Enduring the heartbreak and disappointment of a miscarriage.

ah shit, H. that sucks.

and with so much working up to that.

I,m feeling sorry for H and his wife that is so sad.

offering my best to H and his wife..............!!!

Well, I should be doing a maths
assignment but I am too
lazy so I am playing on the internet.

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i'm so sorry H. it's not the correct time to mention it, but there's lots of kids that need adoptive parents out there, and you obviously would be very loving and attentive. you could make some child in the foster care orbit very happy.

what is a maths assignment?

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Studying for my licence. Yup I'm 24 and I can't drive. I've only sat in the drivers seat twice. Is this pathetic?

Bleached the Grumps hair. Suits him. Gonna do it white white next time.

I've been missing. Too busy to surf, too busy to play. It sucks.

and bored at work. Send mail to help save my mind.... please!

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Appreciative of all the thoughtful posts.

Thankfully, it appears my wife will not need surgery to clean up the after-effects of the miscarriage. The physical and emotional healing is starting to kick in. We're getting out of town this weekend to give our minds and her body a chance to rest.

Agatha, I thank you for your thoughts about adoption. We have done a lot of research on our options on that subject over the last year and a half. There are pro's and con's and we will continue to evaluate that option once we are able to get our wits about us. One of the biggest pro's I have seen so far is that the last two people I knew who adopted children achieved pregnancies during the process and were doubly blessed. Your timing, by the way, is fine because your suggestion was meant to help.

Nate - You're a good guy. I appreciate your thoughts.

Thanks again, to all.

lunch again.

going out to the site the crew's working to lay out a trench across the historic feature, to excavate tomorrow. Have to get a date on it and so far, the crew hasn't found any datable artifacts in their nearby excavations.

check y'all later

I want to be Semillama's shadow.

The anthropology class I'm in this year is a pre-requisit for a third year course where they let the little students do field work. yay!

And in related news, I had a naughty dream about my anthropology TA. It shocked me. I'd never even thought of him that way.

Plotting for Halloween...Im going to a concert starring Wesley willis, the man who whoops a lions ass.

laughing my ass off from the newest install ment of Angry Sam The World Series edition will post ASAP

stupid.

open sugar package.
pour sugar into tea.
put package in trash.

open sugar package.
pour sugar into trash.
stop.
look around.
pray no-one saw that.


too emberessed to get more sugar.


is it 5 o clock yet?

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paralelling wisper only with... put .55 in machine, drink Diet Coke, look at clock...

put .55 in machine, drink Diet Coke, look at clock...

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a bitch.

not printing out a fake ID on the super-colour-lazer-printer here @ work for my under age sister.
I said if she wants a fake ID, she's just going to have to go pay $40 bucks for one downtown, like the rest of us had to at her age.


kids these days...*pffft*

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that was amazing, i was posting back to that annoying guy and his money making schtick...when all of a sudden, mark must have cleaned house, cause it got booted, i hit reload, it said the requested url is not listed on the "worthless" server.5 seconds later i get back in and all his shit is gone.....



cleaning house mark?

damn that was cool...totally vaporized the fuck, kinda makes me scared of a fate i could suffer

home from work and found myself back at this site...? I guess it makes me happy. :)

Got 6er of beer at diner with friend Natalie (who is currently trying to figure out if her boyfriend is gay) after I find out her roomate Dawn stood me up and went with other friend Gabby who talks alot (fitting) to dinner but wants to watch Blair Witch at 9. Now am back at apt. playing online hoping to kill boredom until then.

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my cat is saying meow.

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there are excellent fake id's on the web.

the guy with the curly hair is wearing a DARE t-shirt.

my coffee.

my coffee.


GODDAMNIT WHO THE FUCK WOULD RUIN TEA WITH SUGAR?

sorry.

my name is peter.

http://fake-id.org/

Waiting for game 4 to start so I can win this bet with Baron...triple or nothin'.
When I was 17, my Mom took to me to Times Square and we bought a fake ID for me in some arcade for $20.Still got it somewhere.

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Getting drunk with Baron online while watching the game. He's about ready to pass out...but I'm making him stay until the game is over so we can discuss the fact that I won the bet and decide when it's time for him to give me my "winnings".

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is remembering that Baron is cute. GO DANIPOO!!!!

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learning an important lesson. that is, i am not as immune to caffeine as i thought i had become. right before lunch we were cruising around downtown on foot, running errands, enjoying some sun. i got sucked into the Starbucks. i didn't see iced cap on the menu so i just said to the lady, "i'll have a mack daddy iced cappuchino". i think it ended up being a tripple.

bad move. critically bad move. it feels somewhere between a line of cocain and really bad acid trip. to the point where i'm having trouble interacting with people at work and i'm acting like a coke addict.

this is really bizarre. i love coffee but i will never do that again.

I put sugar and cream in tea, so there.

