Quit licking the monitor. Don't ask me what this page is about. Just stick your little mouse over the pictures and read about Lynda Carter, Eight is Enough, British people, Big and Tall Shopping Outlets, Chiclets, The Makita Power Drill Fan Club, and my ass. It's about the 10 year old kids who stay up all night on their parents' computers and play on America Online. Why do their parents use America Online? Because if you're over thirty, you can't figure out a fucking computer. With America Online, they can learn about dinosaurs and get help with their golf swing. And if you are old, get as mad as you want. You probably don't know how to email me and tell me how pissed you are anyway. Just sit there and stew and live with the fact that I hate you and your kid is going to be on this computer right after you go to bed to look up "Beefy Sweaty Teenage Whores" on yahoo. And he'll find stuff. Later you'll write your congressman because you wish you could figure out how to get all the free porn, and your kid will send me email about how much my page RULEZ and how KEWL it is. And when he's done, he'll leave a signature file that looks like this:
in da Houze!
:P - yo!
Come see my Starship Troopers Page!
"The true gift of animals is deviant sexual behavior."
- Skubbles, a dolphin
Golly wings!  I sure wish I was YOUR panties! ************************************
PoRnFreAk Strikes Again!
Come taste my yogurt!
"It never seems like Mom if you pretend she's an android."
- me
"Saturday night, you will feel my full force atom flip."
- El Ricardo

Baby calls it fun.  I call it baby football. So I hope you people feel good about yourselves, because I don't remember my friends and I being as stupid as your kids when we were eight. Maybe it's because of all these drugs the kids are taking these days. Maybe it's because of all this damn violence on TV. Well let me tell you what it is. It's the fact that there are no new episodes of the A-team. Children everywhere have no concept of how to form an invincible strike team. Where are the positive role models that were Murdoch, Face, Hannibal, and BA? You know, besides the Backstreet Boys.

Let me tell you why I started my crack habit. It's because I didn't want anyone to think that those anti-drug commericals worked on me. If you want people to stay off drugs, it's going to take a lot more than a gimmicky little fried egg to educate them. Because I'd rather be a god damn crack whore than one of the geeks that just says no in the after school special. Sure you get really skinny and freaky, and you have to steal your parents' furniture to feed your habit, but at least you're not that freckled dork that stands next to GI Joe and proclaims how cool it is not to do drugs. You do know that summer camp is all about gay sex, right?

And no one is going to listen to a group of penguins as they sing, "Be cool! Stay in School!" America is not that easy to brainwash anymore. I take that back. I just remembered the Macarena. You stupid rhythmless sheep.

No one ever says, "I want to be a junky when I grow up." And no one ever says, "I want to be a communistic politician when I grow up and make laws regulating people's lifestyles." And if you don't think we have those, ask one of your gay friends if he's married. You do know we as the people paid someone to make sure that couldn't happen, right? I think it's money well spent. Just think of all the gay marriage related deaths that have been prevented by those laws. Shit, it was getting as bad as all those marijuana related homicides. I guess I wasn't around during prohibition, but I thought the lesson we learned from that sitcom of a decade was, "Don't make laws nobody wants to follow and you can't enforce anyway." I don't even like drugs, but if I ever had the urge to go lick a toad to see colors, that shouldn't really bug anyone. But I think I'm different from the lawmakers in this country. I have thumbs.

I think this all gets categorized under unpleasant slightly educated immature anarchist ramblings. I should have made this my Spice Girls gallery page. Hey, I like them. I know it was a formula based group of post teen cheerleaders that got thrown together to badly fake personality extremes, but I can only take so much. I tried to hate them. It seemed to be my role. But I couldn't do it. I give in. You're all cute, and I dance to your music. I send Scary love letters, and take pictures of Posh to my hairdresser. "Can you make me look like this?" You see, what I'm trying to do here is justify the fact that I spend most of my time cheering Bird Man on and discussing the past excursions of Captain America. I never really looked up the word mature, maybe I'll get around to it, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing about Captain America in the definition. And as for an education, I just got my bachelor degree in art. That means I know the complementary color of blue and can name some 20th century abstract expressionists. And from my almost religious class skipping, I can recite every Jet Li movie ever made in English and Cantonese. Yay!  My new cushion!!!

