tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34044902011-04-21T19:17:46.173-07:00BottomMaury, You Can Put That Baby In THe Garbage Can, Cuz I Ain't It's Daddy.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comBlogger5371100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1152849975142216902006-07-13T21:05:00.000-07:002006-07-13T21:06:15.153-07:00It done went and been one full year.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1121302124309523362005-07-13T17:39:00.000-07:002005-07-13T17:48:44.316-07:00It ain't so easy as it once was. I like the stuff that scratches your head and says "WHA WHA?" But then there are times when you just have to go out and buy something. There are drugs. For that. And for that. Brock Moore. I do so wish you'd kwiddit. I do so wish that it was as easy as saying yea or nay or "Mike Hagan."Either way, I'm still going to lay in the bed with my pants off and Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1115595767582516302005-05-08T16:33:00.000-07:002005-05-08T16:42:47.586-07:00I feel like the matted shit around a rodent's ass for not blogging in so long. I truly do. I'm gonna do it now, though. If only to make myself feel better. Here's A Bunch Of Shit I Wrote On A Napkin At Work. Not to be confused with the Tater's Buncha Stuff appetizer sampler. Please do not confuse them.1. I've never seen a tattoo on a man's leg that looks good.2. It is now easier than everNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1111881003334547332005-03-26T15:45:00.000-08:002005-03-26T15:50:03.336-08:00Fuck me in the ass this coffee cake my mom made is good! This shit should be sold in stores!I'm coming out of blog-tirement to say 2 things.1. Sure, I'm happy for them and all, but I'm really not buying this whole Cathy/Irving marriage. Y'know, in the comic strip? It just seems like she's settling for second best. And that's sad.2. Be on the lookout for the following Phenomenal Pop Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1107991906628362662005-02-09T15:16:00.000-08:002005-02-09T15:31:46.630-08:00I make an ass of myself when there's a dog present. I think people love dogs so much because we're free to treat them the way that we'd like to be able to treat people we love, without the embarassment. Dogs don't understand that love is a shameful thing that is to be supressed, so they don't know that when people grab them and rub their bellies and go, "Who's a little buddy?! Who's a little Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1107668946961015322005-02-05T21:43:00.000-08:002005-02-05T21:49:06.960-08:00This computer would have me know that I do not exist. I have no email. Nobody has commented on my blog in the last two weeks. Such is the way of things. I am at the WAND news station. I am here because Warren is here. Warren is here because he works here. He is working currently. It's midnightish. I'm typing on the computer and eating a Jimmy Johns sandwich and listening to a police Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1106432849741216082005-01-22T14:19:00.000-08:002005-01-22T14:27:29.740-08:00Why are the people who win prizes on the radio so unenthused? Everytime I'm listening to WDKR, home of "Oh Wow! Wednesday", and somebody wins a Rascals box set or other such shit, this is how the conversation goes... "This is Ian Grinestaff's dad, you're caller number five!!" "...'kay." "Congratulations! Who we got here?!" "... ... ...Monica." "Well, Monica, you just won The Mamas and The Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1105921768480183812005-01-16T16:16:00.000-08:002005-01-16T16:29:28.480-08:00Yesterday was a day, friends. A day. In the course of this day, The following shit came to be: 1. I woke up around 1:00 pm. 2. I showered and shaved some of my face off. 3. I called my mom from a pay phone. It was outside. It was so cold. The pay phone stuck to my head. It's still there. 4. My mom picked me up at my house. Why? 5. Because I needed a ride to the mall. Where my car Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1105315143754406212005-01-09T15:50:00.000-08:002005-01-09T15:59:03.756-08:00I am again at my parent's home. They give me food on a weekly basis. However, I'm not hungry at all this week. Myself and Rob and the lovely Nicole went to the Chinaman Restaurant earlier and I ate a shitload of China food. And now I'm ashamed to say anything to my family about how looking at all the wonderful food my mother is preparing makes me want to throw up. Then there's the dogs. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1104705463601457922005-01-02T14:15:00.000-08:002005-01-02T14:37:43.600-08:00Notable Occurances in Nick's Life in the last week or so. I was in the fucking bathroom pulling my pants up as the clock struck midnight on New Year's Evening. I bought a wicked shelf at Sam's Club Bulk Mayonnaise And Shelves. A beautiful girl hugged my arm as we watched an equally beautiful movie. The movie was not equally beautiful. The movie was bad. But buedge-awesome. I met my former Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1104204592733628422004-12-27T19:20:00.000-08:002004-12-27T19:29:52.733-08:00I'm at Rob and Nicole's house and we've had a bunch of wine cuz we're high class and shit. I'm looped as balls and Warren and Rob just went across the road to get some beer. So now it's just me and Nicole. Uh huh. Me and Warren got some stuffed animals in our house and we always make 'em do it. Then classy gals like Danielle come over and make them "just be friends." Why can't she just let Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1103824290221445282004-12-23T09:30:00.000-08:002004-12-24T15:05:37.530-08:00In the spirit of Chrimmus and the spirit of "I'm scared that I could potentially lose my job," I have decided to make some changes to some rather unkind words in the following entry. The changes are in boldface and capital letters. I have not been on or near a computer since well before I moved. I am now moved. In the time since Warren and I began occupying the little white house marked numberNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1102737287387894092004-12-10T19:51:00.000-08:002004-12-10T19:54:47.386-08:00Warren an' me godda haus. We godda phat haus. Iz little. Like my wang. I flash forward now to a blog you may well see from me on July 14, 2005: July 14, 2005 Warren and Aimee were at it last night. Again. Always. I swear to God, they're like bunnies. Bunnies that love to do it. What the hell was I thinking? I may as well have moved in with some kind of adult film star. But it's Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1102294928076705672004-12-05T16:53:00.000-08:002004-12-05T17:02:08.076-08:00I was thinking about the song "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" the other day and I was rather disturbed. Consider... -"You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout." What are these if not threats? The song threatens children. Tells them that if they give in to their basic human emotion of crying, something will happen. Something bad. But what? -"I'm telling you why - Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1101945827385781572004-12-01T15:57:00.000-08:002004-12-01T16:03:47.386-08:00Two news items before I go home and go to bed (at 6 pm)- Walking through the icy and wicked dangerous hospital parking lot on my way into work this morning, I said to myself, "Nick, you must be careful. This entire parking lot is covered in a thin sheet of ice. You could potentially fall and break your ass." Not five seconds after thinking this, my feet went out from under me and I fell and Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1101773736853903922004-11-29T15:59:00.000-08:002004-11-29T16:15:36.853-08:001. This is the sandwich that I've been coming over to my parent's house in the days after Thanksgiving to create and devour. It is fantastic. I owe partial credit to the episode of Friends in which Ross has rage. Or something like that. Anyway, here's the recipe: Take two pieces of wheat bread. Toast 'em bitches. Take leftover Thanksgiving stuffing and noodles out of Tupperware containers.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1101527758725208272004-11-26T19:47:00.000-08:002004-11-26T19:55:58.726-08:00The day after Thanksgiving at the mall is traditionally the national day of being an asshole to retail employees. But today wasn't bad. Thank god for the economic depression. I actually got out of there unscathed and with a smidge of love for my fellow humans still intact. And, whoo shiiiiiit, do you have any idea how many gorgeous woman-persons there were at the mall today? Wow. It was a Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1101151605982707392004-11-22T11:18:00.000-08:002004-11-22T11:26:45.983-08:00This is some shit that I actually overheard while perusing the new releases at Family Video the other night- MIDDLE AGED BLUE COLlAR MAN 1- Hey, man. Haven't seen you in a while! MIDDLE AGED BLUE COLLAR MAN 2- Yeah, man. Been awhile. How you been? MABCM1- Been good, been good. You? MABCM2- Been alright. You still out there? MABCM1- Out where? MABCM2- CAT. MABCM1- No, no. I took a job with Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1100887868287230342004-11-19T09:43:00.000-08:002004-11-19T10:11:08.286-08:00I've not committed blogocide in quite some time, have I? The time has come. The play has been going pretty well. Our opening night audience was just balls-out fantastic. These people had to have snorted like twelve lines of coke before they came in, so full of life were they. Great audience. Our audience last night was... decent. Very quiet. (Read: "old.") Not a lot of belly laughs. A few Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1099874097197755912004-11-07T16:28:00.000-08:002004-11-07T16:34:57.196-08:00DO YOU WANT TO SEE NICK... -KISS A GIRL?? -SAY TRI-SYLLABIC WORDS SUCH AS VILLIFIED AND PILLORIED?? -GET SOCKED IN THE JAW?? -GET SHOT AND THEN DIE?? AS A RESULT OF THE SHOT?? -WEARING PRETTY TIGHT PANTS??? IF YOU ANSWERED YES TO ANY, OR NONE, OF THE ABOVE... THEN YOU NEED TO COME SEE NICK'S PLAY! warren's in it, too. but he pretty much gets killed off in the first four minutes. COME SEE Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1099515961626602112004-11-03T13:52:00.000-08:002004-11-03T13:06:01.626-08:00I'm getting chills here, people. Backstory: So yesterday I casually mention to Joe Straka, who is my friend, and who puts a roof over my head, and is always eager to hear Phenomenal Pop Combo news items, that the next time I go to a thrift store I plan to look for tape recorders. I said that I want three. Cheap ones. Ones that are not difficult to operate. I will use them to lay the Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1099347313147220412004-11-01T13:58:00.000-08:002004-11-01T14:15:13.146-08:00I have decided to break it off with Shit. This has been coming for quite some time. Shit knows he's been on thin ice, so I hardly doubt he was surprised. But Shit and I go way back. All my life, Shit's been there. But no more. Soon he will be gone altogether. I promise this. Now, you see, I'm not talking about the boo hoo- my life is so very hard- wah wah me Shit. No no. I've always Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1098906667113746362004-10-27T13:17:00.000-07:002004-10-27T12:51:07.113-07:00The following is a pre-emptive discography of the Phenomenal Pop Combo, complete with synopses. Not synapses. ********************************************************************************* The Phenomenal Pop Combo - 2005 The record that starts it all. The world is introduced to Warren, Rob, Ray and Nick. And they go fucking bonkers. The world, that is. Not that the Combo doesn't. Holy Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1098835159776617642004-10-26T16:50:00.000-07:002004-10-26T16:59:19.776-07:001. I randomly opened a drawer yesterday and found inside a Wal-Mart receipt dated 10-13-01 for the following items: -BS Muffin 3.97 -Nylon Turner 2.97 -Carnvl Straw .97 -A W Cream .87 -Hot Cocoa 1.00 -Ital Pasta 3.57 And now the questions... Why do I still have this three year old receipt? How has this ridiculous piece of paper managed to survive my moving