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April 25th, 2000 Even I can't believe this one - New on the Probe: Chinese Doctors Make Panda Pornography April 12th, 2000 New on the Probe: Our schools forgot the difference between reality and fantasy, and suspended four children for playing cops and robbers. 
April 6th, 2000 - An Old Friend ReturnsParade Kid is back. And if you're wondering about how he's been missing so long, he explains it on his new Pemonornol Page by saying that UFO Weather Time Warps "can cause a celebrity not to be noticted at all." I guess the UFOs screwed up, though, because that fucking parading celebrity bastard is floating his way back into our lives on his inflatable belt. April 3rd, 2000 New on the Probe -- Strippers might be illegal, but somehow Alyssa Milano's TEEN STEAM workout video still isn't. March 30th, 2000 New on the Probe -- the Supreme Court declares stripper boobs and crotches illegal to view. So what happens when you take away a stripper's ability to show her nipples and vagina? I don't know, but I'm pretty sure they help us get in shape every morning on ESPN. And that comes free with cable, Supreme Court. Way to go, you just made strippers the most overpaid aerobics instructors since Billy Blanks. March 28th, 2000 Probably the most in-depth look at a supervillain ever, 5 or 6 pages of Rainbow Raider got added to the Stupid Comics Page. March 22nd, 2000 Our darkest nightmares have come true; a protest has turned the world into a Twinkie-less wasteland. Read about it in a new epic three-part Probe article. March 20th, 2000 The NES Page is redesigned with an all new feature article on some of the most Useless Power-Ups games ever tried to trick us into looking for. Three are up now, there'll be another tomorrow. New Hostess Review -- The Spider-Man and the Fly! You know how when you're in a club writing your email on some coaster for a girl, you're never sure if she'll actually write you? Don't worry anymore. When she sees that you have an @seanbaby.com email account, she won't even need your email. She'll take you home and fuck you right then. Get one now at evilemail.com, but only if you want a string of meaningless relationships based entirely around how cool your email address is. March 17th, 2000 It's an all-reader day with Jenn Fox, a sexy new Reader Babe, new Reader Comics. and I added a few old entries to the Guestbook's Greatest Hits. March 14th, 2000 On topic with yesterday's article about unwanted pregnancies, The Pope apologized for all the sins of the Catholic church. Listen, Pope, after the school girl outfits you guys invented, I can look past a few crusades, witchhunts, and inquisitions. Don't focus on the negative things. I say next time you need to give a speech, don't even mention that stuff, and just have 2 or 3 hundred of your 17-year-old female students come on stage and do aerobics. Even if they had panties on, it'd be a better apology than some half-dead mumbling in a language I don't speak. And Pope, if you're reading this, please contact me directly to hear more of my ideas. Mostly, I'll tell you to replace all of the sermoning and whitewater rafting things your church normally does with girls doing jumping jacks. Your mummy ass will be saying, "Bless me father, for I WANT TO JAZZERCISE!" Speaking of me naked, here's the ultimate mix of literature and penis jokes: Stupid Villains Showcase: Clock King. March 13th, 2000 New Hostess Reviews: Spider-Man Spoils a Snatch! Captain Marvel in The Big Bang! Hey moms! Want to know the easiest and most fun way to abandon your child? The Probe shows you how! This update is dedicated to Old Man Murray's Erik, who pioneered the way for Final Fight comedy. Also, thanks to Levelord for notifying me of the new super baby-dumping device. March 12th, 2000 Sometimes I get so caught up in hands-on research and recreation of articles about drunk people exploding that I forget that what you people really want are sexy chicks and short bios about them. So I redesigned the Reader Babes Page with all new babes. March 9th, 2000 New on the Probe -- Drunk idiot sues people responsible for the "drunk" part. March 5th, 2000 
The Ro Zone has been ressurrected with new material, a Street Fighter Design, and more descriptions of Rosy's tits than ever. You might have to ask yourself if you've been good enough to even deserve something this cool -- you get to dance with E. Honda, learn where a woman's emergency lubrication button is, and take a virtual tour of not just Edinburgh, but an Edinburgh tourism pamphlet. And remember, nothing says you love Ro like an email to her. Love letter writers take note: don't just tell her my video-gamey design rules, she totally knows.