You'll be the raddest dude on the beach in these stylish towels. So if you're looking for politically based arguments on how to change the world, you're reading the wrong fucking page. Go have a cheeseburger with Rush Limbaugh if you're into that. I just see the world with some clarity and take all of these lowest common denominator laws personally. And if I sound like a dick, it's just because my line dancing class/tupperware party last night ended in a honky tonk brawl.

Remember in Ghostbusters when Peck ran into the station and shut down the containment unit in the name of that Environmental group? That's what I'm trying to say. You know how pissed off you get during that part? That's how pissed off I get everytime some bouncer checks my ID at a bar. And if this doesn't make sense to you, I really hope I don't have to talk to you. Because you sound pretty stupid. This reminds me of a little story. When I was young, I was forced against my will to go to church. I wasn't the limbo-bound atheist I am now, I just thought it was really fucking boring. Anyway, when I was in church once, I filled a collection envelope with wadded up paper that I thought looked like a lot of money. Some old guy at the end of the row suspected something was awry, opened it, and with a disgusted look on his face, removed it from the plate. That was the last time I ever tried to donate anything to anyone. That's a big twinkie.

How'd you like some cookies, punk? Some people just don't appreciate metaphorical statements. I mean here I am taking all of the garbage filled envelopes that these church people are giving me,(this is the metaphor, for those of you who are following along) the least they could do is accept my small donation. Sure, you can't buy a new pew with wadded up hymn lyrics, but you can uncrumple them and sing some stupid song. Do you see my point? Good, because there isn't one. I wasn't trying to play with your mind or anything manipulative like that. I just remember how funny I thought the whole thing was. Maybe it was the look on the old man's face, maybe it was just the inappropriateness of it, but something about that fateful holy day makes me god damn happy to be an American. American enough to go out and buy a handgun. And then American enough to use it to kill abortion doctors after I'm done fishin'.

While on the subject of Ghostbusters, did you ever string together a bunch of wires in an attempt at making a nuclear accelerator? And how many of you trashed those stupid fucking speak and spells after they saw that thing E.T. built? I also tried to recreate the ectoplasmic residue with household items. It was green and it exploded out of every container I put it in after it dried. Upon setting, it was more impervious to damage than any space age polymer created to date. But, like Captain America's shield, it was a freak experiment that could never be duplicated. That was back at a creative peak in my life when I had to fill hundreds of uneventful hours with dangerous and useless experiments. Of course, then I developed a sex drive, and was didn't need to invent strange hobbies anymore. Unless you count dressing up like a blindfolded indian and getting whipped by a group of cowgirls 'strange.' So grin, happy boy, and know that someday your charismatic smile will not save you from a fucking butter sandwich with you as the star. I want to eat this kid.

Neato. I tell you this story because it reminds me of a little inspirational poem I once wrote at the bottom of an email. It also reminds me of every valedictorian speech ever given at any high school. Except for when the crazy kid gets out there and squeals something about how "HE'S OUT OF HERE!" with no clothes on under his gown. That wacky class clown! Will he ever stop? No. People are and stupid and they'll stay that way. But here's the inspiration, complete with the little ASCII illustration I drew using only letters, dashes, and love.

That's right, I drew this with just letters and dashes. You can do anything, just look at me! I only have one arm, and I climbed a tree! Let my indominable spirit inspire you! Because you're only limitted by your own imagination!

That's right, all my little Seanimaniacs, performance enhancing drugs are for commies, and cigarettes are for squares! You don't need them to be your best! A fantabulous world of possiblilities is outside your door! And if you order now, you can learn all the secrets the pros use to hate you this much! Comes complete with contact lenses imprinted with a picture of Diva Superstar Celine Dion, four years of Family Circus comic strips, a video of Stephen Seagal running, chutney, Barney's greatest hits, and a Leonardo Dicaprio coloring book. As seen on TV. Good god, that is sexy.