literally five times in the last Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1098739019772280242004-10-25T14:08:00.000-07:002004-10-25T14:17:36.870-07:00I went to my parent's house yesterday after work. I went there to eat food. The food nourishes my body. I can't live without it. I've been trying to quit food altogether, but it's hard. It's a long hard road out of addiction. I had a piece of mail there. From Family Video. Family Video is not a family whose last name is Video that I am friencs with, but rather a video store chain with a friendlyNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1098401535821327862004-10-21T16:27:00.000-07:002004-10-21T16:32:15.820-07:00Stocking cap, stalking crap. Make-out session, wigged-out Hessian. Flaming Lips, gaming tips. Big ol' kitty, babbling ol' biddy. Don't laugh at me, want half a tea? Son of a whore, hell of a bore. Yellow t-shirt, bellow me squirt. Lonely hearts only, homely tarts owe me. Ha ha on that shit, Hammer was 2 legit. Try not to argue, try some Norse fondue. Enough with the oral, it's time for some Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1098229634582211052004-10-19T16:35:00.000-07:002004-10-19T16:47:14.583-07:00Want to know what's weak? My immune system. I have a cold from hell. Or the opposite of hell. Which I guess would be heaven. So I should say I have a cold from heaven. Because heaven is so cold, man, you'll never be able to survive. No matter how many Snoopy sweaters you have on your torso or electric blankets on your bed. I've consumed the following remedies in the past twenty-four Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1098116536008807102004-10-18T08:58:00.000-07:002004-10-18T14:28:16.640-07:00Wee Disclaimer: I wholeheartedly apologize to anyone who has been in my company since I got back from Chicago for talking your ears off about the damn Morrissey concert that you were not at and probably do not give three pisses about. If you're fed up, do not read on. You will surely come after me with a crossbow. You will hold it to my head and say, "Nick? Quit it, okay? Just quit it." So Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1097870389599449882004-10-15T13:57:00.000-07:002004-10-15T12:59:49.600-07:00I am in Chicago y'all. And I added some of you fine people to my links. I had to go to Chicago to accomplish this. Are you happy now? Are you? I get to watch Morrissey croon his blackened little English heart out tonight. He's gonna cradle the mic and just go balls to the wall. I can feel it in my bones. If we are lucky, he will take his shirt off. I'll let you know about that after the Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1097711455300989042004-10-13T16:47:00.000-07:002004-10-13T16:52:27.510-07:00Look to the right. You will notice that my links have changed. Warren and Nicole's remain because I love them. All the other stuff is just AWESOME "websites" I thought you might enjoy. I will be changing them every week or so. Does anyone else remember the schoolyard phrase "booking"? Running really fast? Anybody? Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1097693169244941962004-10-13T11:27:00.000-07:002004-10-13T11:51:04.056-07:00Sometimes my cat will bring dead or almost dead things down to my room in order to show me how effin' rad she is. Mice. Birds. People. Cutlasses. I had a dream last night that she brought down a mouse. And a raccoon was with her. Like, they were hanging out together. There's lots of raccoons around this house. Sometimes they let themselves in and use the phone. So, I (in the dream) take the Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1097626085278150442004-10-12T16:57:00.000-07:002004-10-12T17:08:05.276-07:00I had some money yesterday so I went to the Circuit City appliance superstore and purchased not appliances but record albums. And at this point, some twenty seven hours later, I feel I can safely say that the two cd's I had tucked under my sweater as I slipped out casually are perhaps the greatest one-two punch of my record buying career. Tom Waits - Real Gone Oh Emm Gee, eff me in the ay Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1097598640382507932004-10-12T09:09:00.000-07:002004-10-12T09:30:40.383-07:00Ahhh, shiiiiiiiit! My sleeping habits have gone from comically eccentric to 'you should talk to a professional. Yesterday (literally yesterday) I slept from five am to four thirty pee. I had a headache all day. Five beers did nothing for it. That usually does the trick. They should have some kind of pill so I wouldn't have to drink all this beer just to get get my head to feel better. And,Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1097193222476888122004-10-07T16:46:00.000-07:002004-10-07T16:53:42.476-07:00The music I want to make should sound like the following: A 1940's prize fighter knocking out his worthiest opponent in slow motion. The crashing of hand cymbals shall represent each crushing blow. A terrible automobile accident which occurs after a man has asked his best girl to marry him and she has said no. The first time your new puppy crawls under the covers with you and curls beside Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1096940269877795352004-10-04T18:16:00.000-07:002004-10-04T18:37:49.876-07:00My good friend Anna asked me to do her important medical homework for her. I did it. This is it. The Kidney Nick Stolle The kidney is the male sex organ. You give it beer and apple pie with ice cream and it goes goes goes, man! Whiz bang, look at it! But if the kidney organ gets all dried out and malfunctional, what you do is you go to the supermarket and buy a can of what they call, "kidney Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1096852604189214882004-10-03T18:08:00.000-07:002004-10-03T18:16:44.190-07:00So I tried with the damn picture and the damn picture is not co-operative and damn it if I'm going to spend all my lovely lovely days fiddling with the damn thing, so I here and now will drop the entire subject altogether and never again lose a wink of sleep over it. Speaking of sleep, kid you not, I spent like 20 of the last 27 hours in bed. Cannot be healthy. Cannot. I am at my parents. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1096479749973136112004-09-29T10:38:00.000-07:002004-09-29T10:42:29.973-07:00 Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1096478173041074212004-09-29T09:43:00.000-07:002004-09-29T10:16:13.040-07:00I have just shaved the pounds and pounds of hair off my face. I left a pound or so in strategic places. I am gorgeous now. I was gorgeous before, of course, but I was beard gorgeous. Now I'm sideburn gorgeous. Before, if you saw me on the street or in the pub, you would come up to me and ask, "Do you play acoustic guitar in a breezy California rock and roll group?" Now you will come up to me and Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1096397218219435382004-09-28T11:31:00.000-07:002004-09-28T11:46:58.220-07:00A CRITICAL LOOK AT TWO OF THE COMICS IN THIS MORNING'S PAPER Garfield- In this morning's panel, Garfield the cat is sneaking up on a bird. We are to assume he will eat the bird when it is captured. The bird quickly turns around and hands Garfield the cat a coupon for a "free cheeseburger." Garfield is thus sated, but not for long. After the bird has left the scene, Garfield the cat realizes Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095530229876912462004-09-18T10:55:00.000-07:002004-09-18T10:58:35.470-07:00Often I feel like I have to go defecate. I go into the bathroom, and I only make urine. Then, five minutes later, I have to defecate again. Why does Beautiful Baby Jesus play these tricks on me? Why can't I just shit when I wanna shit? Why am I constantly explaining the fact that the toilet flushed twice in less than five minutes? Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095445075342356432004-09-17T11:13:00.000-07:002004-09-17T11:17:55.343-07:00How fucking hard is it to put a simple picture of Todd Griffin fellating Warren Brinegar at Dairy Queen with me looking into the camera as though to say, "Oh yes. This is happening." onto my blog? How hard is that? Why can't I do it? I want to cry. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095378008549174572004-09-16T16:33:00.000-07:002004-09-16T16:40:08.550-07:00This is what makes me lose sleep. What the hell do we do if this happens? Imagine all the recorded music of the past fifty years is lost. All of it. Gone. I don't know how this would happen, but it would more than likely involve a lack of hard copies due to everyone putting shit on their computers. Regardless of how it happens, just imagine it does... All of it is gone. No Beatles, no Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095322283423135622004-09-16T01:09:00.000-07:002004-09-16T01:11:23.423-07:00I take back what I said about The Fresh Prince of Bel Air blowing cock. It doesn't really blow cock. I cannot stop watching it. And it even has some moments that made me laugh out loud. Please do not hate me for what I've just said. I know how lame this is. It was hard for me to do, but I couldn't have the 'blows cock' line on my conscience all night. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095277414983651202004-09-15T13:35:00.000-07:002004-09-15T12:43:34.983-07:00High heels Car wheels All the losers are groovin'. Tell me what song it's from and I'll give you a pony. Last night was our first play practice. We did not practice anything, though. We were told of our roles, and we openly mocked those who did not get cast. We gave them handfuls of lose change and told them to be dears and run and get sodas for us. Then when they were gone we talked about Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095207420693382422004-09-14T17:12:00.000-07:002004-09-14T17:17:00.693-07:00I was walking past a cafe when I saw the daughter of the woman who owns the cafe I work at. 'What the hell are you doing working here?' I asked her, as she windexed the front door of the cafe which was made of glass and afforded me a view of all the cafe things inside as though I needed more proof that it was a cafe. 'My mom said I needed to either work for her or go find a job somewhere else. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095098247119077372004-09-13T10:47:00.000-07:002004-09-13T10:57:27.120-07:00A LIST OF ARTISTIC/CAREER ENDEAVORS BUT THEN AREN'T THEY THE SAME THING HA HA HA HA HA ART IS COMMERCE HA HA HA THE NEW ART IS GETTING RICH LOL1 -Own a store that sells all of the following: Clothing, music, movies, visual art, literature, tattoos, drugs. Maybe not drugs. And is also a cafe. And a venue for live music. -Make a line of clothing. -Continue to paint and draw every single day ofNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1095067295423718452004-09-13T01:53:00.000-07:002004-09-13T02:21:35.423-07:00I fell down the stairs last night. You see, the lightbulb has burnt out. I need light in order to successfully navigate the stairs. And when the lightbulb is not functional, I fall down them. This has happened twice now. And these are no cushy, soft as a cloud stairs like you see on TV, oh no. These are harsh, unforgiving, wood and nail and nothing more stairs. These are Steinbeck stairs.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1094927685256355622004-09-11T11:20:00.000-07:002004-09-11T11:34:45.256-07:00I enjoy looking at the intronet personal ads for people here in Decatur. Not because I want a smart n' sassy BBW who's tired of all the games and just wants someone to cuddle up with and watch movies, but because they're fuckin' funny. I have a halfway decent memory of faces, and when I combine that with the fact that I work somewhere that a good percentage of people in this town visit... And Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1094926163212179462004-09-11T10:59:00.000-07:002004-09-11T11:09:23.213-07:00Reason number 2,874 that I hate the current trend for the bastardization of coffee drinks in America: This woman came into the shop with her mother the other day. The mother was probably 75ish. Pretty old. But pretty cognizant. The daughter says to her aged parent, "Mom, would you like a latte?" The old gal says, "No, I had one at Dairy Queen the other day, and I did not like it. No I did Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1094683826260904082004-09-08T15:44:00.000-07:002004-09-08T15:50:26.260-07:00I had wicked-rad dreams last night. I don't remember any details. Only that they were wicked-rad. Paul is the cute Beatle. John is the pissed off Beatle. George is the quiet Beatle. Ringo is the other Beatle. Warren is the news reporter Phenomenal Pop Artist. Todd is the crass Phenomenal Pop Artist. Nick is the big haired Phenomenal Pop Artist. Rob is the artsy Phenomenal Pop Artist. INickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093728735822690212004-08-28T14:17:00.000-07:002004-08-28T14:32:15.823-07:001. I woke up this morning and had my coffee and cigarette with a ten year old and a thirteen year old. 2. Which is more pathetic; that I just ate a cottage cheese on wheat bread sandwich, or that it was not my only option? 