February 29th, 2000 I'm not one to talk since I traded my girlfriend for basketball cards, but I gave a lot of shit to Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire. This is a special child-corrupting article with nudity and stupid party games, so read it with your parents. February 21st, 2000 I was writing an article on clones and spent two days researching the scientific/spiritual debates of the ethics of genetic cloning. Then I decided not to use any of it. But I did manage to make jokes about carnies, figure skaters, and stuttering people on the latest Probe article, Special Science Report: Cloning. The fan reaction has been tremendous from the last article about the US National Video Game Team. Here's just one of your fantastic letters: From Jason de HerasMr. de Heras makes a good point. The true measure of a man is not based on their education, class, or even how many chicks they've bagged. It's based entirely on how well they document and distribute their own video game inadequacy to the children of America. So my apologies to Mr. Nauert, a true legendary hero, and a better man than you. Another person that's better than us, Rosy Rockets, put on her star-covered panties to review Wonder Woman in "Dilemma!". February 17th, 2000 A friendly man from Sweden, Seņor Kirneh, sent in an all new Thor Hostess Ad, and me, the fish, Dr. Doom, and Dolemite reviewed it. New on the NES Page. Have you ever seen a tape that helps you play Nintendo? I have. And it almost fucking killed me. Go to read a full review and watch clips from possibly the worst thing ever made. February 13th, 2000 A new age of enlightenment begins today. The Hostess Page has been redesigned with over 40 new reviews added. No more fucking around, this is the official best thing ever. The jive talking soul brother Luke Cage, Mr. Fish -- the mister who is a fish, and the irony of the criminal genius, Dr. Doom, making pee jokes. They're all here, and they're ready to make your life better one pie at a time. More Reader Comics too. February 3rd, 2000 The Super Quiz has been completely updated with new questions, options, and pictures. And if you don't want to be a hero, there's an incredible new reader comic. I can't tell if it's a romance or not, but I think I love it. February 2nd, 2000 What are the two worst things about the web? Find both of them on this addition to the page about me. January 26th, 2000 For immediate release: Seanbaby.com and Betty Already  We are proud to announce the affiliation between seanbaby.com and Betty Already. Yes, Seanbaby, that master of satire and ironic wit has taken it upon himself to build a site in honor of his favorite band, Betty Already. Besides his current duties spreading peace and joy throughout the world as the reigning King of the Internet, Seanbaby has put his incendiary wit to use on the Betty Already website, quite honestly making it the best band website in the world.And how are the members of Betty Already dealing with their new found fame-by-Seanbaby association? When asked for comment, an official band spokesman said "Look, stop bothering me. We don't know who he is. We don't know why he's done it. Frankly, he scares the shit out of us when he comes to the shows. MizKitty wets herself every time he flashes her the devil sign. That's the saddest thing you'll ever see, a sex-kitten on stage with pee running down her thighs. It outta' be a crime." The band's pride in the affiliation is obvious. January 17th, 2000 We Americans celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday by being a bunch of fuckheads. I try to make sense of the whole thing with television trading cards from the 80s. January 16th, 2000 - Back While I've been on dusty highways tearing people apart for a tank of gas after the Y2K apocalypse, I picked up a copy of Entertainment Weekly's Best of 1999 Special. Go to the Stupid Page to see what happened. There's also another bonus there if you look around for it. I'm redoing all the files, so you might get some broken links for a day or two. If something is seriously wrong with the page, send some mail to my immense technical staff at seanbaby@seanbaby.com. The guestbook is gone. I don't want to be responsible for anything that shitty any more. I'll do Reader Mail features more often, but now I can take out all the notes that don't mention having sex with me. Sorry if this bothers you, but the internet society has spoken, and it made a fool of itself. Besides, you can go to a message board and talk to people at least gauranteed to have excellent taste at the Seanbaby Fan Club December 23rd, 1999 - Fatty Lawsuit Fat Chicks in Party Hats has been attacked by the overweight for the past week, and I finally got around to writing an article about it. Check it out on The Probe. Rumor Control: Chez Noir and I are still not Miguel. Please stop sending us mails that tell us we are. It's flattering, like other cast members of Police Academy getting accused of being Steve Guttenberg, but during this season of sharing, it's time to stop calling our favorite immigrant fictional, and give him some credit. That's why I'm declaring the rest of December Miguel Month. And why I'm forcing my family to celebrate a merry FatChicksInPartyHatsmas. December 14th, 1999 Oh shit. I thought I spent yesterday driving through the night, my eyes on fire, burning into the heart of your love, but Joyce told me I just passed out listening to Whitesnake. When I woke up, I found out I wrote a mean article about those idealistic crybabies at UNICEF with a headless naked Wonder Woman and Ultrababy X. December 7th, 1999 The Guestbook Greatest Hits - categorized for you. They're not any better, but now at least there are less of them, and they're easier to go through. December 2nd, 1999 