Cut out and pinned wings to Duey's sweats for the bat costume. Purple and red bat. Golbat, some damn creation of Pokemon. Luey is going as a Jungle Leopard Gecko. (got a pic off the net)

Goddam ex said "Oh, I misunderstood, I'll sign the papers!" Translation: "I don't have a prayer in hell of getting to Idaho, so I think I'll cut my losses now." Stupid (insert durogatory name).

Sorry H. Take care of yourself and the Mrs.

that red box on the main page just told me that i have a fat ass. i'm not making it up, it really did.

Really happy for the NY Yankees. They are truly awesome.

Having a wank over the playboy sites on the net

Dan.Butler@talk21

I'm in pain having a never ending shit on the toilet ... HELP!!!

unable and unwilling to help, but sympathetic. Getting dressed in a cold house, so I can clear out before the man comes to pump the foot of water out of the basement. No bath today. This whole week has been filled with dogs barking, sleeping on unfamiliar beds, spasming back muscles, traffic jams, rental car companies, answering time-consuming requests for assistance that turn out to have resulted from simple human stupidity, unexpected chores, sleep deprivation head, and dyspepsia for me. Can't wait to find out what's in store for me today.

At work on Diet Coke #3 and giggling wildly understanding Sarahs caff. issues. You should see how fast I can make that adding machine go though... really, I am now capable of keeping the feed constant instead of pausing between #'s even for a spilt second... Must sound like a train because one of my office mates just stuck her head out of her door to peek at what the hell I was doing LOL.

It's a great day! I didn't have time for brekkie so I grabbed this pre-fab $1.00 ham & egg bagle at the conv.store on the way to the train to work. The package says it was made in Iowa somewhere and I live in Pittsburgh! The whole ride into work I contemplated how this thing was produced, packaged, shipped, and etc. from IA to PA for under $1.00? I mean didn't they at least have to feed that chicken that layed the egg on this thing? That costs money I'm sure! All to the tune of "Living in Oblivion" by Anything Box that has been playing over and over in my head for about 2 days now. But hey this sure beats my usual blank stare at the ceiling and flatlining for 20min each day...

Wonder what the ride home will be like?

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and inclue in the above list of woes, Otis Nixon getting picked off on Tuesday night and my team subsequently losing the World Series in a woefully feeble manner, and it's cold.

identifying myself

DREAMS OF BEING A BASEBALL SUPERSTAR

Crazy as it sounds, I find myself batting clean up in the bottom of the ninth inning in the 2010 World Series. Goose bumps cover my body and I am pretty sure it's from the excitement more than the long line of Mark Maguire endorsed legal steroids I just inhaled in the dugout. Buzzing my brains out, I look up at the stadium inhabited solely by corporate luxury sky boxes paid for with public funds. Recorded crowd noise cheers wildly as I salute thousands of drunken CEOs doing tequila shots from the between the breasts of waitresses paid for by public funds. Next, I give the finger to television cameras in tribute to the host cities barefooted school children, tap the synthetic dirt from my free pair of two thousand-dollar cleats and get to hit my team's fortieth home run of the game to win the series. Standing at the plate I find it hard to focus. I can't help watching the sixty year old, wheezing relief pitcher take a deep off his oxygen tank. I'd feel pity for him if it weren't for the fact that he came out of retirement to earn another 20 million dollars after the league expanded to 300 teams. I remember this guy's pitching before baseball allowed sponsor's ads to cover uniforms like an auto racer's jumpsuit. He throws his first pitch, which blends with a white condom advertising patch on his cap. STRIKE ONE! The stadium's computer programmed fans ROAR! I dig in for the next pitch, exchanging e-trade stock advice with the catcher and glare toward the pitcher's mound. A league mandated nurse injects the pitcher with pure monkey gland adrenaline and advises him to throw a fastball before the effects of the drug dissipate. The pitcher nods off for a second, nods again to the nurse and heaves a 200mph hummer right past me. I wait to hear the umpire's call. He checks with his union rep and together they decide that in order to avoid litigation the pitch will be negated on the grounds of insufficient evidence. The piped-in crowd murmurs. The count is now one strike, no balls and one hung jury.

Feeling a bit overconfident, the pitcher waves off his nurse and rolls a gopher ball towards the plate. I golf if into left field past an adolescent rookie sensation outfielder. Obviously annoyed, he puts his agent on hold, pockets his cell phone and hires a ball girl to chase down the ball. She's got a hell of an arm and hits the relay man at second. Suddenly realizing I didn't smack it over the fence, I have to stop performing my newest home run dance for the cameras and hurry toward first. My team's politically correct mascot tosses his Armani jacket to the ground in disgust as I barely beat out the throw for a humiliating single. Feeling completely disrespected by the mascot I kick him square in the nuts. He drops to his knees faster than a starry-eyed baseball groupie in the back of a hotel bar.

