goodbye, 2006.

St. Louis may be a one horse town but great things are happening here.

Saddam Hussein has reportedly been executed by hanging today. disreputable sources say his last meal consisted entirely of Turkish delight.

anyone have any idea how names are conveyed in sign language?

heading down to St. Louis for a few days.

when i was younger, i remember me and my brother listening to a song by L.A. Style called “James Brown is Dead.” it was a rave-ish song and was therefore disturbingly upbeat for its title. i wasn’t really sure who James Brown was at the time but now i know.

our tree this year:

with the exception of a set of little snowmen that my roommate bought (and which i hung in a cluster on one branch), we had no proper ornaments to speak of. instead, we had to improvise a bit with some stuff we found lying around like tape, scissors, a USB memory card reader, a Hello Kitty coaster, a broken wristwatch and, as the star, a brass belt buckle lifted from a Soviet corpse that i obtained in Kabul.

Merry Christmas :)

’twas the night before Christmas, and all through the hood
all the gangstas were stoked because they knew that they would
get 44’s and 40’s; and if they were nice,
some smack and some reefer and plenty of ice.

the pimps and the playas, hoodlums and gang members
had mailed out their wish lists in early November,
they were growing impatient, they had waited all year;
but now it was time, Christmas was finally here.

st. nick was coming. fo’ rizzle, fo’ sho;
in his red Cadillac bouncing on 24’s.
fat blunt in his hand, crack rocks a’slinging;
spitting freestyles, his pimp chalice a’blinging.

he’ll do a drive-by with his window rolled down;
but instead of popping caps, he’ll leave gifts on the ground.
then he’ll go house to house and pull some B&E’s
to plant some pimp presents under some pimp trees.

playa hatas will get nothing. the same goes for snitches;
instead they get beaten until they need stitches.
and pimps will be pimp-slapped if they mistreat their hoes;
thus is jolly old st. nicholas’ MO.

so as you can see, kriss kringle don’t mess;
you reap what you sow, no ‘buts’ or ‘unless.’
don’t hate on each other. be civil, fo’ realz;
and santa might bring you those shiny new grillz.

sea-monkey chronicles: day fourteen

no, they didn’t drop dead, i didn’t impatiently flush them down the toilet, and i didn’t forget about them. in fact, they are quite happily swimming about their little tank and are no doubt bumping head-on into the plastic and each other because they’re idiots.

i’ve counted at least three or four of them and they’ve grown to be about a millimeter or so in length. again, i have no pictures to show because they’re still too small to effectively photograph. i’ve been told, however, that they get fairly big so photos will be coming in the future.

that is, unless i become impatient and flush them all down the toilet.

i want a helicopter. please, buy me a helicopter.