Normally I'm not for change. That's why I'm still reusing the same Batman fucks Robin jokes I wrote 4 years ago in college which were actually just revisions of dreams I told to my therapist in sixth grade. And even those were just descriptions from erotic tapestries given to me by an old blind indian. I brought him to class for show and tell and he had us all glue macaroni onto panties before taking some snapshots of us and jumping out a window. But my point is, change is important. So today I tried a new hair dye. I got some Lagoon Blue Manic Panic dye, hoping the blue hair would distract people from the rusty dent on my prosthetic arm. The stuff had the consistency of spit, and I couldn't get any of the slimy shit on my head with any of the tools in my house (the only tools I own are hundreds of the same collectable spoon that says "Salt Lake City Airport"). So I had to mop my hair across the floor to absorb the color. That's when I saw the dye bottle's spooky lettered tagline: "Live FAST. DYE your hair." And when I was sitting with my girlfriend trying to talk her through the most infantile Donkey Kong 64 puzzles waiting for the dye to start working, I thought, "Yeah. This is life in the fast lane, Manic Panic." (Illustrated by Alienboy 52, Dec. 17th, 1999) Incidentally, the color came out as a vaguely purple gray, and I had to redo the entire fucking thing with a dye not made out of dead camels. This time while I waited for the color to set, I crossed out the words on the Manic Panic bottle and replaced them with "Can of Spit. Look Like Your Grandpa." I'll be sneaking it back onto the store shelf tomorrow. And while you're waiting for your hair to look pretty, you can visit the latest sign I'm turning into something I have no control over. Somebody seriously started a Seanbaby Fan Club. If you people keep this up, I'm going to start feeling good about myself, and a constant burning hatred of me is the only thing that gets me up in the morning. Which is the same thing that's getting up the midget community too. Because when I'm not putting spit in my hair, I'm capturing those little bastards. Capturing them and dressing them up in little tuxedos.November 27th, 1999 Taco Bell employees could fold you into oblivion. Maybe they can't count or speak the language of the country they live in, and the band-aids on their oral herpes sores fall into your food, but Taco Bell employees are the foremost origami masters in the world. They have 3000 different lard-boiled flatulent treats - and ONE WRAPPER to put them all in. Even the Trainees, who get to proudly wear their status on their bean encrusted shirts can perfectly fold one of the 3,000,000 names on the wrapper to be in the exact center of a burrito. I thought the people that worked there were just kids Taco Bell traded from smugglers for some beads and cigarettes, but hand one a magazine and they could fold you a time machine. I don't know if it's the most amazing origami training since the ancient Babylonians trained goats to fold special hats, or if all Taco Bell employees are from some kind of tiny specialized gene pool like Mormons or Sasquatch, but I do know this: If we ever stop eating, for any reason - we just might give these bastards time to destroy us. As soon as they stop screaming from grease splatter burns, we'll be at the mercy of them and their unstoppable army of paper warriors. Oh, and I think that stuff they call "steak" is really just kitten turd. And speaking of tacos, Alaska has a new device that can detect drugs. November 16th, 1999 Work and research is still being done on the big comics article, so today's note isn't important or even funny. Portal of Evil and I finished the redesign of the modern masterpiece Fat Chicks in Party Hats, and you can see the site I'm almost done designing for P-Town's sexiest band, Betty Already. That's it. Tomorrow is the start of the Rockin' Into December Pictures of Me Naked Countdown. October 24th, 1999 - Me Grimlock Like Lawsuits 