3. All bad cats die. Every fucking greenhorn hits it jauntily. Kill Lennon. Most negros offer parties. Quit rubbing shit together. Using vinegar we'll xerox Yemen's Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093619074241351632004-08-27T07:55:00.000-07:002004-08-27T08:04:34.243-07:00I got off of work last night and went to my brother's house. I drank his beer but declined his ice cream. I came home, but a can of V8 in the fridge for this morning, and collapsed into the bed. I slept the night thru. I woke up and peed and made coffee. I drank it. I fed cats. I read a play. I put a record on the hi-fi. I sit before you now. Todd Griffin is coming home this weekend. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093549252566259662004-08-26T12:32:00.000-07:002004-08-26T12:40:52.566-07:00I just a had an idea. It came from my head and my heart and me bollocks. There are a few good bands in Decatur. Mine is obviously the best. Duh. But the others have their merits and why shouldn't Nick Stolle start a record label called Decatur Records and release their albums as well as The Fucking Phenomenal Pop Combo's records? I'd be rich as shit and I could do all the artwork because I Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093548018739528342004-08-26T12:17:00.000-07:002004-08-26T12:20:18.740-07:00I was just reading Nicole's sister Rachel's blog, and I got to thinking, how cool would it be to have a younger sister? I wish I had one. I would routinely sock her boyfriends in the goddam nose. If some asshole wanted her to marry him, he would have to ask my parents and me, seperately. And I would tell him that I was marryin' sisters when he was still pissin' his diapers all over his mommy.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093547518733587252004-08-26T11:54:00.000-07:002004-08-26T12:11:58.733-07:00Yester-day was a swell day. Day 'fore yester-day was alright. Nuthin' to holler about. Day 'fore that was a swell day. This is what happened yester. I woke up about 2 pm. It was rock. There was still coffee made. How effing rock is that? I drank it and I talked to Joe and we listened to Willie Nelson on the phonograph. Know why? No, why? I'll tell you why. We had a date to go see Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093156259491152592004-08-21T23:29:00.000-07:002004-08-21T23:30:59.490-07:00I've been using the blogger "next blog" button a lot lately. Because that's what my life has come to. And, I really really hate using this term, because it's so last season, but this blog is fucked up on so many levels. There's truly no other way to describe it. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093115534689364892004-08-21T12:03:00.000-07:002004-08-21T12:12:14.690-07:00Buncha shit I'm definitely not going to do in the next half-hour: Plant a garden Remember an old friend Make popcorn Make methamphetamines Make way Accept a Daytime Emmy Pick up a car Punch a man into the sun Read Doestyevski Carve a hobby horse Frame an autographed photo of Mark Bolan of T-Rex Help the elderly Give fifty cents, the price of a cup of coffee, to poor kids Find a coffee shop whereNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1093036743222971312004-08-20T14:00:00.000-07:002004-08-20T14:19:03.223-07:00It's been a while, man. Life's so rad. I sleep from about seven am to 2 pm these days. I wish I didn't, but I do. It makes my head hurt. I think I'm a workaholic. I feel ill at ease and bored if I'm not working. And on days I have nothing to do, I wish I was working. It surely has something to do with all the cute ladies there at the mall. I feel like a pathetic old man, seeing all of Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1092614204913028012004-08-15T16:50:00.000-07:002004-08-15T16:56:44.913-07:00Due to a mysterious eye ailment, I wore sunglasses at work all day today. I looked cool as hell. Like Lou Reed. JUST like Lou Reed. You see, I woke up yesterday with a slight eye irritation. Just a wee stinging. I get this a lot. It is not uncommon. But last night, as I slept, I kept waking up every hour or so with immense pain from my left eye. Kind of a throbbing sting. And a headacheNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1092428618028685782004-08-13T13:19:00.000-07:002004-08-13T13:23:38.026-07:00In the poem about the ass, I did not mean for it to sound as though I was molesting an underage ass and being arrested for it. I would never dream of that. The ass in question was easily 25-30 years old. I would simply be arrested for.... Aw shit. I guess it was just a bad choice of words. I feel all shaky and weird. I recommend the movie Napoleon Dynamite very heavily. It was grand. I Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1092272738914562272004-08-11T18:02:00.000-07:002004-08-11T18:05:38.916-07:00SIXTEEN LINES ABOUT AN ASS I SAW IN THE PARKING LOT My god will you just look at that That thing is just about ready to blow It's all poured in that denim I cannot take my eyes from it. It is flat like a cookie Yet round like a ball and I want to walk behind All day long. Those are the nicest Blue Levis I have ever seen And I don't mean to be dirty or sarcastic or anything But... Delicious. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1092254608901528592004-08-11T13:02:00.000-07:002004-08-11T13:03:28.903-07:00I love baseball and I love rock and roll music. I don’t think the two should ever meet, though. John Fogarty ruined it for everybody. But what if someone actually made a great song about baseball? No. It’s an impossibility. I dare you to do it. One thousand dollars to any man or beast who can make a song about baseball be anything other than terrible. Terrible and gay. I had a great Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1091684732734807552004-08-04T22:44:00.000-07:002004-08-04T22:45:32.733-07:00I have to go so bad. My legs are crossed and I'm concentrating on not going, that's how bad I have to go. So why am I not going? I dunno. I am. Went. "Aw, how do you call your lover boy?" Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1091609103097286202004-08-04T01:36:00.000-07:002004-08-04T01:45:03.096-07:00It's too hot to sleep. It's too hot to do anything. Except this. Sweet sweet air conditioned computer room. As I was sitting in the living room about an hour ago watching Roseanne on Nick At Nite television, I heard a ruckus. Can I describe the ruckus? Yes I can. The ruckus sounded like a baby raccoon in the kitchen eating cat food and making little baby raccoon noises. And, upon Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1091559251297462102004-08-03T11:39:00.000-07:002004-08-03T11:54:11.296-07:00My bruther gets married today. I don't get married today. I am a loner, a rebel. A throwback to a different time. I'm unlikely to take a wife. I have no qualms about the bach' for life (not Bach for life, bach' for life) plan. I just need to do like Tom Waits says in 'Anywhere I lay My Head' - "learn to be alone." But wait... Tom Waits is married to Kathleen Brennan. And he was when he Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1091476868381708392004-08-02T12:49:00.000-07:002004-08-02T13:01:08.383-07:00I just awoke from an eleven hour slumber. I feel dirty. It feels as though I slept a good nineteen hours. I had a dream involving the Sly Stone song "Wanna Take You Higher" and now I can't get it out of my head. Some other things I dreamt about in my eleven hours: -The entire cast of Saved By The Bell -Absolutely not being able to memorize my lines for a play. We actors have this dream a Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1091211999678126902004-07-30T11:25:00.000-07:002004-07-30T11:26:39.676-07:00Li'l red wagon, li'l red bike.  Ain't no monkey but I know what I like. And I like balls. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1091171070775434192004-07-29T23:57:00.000-07:002004-07-30T00:04:30.776-07:00Great pig shit, people.  I'm tired.  I can't stop yawning, yet I can't start sleeping. Today was the first performance of my readers' theatre thingy.  It went well.  I want to hit a couple of my castmates.  But not Aaron.  He's super and I thank the God everyday that he joined the class.  How crappy would this have been without him?  Like... an eight.  Out of ten. Tomorrow is the second (and Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090962947515684702004-07-27T14:08:00.000-07:002004-07-28T09:59:43.653-07:00NICK STOLLE'S THOUGHTS ON CHUCK KLOSTERMAN Chuck, we get it. I read Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Pebbles. I enjoyed it. Especially the line about My So Called Life that goes (I'm paraphrasing): "Sensitive, smart Brian Krakow never got any play from Angela, even though the object of her desire, Jordan Catalano, COULDN'T FUCKING READ." It was great. Great book. But, Chuck? Stop it. Everytime I Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090945568970833152004-07-27T09:13:00.000-07:002004-07-27T09:26:08.970-07:00Yesterday I did a shameful thing and then wrote about it. My car has been out of gas for the last couple days.  I have no dollar bills with which to put gas into it.  There's Ducky the cat! Not Ducky the car.  I should have named my car Ducky the car. I need to be featured on a black and white poster.  I will have messy hair, I will be wearing a suit and tie.  I will have a cigarette Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090882806476745482004-07-26T15:56:00.000-07:002004-07-26T16:00:06.476-07:00Psst...  Y'wanna know a secret?  Bend in.  Lean close to Nick now.  I'm at class.  I rode with Sam, because my car's out of gas.  It's for the best that I did not drive.  Know why?  Cause I'm drunk.  I am drunk at class.  I feel silly and loopy and sneaky.  I love Sam and a couple of my classmates, but the rest are a bit much to take, so it felt like a good idea to get drunk before class.  A Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090859013462878942004-07-26T08:58:00.000-07:002004-07-26T09:26:29.253-07:00This is a silly blog survey made by Nick.  Copy and paste it and do it your goddam self.  Everybody.  Do it or I'll have your ass for dinner. HAVE YOU EVER HAD ASS FOR DINNER?  No, I've never done that. WHAT'S IN YOUR CUP RIGHT NOW?  (IF YOU HAVE NO CUP, GO GET A FUCKING CUP.)  My cup has coffee in it.  My cup always has coffee in it.  I've turned into my grandma. HAVE YOU EVER TURNED INTO Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090802068276423692004-07-25T17:29:00.000-07:002004-07-25T17:34:28.276-07:00Ducky the cat ate some of my spaghetti.  I told her she was being a bitch.  I felt bad so I let her lick the bowl.  Skydancer Premium Full Flavor cigarettes.  I felt bad so I let her lick the bowl.  High heels, car wheels.  I felt bad so I let her lick the bowl.  If I'm drinking a can of soda, it has to be cool to room temperature.  If I'm drinking a cup of soda, it has to be colder than is even Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090658112328391982004-07-24T01:32:00.000-07:002004-07-24T01:35:12.330-07:00"Alright, well, I guess I'm gonna go home.  Call it a night.  Game over."                   Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090435309174159242004-07-21T11:37:00.000-07:002004-07-21T11:41:49.176-07:00I had this dream last night: I was a successful young junior high teacher.  I lived with my parents.  