Obviously your sojourn out west has relieved you of whatever few functional critical nodes you had left. NaNoWrimo 2002 is quite possibly one of the lamest sites I've had the unfortune to visit in quite some time. It's leading me to seriously reconsider adapting my former late 90s stance on the Internet--it good for porn, and little else. God, who is this drip John Asato and why is he deserving of our most sought after props?

Allow me to quote from the diligently executed, "About This Site" page:

"Topics range from writing, ethics in journalism, Macintosh computers, life (and death) as an artist, the entertainment industrial complex (aka Hollywood, the local cinema, et. al.) and the occasional ice hockey reference.
More often than not it is a repository for research, thoughts and ideas culled from daily internet searches that don't fit into any current screenplay project.

Viewers should expect a rude awakening every Monday morning and a casual wardrobe every Friday afternoon.

Also keep an eye out for Excerpts From A Reporter's Notebook, a crass attempt at stand-up comedy hyperlink style, the occasionally helpful Visitor's Guide To Hawaii and Unanswered Questions From My Childhood."

Boy, I really love that ironical, essay-lite Blogger style, where self-importance (he feels the need to supply us with a schedule of his posting) meets--and Mr. Asato puts it best--"a crass attempt at stand-up comedy hyperlink style". Hey Buttercups, maybe we should post some unanswered questions from our childhoods on this here site? Just the questions, mind you--not the answers.

If TRUE and I still spoke, I'd seriously inquire about her mental state. But we don't, so I'll continue making impatient implications, like a fisherman who keeps loading his hook with meatier and meatier worms, in the hopes of getting a bite.

Instead of NaNoWriMo Dorkfest 2002, let's send our handful of readers to somewhere spicy, like Viceland.com. Yes, I know that TRUE has beef with one of the skinny white boys on the editorial staff (the straight? one everyone was accusing of being a racist) but fuck it, if I had a guide to junior high like this, I might not have made the mistake of joining the Boy Scouts in a desperate attempt at making friends. I made it through 10% of one meeting, before one of my comrades decided to call me a fag and fling me down a hill, breaking the growth plate in my arm which is why it looks like I have forearm muscles that aren't actually there--and only in the right arm.


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