Today it's time to take hold of the little things. A childhood memory, finding out the power lines above the trailer park cause sterility, the world's stupidest lawsuit, a hearty bowl of Quaker oatmeal, or enjoying a bad movie about the Bible. The Omega Code was released last week, finally making the big budget soap opera Jesus and the Bible have always wanted.I saw it a few days ago, starring the guy from Starship Troopers playing a motivational speaker, which combined one of the world's lamest actors with one of the world's lamest occupations. Michael York ends up finding a secret code in the Bible to make all the old prophecies come true and turn himself into the ruler of the world. I guess he forgot to read the last chapter where it talks about how he's going to lose. Obviously, it was crap. But while I was laughing on the way out, this movie, this fucking lame movie, had moved most of the audience to tears. I instinctively clenched my fist and got ready to punch the crew of Candid Camera, but then I remembered most of these people aren't kidding. They're probably Christians. This movie is like their Star Wars -- like their Police Academy 2, 4, or 7. Back in the days when I was forced to go to church by the parents I hadn't killed yet, I used to sneak extra flesh from God's lovable Jesus. He tasted like Wonder Bread. I wondered if his disciples used to do the same thing when he was alive. I'm guessing it would be hard to chew pieces of him off without getting caught, so they'd have to snack on things like his toenail clippings. And trust me, this is just as hard to get away with. In words I've heard a million times, "Have you been eating our lord and savior? Because you smell like toes. I'm gonna have to ask you to step out of the car." My point is that this religion crap movie is less believable than the Running Man, which although is a much better movie, has never moved me to tears. But thanks to God's incredible marketing staff, people are taking this Omega Code thing really seriously. You people haven't acted this stupid after a movie since you walked out of the Matrix staring at your hands with awe and whispering, "What if this ... is all... fake..." Because while it's really hip to hate a movie, it's even more hip to call it brilliant and list all the epiphanies it inspired. Keanu Reeves, a bigger bad gay joke icon than me, changed everyone into intellectuals for a week, so instead of perfecting their stand up act by mocking his "whoa" line all the way to their cars, film viewers (and thus film experts) were unlocking the secrets of the universe by talking about how it all might be a computer program. Maybe the movie and all the God stuff is real. Shit, one night a friend convinced me I was Mary Poppins and I jumped out a window with an umbrella. Twice. But it's still going to take more than that nights diet pill binge to get me to believe the Bible is a 3D computer program capable of shaping our destiny as soon as Michael Ironside (V: the Final Battle's Ham) enters the secret code. But maybe the movie is convincing, it's not like I was paying attention. And maybe the Matrix is real and the Wachowski brothers made it as a metaphysical statement about different planes of reality, but I'm not going to get too damn cerebral about a movie written by men whose previous work was "Assassins" and Captain America. October 17th, 1999 I was ranty today, and added a special report to the Stupid Page taking a hateful stand against charity. There are two Reader Babes representing the goth and punk communities, Shan Monster and Daisy Delinquent. And speaking of women, how many scented candles do you ladies need? Every store in the mall now is devoted to selling apple flavored shampoo and soap shaped like flowers arranged neatly with colored saran wrap in muffin shaped baskets named after Lionel Richie songs. Add a Readers Digest and some dirty diapers in an Andy Griffith themed trash can, and it's like I'm shopping in my grandma's bathroom. 
And how did they get so damn big? Is every one such a precious, beautiful lady like me that they need everything in their house to smell like roses and moisturizer, or is everyone telling their mother they love her with the gift of soap? That's touching. "Hey, mom. Happy birthday. Soap." Why don't you get her some fucking moustache wax. Or maybe just a pink paper bag to put over her head.I don't think we need the damn "Sales Associates" that hang out there either. They'll boisterously explode from hidden sweet-smelling corners to offer help find those hard to find lotions. And maybe I've just got some kind of feminine product radar, but when I'm in a room that only has scented candles and lotion, I could be blindfolded, spun around 5 times, and still probably fucking manage to find the candles and lotion on my own in about 10 seconds of groping. The only time I personally ever needed a clerk's help was when I was looking for the perfect soap for my anal warts. They smiled and pointed me to Sandy's Intimate Ass Wart Treasures, a product I now fully endorse.
Once I slyly winked at a salesperson, gave her a twenty, and whispered, "Hey. Sweetheart. This stuff is fine for the kids. But I want to see... the good stuff." And what I thought would just be another blowjob from another faceless soap clerk turned into a voyage of hygenic discovery, as she led me into a secret back room filled with illegal fragrant candles, modified-to-fully-automatic bath oils, and Peach Essence bottle rockets. Women everywhere were overcome with feminine pampering, and were giggling and hitting each other with feather pillows in their underwear like women always do when they think there are no boys watching.