So did my brother.  It was winter.  I was late for work.  My brother was younger than me, and he had to go to high school.  I had to give him a ride.  I was late because he wouldn't get out of bed. I put on a white dress shirt and a poofy winter vest and hit my brother in the head to wake him.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090360239235657252004-07-20T14:46:00.000-07:002004-07-20T14:50:39.236-07:00The band is going to happen.  Warren is in.  Rob is in.  So that's three sexy thin young men.  I do think it's a good idea that we have a sexy lesbian bassist, though.  Yes, I must insist on that.    I bought the new (new!) John Frusciante album last night.  It's called 'The Will To Death' and it's fab.  This man is the greatest.  He just released an album in February.  And now another in July.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090283490227747722004-07-19T17:20:00.000-07:002004-07-19T17:31:30.226-07:00WANTED:  A guitarist, drummer, and bassist to form the shittiest (AND THEREFORE BEST..................) rock and roll band of all time.    I play guitar.  Really shitty.  So, so shitty.  But loudly!   Qualified applicants must not be too good at their instrument.  In fact, it is preferred that you have absolutely no training, not be able to read music, or know what keys are.  The only real Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1090252144294131012004-07-19T08:42:00.000-07:002004-07-19T08:49:04.293-07:00I had a dream this morning that the President hung himself in the Oval Office.  I found out about it when I arrived to work to find two accountants doing books in the Daily Grind.  There was a man and a woman.  They were old.  The Daily Grind looked as though it had gone out of business.  I said to the man:   "What is going on here?  Are we going out of business?  Is this because I forgot to put Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089910654600343272004-07-15T09:51:00.000-07:002004-07-15T10:00:15.136-07:00I was just out on the porch. I listened to compact discs and read the newspaper. I did the Jumble. I solved that shit. I lsveod atht ihts. I did the crossword. That shit? Solved. And while I was out there I saw the biggest fly ever. It was easily the size of a stack of six quarters. And not those new state quarters. No. I mean, like, bicentennial quarters. The thick bastards. The Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089905332704465152004-07-15T08:19:00.000-07:002004-07-15T08:28:52.703-07:00I needed money yesterday, so I took some of my cd's to GB's, the crappiest little record store in town. I still love GB's, though. I love them because the owners are old potheads who don't know a thing about newer music. I dig that. I just wish... they knew a little more about new music. Anyway, the fella says to me, "NO MONEY." I say fuck and knock over a gumball machine and the Soul R-Z Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089818644984466772004-07-14T08:22:00.000-07:002004-07-14T08:24:04.983-07:00I just went to the bathroom to take a feces. There was a man in the backyard. I didn't know him. He certainly didn't live here. But I assume he had some sort of business here. He had a white beard. The view from our bathroom is beautiful, white bearded stranger and all. Decatur can be beautiful. It really can. If you doubt me, just come take a feces in our bathroom.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089789726125905242004-07-14T00:09:00.000-07:002004-07-14T00:22:06.126-07:00THE STATE OF COFFEE TODAY I work at a coffee shop. You know this. I love coffee. I really do. It's a beautiful little drug, and I am addicted. Now, the above is fact. I do not have the need or desire for a novelty bumper sticker or t-shirt to let you all know that I love coffee. I don't get "wired." I don't need a "caffeine fix." I am not a fucking "javaholic." I hate all that cutesyNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089704880148450332004-07-13T00:39:00.000-07:002004-07-13T00:48:00.146-07:00you're not supposed to do that you're not supposed to glue that i will never challenge you in the head i will never talent you in the bed why can't you come over? why can't you move slower? there's a buccaneer if ever there was there's a fucking queer who's riding a bus get on board, we ride 'til dawn get outside, go sleep on the lawn i wear a hat, it keeps my head warm i have a cat, so i don't Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089704570984895652004-07-13T00:32:00.000-07:002004-07-13T00:42:50.983-07:00Rob and Nicole came over tonight and we sat on the patio and drank Miller High Life (the champagne of beers) left over from the 4th of July party where Dan White drank seventeen bottles of Guiness. We're serious. He did it. He did it. Sports. So we sat there and had great talks and laffs and were eaten by mosquitos. Rob was eaten completely. He is gone now. He is dead, inside of a Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089499025233773562004-07-10T15:12:00.000-07:002004-07-10T15:37:05.233-07:00The following is an essay question on my Speech 230 midterm. Rather, It is my answer to the question. Sam teaches the class, and she has demanded I post my answer on here. It's because I'm so sex, that's why. Everything I touch turns to gold and this is no exception. The question itself called for an example of a piece of literature that would not lend itself well to readers' theatre. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089413362599122342004-07-09T15:48:00.000-07:002004-07-09T15:49:22.600-07:00Awwww, I can't tell ya how proud I am I'm writin' down things that I don't understand Yeah. (Guitar guitar guitar guitar) Yeah (Guitar guitar guitar guitar) YeahNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089279446077830252004-07-08T02:30:00.000-07:002004-07-08T02:37:26.076-07:00It's chillier'n balls! I like that. I thought it was supposed to be like 400 degrees today. It is but 4:28 am, though. It could feasibly get that hot. My dad calls the new dog sonofabitch. He loves dogs, though. He just expresses it by cursing at them and threatening to dropkick them if they don't quit shitting in the living room. He did the same with me and my brother, and we turned out Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089227506471211202004-07-07T12:00:00.000-07:002004-07-07T12:11:46.470-07:00My parents bought a new dog. It is a beautiful little mutt who does not yet have a name. I suggested Huckleberry, Cloyd, Ringo, and a few others. My brother suggested Bonkey. I like the name Bonkey and wish I would have come up with it. The dog pissed on the carpet once and shit on it twice in the span of fifteen minutes. I have been making t-shirts for myself and others quite a bit lately.