But Ashlee? Just like with Super Bowl fever, I don't get it, unless if her fame came about as a result of a bet or a dare between some record company execs.

Through all of this, I haven't even talked about the worst part of Super Bowl XXXIX -- the game itself. Sweet Jesus was that one fucking boring game. It isn't just that I didn't care about who was playing or what the outcome was, it's that the game transcended all of that to the point where I could have gotten more of a hardon for what was happening watching golf. I fell asleep sometime during the fourth quarter, the only thing keeping me awake up to that point was the bitching and mockery (you know, the usual) that we had going. We weren't alone in our displeasure, as they showed a shot of Clinton hanging out up in his box, and he seemed to be in much the same state. Probably thinking "Damn, I could be out getting some pussy right about now, but I'm stuck watching this shit."

Sadly, I think the Pro Bowl next week has more potential to be interesting. The fucking Pro Bowl. Somehow, though, I think I'm gonna end up missing that one. Call it a hunch. Either way, I'm just glad football season is over, at lest until training camp starts in two weeks.

Can somebody explain to me why Blogger's spellchecker still fails to recognize the word "blog" as being valid? I'm also sick of having to tell it to ignore or re-learn words like "fuck" and "cunt."

After many more months of neglect, the sailor schoolgirl site has been updated. Only one gallery with unfortunately too few sailor uniform shots (all I've got of her), but it's still a sizable gallery.

I just realized that that site, in its present form (i.e. the Angelfire site, as opposed to the failed 'blog form), is nearly a year old. I'm pretty sure I have way more to be proud of with that site than with Fe. Somehow, a site focused on cute Japanese girls in school uniforms and other assorted outfits is more popular than a foul-mouthed 'blog that has really just become a place for me to talk about my car. Over at Serafuku, I'm past 100,000 total hits and now averaging around 1,000 hits per day. That's right, one gurr.

I had been getting decent traffic -- in the neighborhood of several hundred hits a day -- for awhile thanks to some permanent (as far as the 'net is concerned) links from other sites, most of them Japanese. That led to me getting most of my hits from Japan, which meant that my site had mad street cred. Adding the models' names and a handful of words in chickenscratch Japanese didn't hurt matters, I would imagine. That site recently started showing up in Google image searches, and that's led to traffic more than doubling. I went and did a couple of sample searches, and apparently, I'm a leading authority on a lot of the girls I've got on the site. It's nice to finally be useful for something.

I don't know how the site will hold up in terms of bandwidth limits now that things have jumped, but we'll see. So much of my traffic was going through one decently big gallery for awhile there (this one, which is, in fact, a quality gallery), so maybe if traffic due to Google image search is spread out decently among the various sub-sites it'll all stay running. Of course, even if it does tank, I can still masturbate to the pictures if I want to since I've got them all on my computer or CD, and I'm really all I care about. Still, that does nothing for my ego, which in terms of the sailor site is probably bigger than my cock at this point (not like it would take much for that to happen).

One thing that's funny to see is the traffic patterns there as the day progresses. Early in the morning, I will oftentimes see virtually all traffic coming from Japan. As the day goes on, it tends to shift a bit, with Japan still holding a commanding lead but the Americas getting in on more of the action. Sometimes I'll even see this in the hourly stats, as I'll get a bi-modal distribution. One peak is for when men in Japan are up and masturbating, and the other is for when men here in North America are up masturbating (and, sure, probably a few women, but we know it's mostly guys). Not really relevant, but I find it pretty funny.

The other reason I take pride in that site is because pretty much everyone who shows up there, whether it be via Google or someone who's linked me, finds what they're looking for. At least when pedophiles click the link for Serafuku, they have a little something to show for it when they leave. And if someone else has linked me, the people who follow the link don't wind up wondering why in the hell someone would actually link such a piss-poor 'blog. Conversely, though, that's part of the beauty of Fe -- many are undoubtedly pissed just by virtue of what they find (or fail to find) there, and in its own regard, that's something special.

Man, if only that wasn't all stuff out of magazines and whatnot so I could make some money off it. I need to at least mix in some ads or something to see if that generates anything. And you know, if I got my shit together, I could start my own site that's totally legit. I'd pretty much just have to start paying Asian girls to dress up for me, which, shit, if I could afford it, I'd do anyway, so may as well get some cash flow going from it.

Yet another new product from FE Labs, one which should enable you to more successfully justify your thug.

Hmmm, I wonder what it's like to be old and bitter and stupid and arrogant and still hung up on shit that doesn't matter at all anymore. I'll let you know just as soon as I'm old.

You know, these people just don't look like they'd be fucked up enough to torture and starve their children. Well, okay, I guess they do look like the average slobs you'd see in this country, but there's just something unnerving about their pictures, even before you find out what they've done. And then, of course, you find out what they've done. Hell, I've had a toenail removed under anesthesia, and, yeah, I don't wanna think about this one anymore.