August 29th, 1999 Bear Explodes Sexy Girl Reads Fans Make Insane Comics Ro and I Shout at Idiots
Normally I can sneak purchases past my girlfriend/financial advisor, Joyce. But since she spent most of last week working out the financing details of our new car ('99 Escort SE, voted #2 for customer loyalty by Car and Drivers Beekeeping Digest), she has been watching our expenses very carefully. So I admit, this was a stupid time to sneak off to the computer store to complete my digital film studio. And when I say complete, I mean buying a whole new computer and enough accessories to feed every starving child Sally Strothers ever ate. Joyce was going through checkbooks and credit card statements periodically exclaiming things like, "Didn't you already have like 50 pairs of vinyl pants!?" and "Two hundred dollars worth of fucking comic books?!?" I responded with a dismissive grunt while I sat in a recliner in my Indy 500 tank top and white briefs trying to invent a drinking game for the God channel. I was watching an evangalist annoy Jesus with a bad song while his wife's tarantula eyelashes blinked in approval, and that's when I felt the room go cold. Joyce had found the credit card statement with the computer on it. She twitched in place. She was about to begin the female-demonic transformation that always happens when I overestimate our bank account, but this time I was ready. I wasn't going to throw a fruit pie like last time, or offer the *8 HOURS OF FUCKY* certificate like the time before that. This time, I backed away and put up an Austin Powers DVD between us. Her firebreath turned into rainbow sunshine and kittens flew on candy wings from her basket of surprises. The only problem with this solution was having to reveal my Secret Lab. I pushed over my 9th grade Dance Contest trophy, and every flat surface in the house flipped over to reveal thousands of blinking lights and unlabeled buttons. Joyce's surprise seemed faked... almost as if she had already discovered my lab years ago through some sort of dusting accident. But if she had, how many others knew of my secret? And... how can I use this to my advantage? I tried to explain to her the complicated chain of interwoven devices, carefully wired to allow any combination of music, video games, or movies for up to 20 different users, but she stared at me with a blank stare like a girl surrounded by electronic things. I put in the movie, and using fantastic DVD technology, switched the language to French. It was so fucking funny, it made up for the entire country of France and the teeth-grating scene where funnyman Mike Myers entertains us and Elizabeth Hurley with his forced help-I'm-in-a-nutshell gag. Fuck you, Mike. That was really fucking lame. But in French? Genius. And besides buying the car, the Sony 500mhz Digital Film Studio thing and all the wires and laser sensors I needed to hook it up to the refrigerator and the animatronic version of me I send to boatshows and homepage conventions, I also added an article to the NES Page about Wally Bear and the No! Gang. And, of course, a few more Reader Comics. August 8th, 1999 Remember that fucking stupid thing I wrote to Congress about toilets? They responded. You can read about it and governors drawing monsters on the News Page, now retooled and relaunched as The Seanbaby Probe. Please don't send any fan mail to my gardener Ernesto, who is also known by that name in my quiet family community bustling with life and magic. August 4th, 1999 I've been doing a lot of tanning and speedo shopping this week in preparation for the Ultimate Fighting Championship, but I still redesigned the front page. There are more Reader Comics including an extension on Erik's masterpiece, The Slugger. My best pals, the BROTHERS OF THE INTERNET have sent a couple more letters that are so misspelled I think they count as a different language. I call it Retardish with almost rhymes with radish - the vegetable that uproots itself and sings after the farmers go to sleep. There's a new exciting and erotic feature called Reader Babes with the hottest Seanbaby readers. And for people that want to do more with me than just click on pictures of fruit pies, I've added the Portland Events Page listing events you can come to and dance with me. Before you show up, though, you should know that I'm really a fat orphan in a wheelchair and all the photos of "me" on the page are taken out of picture frames I stole from Payless. Also, the Power Puff Girls have been added to the Hostess Page. And not to spoil anything, but at the end of The Blair Witch Project, the good guys lose. July 27th, 1999 There's a new Nintendo game about me by Alienboy 52, along with some new reader comics. Kora! wants everyone to vote for the most talented reader, so send a short essay praising your favorite or post it in the guestbook. And before you decide to craft your novella of caps-locked unfunny references to porn, know that lame essays will count against your favorite