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089155513813706692004-07-06T16:08:00.000-07:002004-07-06T16:11:53.813-07:00Iron and Wine was on Last Call with Carson Daily last night. Huh? It was beautiful, he played 'Naked As We Came', (get your mind out of the gutter). But I think he shaved a couple verses off, because the performance was only about a minute and a half. But, honestly... The Carson Daily program is about the last television show I would expect to see that beautiful bearded man on. Carson Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1089154816808556952004-07-06T15:59:00.000-07:002004-07-06T16:00:16.806-07:00Like Bob Dylan, Sean Penn, David Lynch, and so many nine-fingered jazz guitarists and riverboat gamblers before him, Nick wears a mustache.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1088672910482346462004-07-01T02:01:00.000-07:002004-07-01T02:08:30.483-07:00Today is July 1st? How is that possible? I was looking at Iron and Wine's website yesterday, literally yesterday, and I saw that he was going to be playing in Chicago on July 2nd. Thought I, "I'm gonna go to that shit! I'm gonna go and he will sing me songs and make my heart light. And since it's not until July 2nd, I have lots of time to make preparations. Years, practically." But July Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1088637627821714722004-06-30T16:19:00.000-07:002004-06-30T16:20:27.823-07:00You cannot build a house with keyboards or chalkboards or surfboards or fingerboards. Who here remembers fingerboards? Take me serious!Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1088548878441589462004-06-29T15:38:00.000-07:002004-06-29T15:41:18.440-07:00Whenever Warren Brinegar tells you to call him, do not do it. Because someone at his house will be on the internet, and you will get a busy signal and then a pleasant female voice will say, "Let repeat dialing call you back!" But it won't call you back. Ever. I still love Warren, but... no. I hate him now. No, he's great. I'll buy him a coke. "What is the matter? Are you chicken? Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1088463883283657012004-06-28T15:59:00.000-07:002004-06-28T16:04:43.283-07:00Harmonicas blaring in my ear annoy me. Most brass instruments annoy me. A harmonica could be brass. I vomited a whole bunch of red wine at a bachelor party the other night and it was everywhere. And it was red. And I was told it smelled of lunch meat, but I don't eat that. I like to eat those Hershey's S'Mores candy bars. Those are the true body of Christ. They should be served at mass. Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1087825636353383052004-06-21T06:42:00.000-07:002004-06-21T06:52:32.866-07:00Oh Jesus. I just discovered that, thanks to Blogger's new format, I can read ALL of my posts from the past 2 1/2 years. I laughed so hard I pissed my pants, then Joe smelled it and I told him one of the cats did it. But it wasn't like, "I am SO FUCKING FUNNY!!" laughing, it was just nostalgic, good feeling laughing. But then I was slightly depressed. What the hell happened to me? I used Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1087823470552159212004-06-21T06:10:00.000-07:002004-06-21T06:11:10.553-07:00Admitting that you watch and enjoy lots of television is the new saying you don't even own a television.Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1087804884644192912004-06-21T00:36:00.000-07:002004-06-21T01:01:24.646-07:00This entry was originally going to be a crude re-writing of Elton John's Your Song. My words were about STDs. It didn't work out right away so I gave up. But the chorus started out "And I will tell everybody/ You are diseased." But no, this entry is about this: IF I WERE ON INSIDE THE ACTOR'S STUDIO, I WOULD ANSWER BEARDED HOST JAMES LIPTON'S FINAL INTERVIEW QUESTIONS LIKE THIS: (Forgive meNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1087339483277161002004-06-15T15:37:00.000-07:002004-06-15T15:44:43.276-07:00IN WHICH NICK TELLS OF A MUNDANE HAPPENING AND THEN REVEALS A PIECE OF PERSONAL INFORMATION. There was a great big thunderstorm this morning. It was beautiful. I have never had a nocturnal emission. I made what was perhaps the perfect pot of coffee this morning. It was a beautiful thing. I pee in a hole behind the washing machine. I had a grilled cheese sandwich, six pickle slices, and a Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1087242390666268252004-06-14T12:41:00.000-07:002004-06-14T12:47:19.256-07:00Put very shortly, the bad thing that happened the other day was this: My dog died. she was very old and I think she had a stroke. I tried my very best to save her, but once I got her to the vet, there was nothing he could do. She died right before the needle that would have killed her anyway went into her. We did not have to pay for the euthanasia. I offered, considering he had already Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3404490.post-1086840651780889712004-06-09T21:01:00.000-07:002004-06-09T21:16:29.023-07:00Today was a bad day. I was called upon by life to do something very unpleasant. But I will not talk about it now, because I do not feel I could do so without shedding a tear. And I do not want to shed a tear. (See, this is called building suuspense. Are you going to read my next blog in order to find out what is upsetting me so? Bet your ass you are.) No, I will not speak of my Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08047959538508357333noreply@blogger.com