Fuming our manager calls a time out and sprints from the dug out to yell at me. I tell him to shut up and order a double Stoli from the Indian casino located behind the bullpen. I have a vicious hangover and am in no mood to take his shit, so I inform him that I refuse to run to second unless the team renegotiates my contract. Five lawyers and an arbitrator quickly race to the field. We settle on an extra 2.5 million if I agree to sing the Budweiser song while rounding the bases. The umpire yells, "PLAY BALL", just as a healthy Hooters' girl bounces out from the casino with my drink order. Television cameras project her jiggling image on the stadium's scoreboard screen aptly named Jumbotron. The other team's shortstop develops whiplash watching her jog and has to be replaced. I give her a wink, a ten thousand dollar tip and grab my drink. Gulping down the ice-cold vodka, I begin to feel the stress of being a major league ballplayer melt away.
I pull out a cigarette as the first baseman snaps open his Zippo and lights me. I know we are supposed to be enemies, but it's hard to hate somebody you've spent two months with in rehab.


Knowing he's in trouble of being traded, the pitcher requests another injection. As the monkey gland extract shoots into his system he rears back and fires a screaming curve ball. Somehow the batter connects and creams the ball off the centerfield wall. With a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other and singing the Budweiser song, I find it hard to run. Huffing and puffing I drop from extreme exhaustion and crawl underneath baseman's sweeping tag. During my dust-off I notice my agent pointing to a lounge chair he's had installed for me at third base. What a great guy. Very inspirational. Maybe I'll have him hired as manager after this series is over.

Tension is so thick I could use another cocktail. I wave to the Hooter's girl who is now mixing Margarita's in our nervous dugout. Even the veteran pitcher seems affected by the drama. His face is twitching like crazy. His arms begin swinging madly. The nurse becomes concerned. She tries to give him a tranquilizer. Too late! He grabs her, tearing at her white uniform yelling something about King Kong monkey love. His teammates rush to the pitcher's mound. My manager calls out for me to steal third since nobody called time out. I hesitate, wondering if I have the stamina to make it. Then for some reason I remember all the little kids watching this fall classic on TV and become overcome with emotion. And I am pretty sure it isn't because I'm coming down from the steroids. I puff out my chest, cough a few times, stamp out my cigarette and take off.

As I lumber towards third, I actually think about trying to make it all the way to score the winning run. The other team has tackled their insane pitcher. They are trying to pry the ball from his stiff hand. With alcohol scented sweat pouring from every orifice in my body I ignore the comfort of the lounge chair and make my turn for home plate. I can already hear the roar of the commercial offers I'll get for being the hero. Oh, no! The third basemen has broken the pitcher's death grip and is throwing the ball to the catcher. It's going to be close.

But wait! The Hooters' girl is trotting out of the dugout with my double vodka. With no time to wave her off, I lower my shoulder as the catcher reaches for the ball just as the Hooters' girl trips and sends the drink flying through the air. The precious vodka splashes the catcher in the eye, blurring his vision. He drops the ball. With my overworked heart about to burst I fall onto home plate. The umpire yells "SAFE!"

I don't know how long I was trapped under the pile of celebrating teammates. I may have even passed out. But, I do remember thinking I could hear a real crowd cheering for me. At that moment I smiled understanding for the first time the true meaning of athletic competition and why baseball will always be America's favorite pastime.


Angry Sam would love any and all feedback, death threats included

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Http://members.tripod.com/accustat

Hi I've just finished having a wank from earlier. It was great!

Dan.Butler@talk21

Speechless.

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I.m wondering if Angry Sam ever gets to my neck of the woods,I,d love to have a bitch fest over many drinks,then maybe I,d show him something.

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drawing....
me if i was a ninja

experiencing aftershocks from yesterday's caffeine fiasco.

watching an episode of Frasier that I've seen about 50 times already

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http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/6498/index.html

A moment ago i was traped in the hell of my own thoughts. But now I am briefly escaping those thoughts as I injoy a warm cup of Maruchan Instant Noodels. After I finish eating my noodels, I will again be traped by my thoughts. To escape those thoughts once more before i go to bed I will enjoy a brief session of Masterbation


Main Entry: mas�tur�ba�tion
Pronunciation: "mas-t&r-'bA-sh&n
Function: noun
Date: 1766
: erotic stimulation especially of one's own genital organs commonly resulting in orgasm and achieved by manual or other bodily contact exclusive of sexual
intercourse, by instrumental manipulation, occasionally by sexual fantasies, or by various combinations of these agencies .

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http://www.wd40.com/

Thanking Angry Sam for making me laugh!

Alone at work. Very sleepy today, for some reason. I had a dream last night where i had to move into the basement of my parent's house, (except this was a House I have never seen before) because my brother was moving back in and needed his room back. In the dream I was sleeping down there and people with masks were peering inthe window at me. I turned on the light and swarms of cockroaches scurried into the mini-kitchen set up in the basement. 6 grey mice ran past my bed the other direction, saw my cat, and ran back in the form of kittens. I started to gather up all my stuff, vowing not to set foot in that basement ever again. Then a clap of thunder woke me up.

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watching a woman in a pig costume walk around the office.
yup

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eating a plain turkey sandwich. I keep forgeting to pick up some mustard.

Here at Ft. McCoy, everyone dresses up as an army guy for halloween, every year.