artist/singer/game designer/christian activist. To be fair to the people that have worked so hard on creating comics and songs, James H. Vipond has already been disqualified, since if he were eligible, he would not only win, but tear off your fucking head and present it as a prize on his new topless Christian gameshow called "Get A-Head of the Game." I added The Incredible Hulk vs. the Green Frog, Captain Marvel in Killer Bee and Son!, and Spider-Man! in Will Power! to the Hostess Page. And in other pie related news, Tommy McNeill sent in my new favorite ad - The Incredible Hulk and "FRIENDS!". July 25th, 1999 DOWNLOAD THE SEANBABY MP3 Written and performed by Todd Sempel Lyrics: It's the "S" to the "E" to the "A" to the "N" "B" "A" "B" "Y", throw it all on the end That's Seanbaby if you can't comprehend And he's bustin' more skills than a Superfriend So get back, and bitch, you better listen He's smackin' the whack and he's dissin' the Christians Gonna rule the world with his super powers Even if he ain't down with deadly Towers So don't be shy he's a kickin' guy Just sit back on-line with a Hostess pie Don't fuck with the G with the hair that's blue Three cheers for Kora! I thought you knew. Chorus: Seanbaby's in the house Seanbaby's in the house Seanbaby's in the house And if you ain't down I'm gonna kick you in the mouth July 21st, 1999 
TOP STORY: Somebody made a nintendo game about me. I'm serious.I tried to respond to the messages in the neglected guestbook, but decided that if I really wanted to talk to idiots, I have a box of them at home. So after a few hours of watching them slip on banana peels, forget to put the top on the blender, and fuck, I tried to catch up on Reader Comics. It didn't happen. I was busy being in love. Below and to the right is an actual letter I wrote this afternoon to Erik and Chet at Old Man Murray after they sent me the link to Chris the Parade Kid's Page. Obviously, this is one of the most important events in American history. (And one of the most tragic. Late in 1999, this page went down, and no longer shines on our heads like warm sunshine.)
July 18th, 1999 - You're eating maggots, Michael. How do they taste?This was a busy week. I came back from an educational trip through history with Abraham Lincoln, Robin Hood, and Joseph Stalin. After they taught me how traditional values can still be applied in today's age of wisecracking cartoon animals and future toilets, I introduced them all to "ice cream" and we adopted a high spirited orphan. We were too busy in our beach-running/food fight musical montage to notice that this was the same little orphan that Mantak the Xandarian needed to lead his race to galactic domination. As you may know from episode #38 of Star Zappers, adopting a Xandarian dictator's chosen military leader is like pissing down the piss-sensitive cleavage of an Andorian princess. And it takes a lot less than that for Mantak to blast you into oblivion. So we had two choices - Give up our new orphan, or fight. Even with Stalin's ability to starve Ukranians, Abraham Lincoln's top hat, Robin Hood's gay-tipped arrows, and Abe's pajamas decorated with small pictures of top hats, we wouldn't stand a chance against the Xandarian combat fleet. There was only one way we could fight Mantak AND get enough money for our orphan's pony - ROCK into Space, the Intergalactic Battle of the Bands. This didn't make our chances much better. Mantak's band, Flux Maximo and the Poop Troop, had won ROCK into Space for the last 17 space years. And they specialized in dirty tricks. We nervously waited backstage while the Tralfamadorian/Globetrotter basketball game for domination of Sector Gamma went into overtime. We passed the time by crossing our fingers and hoping our mixture of bouncy pop and smiles was enough to overcome Flux Maximo's elaborate pranks and sabotage. The cold Stalin kept his fingers seperated and used the extra time to run through "Love's Gonna Getcha!" with our new drummer - Ockdiggity, the talking octopus. Plus, I found a rare Captain Fag comic and added Spider-Man in "Break the Bank" to the Hostess Page. When it was our turn we played our hearts out. Rainbows and flowers radiated out of us like we were the good guy band in an intergalactic battle of the bands. I may have lost, had my orphan taken away for military reprogramming, and watched my historical friends be ejected into the coldness of space, but at least Catholics are still lame. July 5th, 1999 The day after America celebrated their freedom by lighting off fireworks they're not allowed to, I've made some important additions to Seanbaby.com - the Reader Mail page has new additions including comics, pictures, and a special feature highlighting a recent correspondence I've had with a group of Christian fanatics. Also, downtown Portland has more than lesbians now. If you're intrigued, or if you just love midgets, go to the News Page.
June 8th, 1999
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June 23rd, 1999 - 