Kill it. And for those of you who still question the darkness of humanity, listen to this account of one brave soul who discovered that even Commander Mark is a big piece of shit. Let William Beckman tell the story as only he can:

On Thu, 13 Nov 1997, Billy fell and sent this via Med Alert:
"do you remember the secret city starring commander mark? he was so cool. well, a few years ago, before he got fat, i mailed in a nasty picture i drew and signed it something like "i love you commander mark! from billy. 6 and a half years old" according to the rules this should have gotten me a cool card and certificate that made me an official member of his twisted plot to take over the world but i never got it in the mail. what a fucker.
yeah, i like you too toto, why else do you think i'm stuffing you into my panties!"

So maybe now you get it. Maybe you still think there's good in the world. And I don't blame you. Just take a look at Wonder Woman. Every time she's up against bad guys they just chloroform her and tie her up. When the Care Bears fight a bad guy, he doesn't try to kill them. He tries to give them bad feelings. And these are the bad guys. In real life, the even the good guys are more diabolical than the worst of whatever geeks MacGuyver fights. So while people sit at home living vicariously through Captain Kirk, they have no clue as to how evil the world is. This is a world where Tony Danza was a porn star. This is a world where some art major might make fun of you just because you take mythology too seriously. Yeah, I'm a dick and shouldn't hate you because you go to church, but when you come to my door with pamphlets your monkey wrote, I'm going to get pissed. Have you ever seen a Jehova's Witness pamphlet? Uh oh.  Don't knock her out and not hurt her again.

And when the Lordeth striketh down evil, thou shalt play with the kittens of God. They have these pretty little pictures of children of all races frolicking in beautiful jungles with lions and sheep and things. And, of course, they're all wearing manufactured clothing that I guess are made off in the sweatshop where they enslaved all the damn gays, athesists, and midgets. It's popular ideas like these that help their missionary work succeed which not only helps save many souls, but it deepens their shallow genetic pool.

Submit. I'm not sure when the brain washing begins for you people. I still need to study up on the alien funded conspiracy to breed puppets for future consumption. But I do know that making money is our goal. That was our motivation for memorizing and regurgitating all of that shit in school anyway. And it's what people find the most interesting. If you don't believe me, look at the front of magazines. You'll probably find a picture of Bill Gates. Money must be pretty fucking interesting to put an autistic computer nerd on the front of magazines with a face that screams, "Give me a wedgie and take my lunch money." And when you read an article on the latest trendy movie star or football player, it will probably tell you in detail how much their new contract is worth. Or maybe who they're sleeping with, I guess.

The money thing must start after the teen years, because there is a much different focus in those Teen Boing magazines. When they interview the latest child star, the interview looks like this:
"Tiger Bop's hot stats on Seanbaby Reiley!
Height: 6' 3"
Eyes: Blue
Turn Ons: Lynda Carter, David Bowie, Super Friends
Turn Offs: You people."
Then the interview will continue with questions about their favorite books and movies and colors and TV shows. I'm not saying that shitty teenager magazines have all the answers or are even remotely worth reading, but I think someone's favorite TV show should at least be more interesting than how much money they spent on their yacht. But I find that most of the robotic strangers I get forced to chit chat with are more interested in how I make money than they are in what my favorite kung fu movie is. But it doesn't matter, I would probably hate them no matter what they asked me.
Aaah!!  What is it?!
Shit.  And  I went to school for four years. So in conclusion, I just want to say that you just have to believe in yourself, and you can fly on the wings of eagles to become anything you want to be. And after people find out that anybody can draw in one minute with no talen and no lessons, it's always been my dream to have my own trucker CB show. So when you're driving alone on some dark and lonely night on a godforsaken stretch of highway in the rain, just tune your dial to frequency 19, pour yourself a cup of liquid mouse, and listen. You've got a friend in Seanbaby, baby.

Clicking here will lead you back to the Old Stuff page where your liquid mouse should be waiting for you in between the links to the Teen Wolf Page and the Jerry Springer Guest Shrine Page. Don't tease me with liquid mouse unless you really plan on making some.