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From: Fucking Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck. Jim For Short.
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Date: Fri Jan 14 21:59 EST 2011
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HOLY FUCK THIS POST IS PUBLIC
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From: Fucking Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck. Jim For Short.
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Date: Fri Aug 07 17:44 EST 2009
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facebook.com/plutocracy

Keeping up with more than one website is hard.
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From: Fucking Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck. Jim For Short.
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Date: Fri Jan 25 23:21 EST 2008
Subject: LISTEN, BITCH
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<user-defined function 'Mood' == ' quixotic'>
IT IS TIME FOR AN UPDATE.

I am upwardly mobile in the world of business design and mass duplication and production services.

tl;dr: I am a retail prick for a living.

I am, with certain restrictions, allowed to operate motor vehicles and am financially capable of purchasing and maintaining one, and plan to do so in the near future.

tl;dr: I can fucking drive.

I have not only recovered my old AOL Instant Messenger Screen name but have also migrated to MySpace due to its complete and total failure being a constant source of epic hilarity.

tl;dr:
AIM: Slave To No Borders
MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/weaponizedintellect

I take my leave of you now, I will use LiveJournal as a thoughtdump in the future, but not as a regular blogging outlet.

tl;dr: Later.

Oh, and on one of those sappy, pathetic notes: I miss you all.
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From: Fucking Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck. Jim For Short.
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Date: Sun Nov 04 00:49 EST 2007
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Hey, look at that, I hadn't posted since April.

Most of my time is swallowed whole by work, MMOs, and being awesome.

Also, I don't know how to read.

So how are you, [[insert reader's name here]]?



Excellent.
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From: Fucking Fuckity Fuck Fuck Fuck. Jim For Short.
      <jimmyhardcore>
To: '“éÀÉ㎻¢Ø <Error:Unknown User Or Host>
Date: Tue Apr 10 20:46 EST 2007
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So today, I found myself confronted by an angry Caribbean community bus driver.

Let us set the stage; here I am, work-weary and ready to go home, make love to my harem, eat some baby whale ribs, and pass out on a mound of skinned aborigines. The only thing stopping me at this point would be a way to get home. But hark! There is a free alternative to messy, costly county transit... the city community bus! So I stand at a poorly-labeled predetermined point along a traffic-strewn road and wait patiently as my stocky, four wheeled chariot rumbles itself a path through the slew of idiot drivers that form the asphalt Ocean of Fucking Stupid.

It lurches toward me, confident and speedily at first, coming to a hesitant stop and a not-so-hesitant hiss of poor maintenance and certain doom. And then... the chamber opens... the trifold of plastic no longer separates me from the skipper's angry glare.

"Where you go?!"

I'm stunned at first but eventually regain enough composure to relay my destination to the good captain.

"Last bus," comes the snide reply, "I don't go."

I politely request a schedule or timetable of some kind, so as to not repeat my impudence in the future.

He closes one eye, and then forces all of his hatred and anger into the other, before spitting them both into my face with a resounding shout: "Get off! Get off! I call police!"

Now, this is where I would normally unsheathe one of my many machetes, inform this gentlemen that he had "fucked with the wrong Mexican," and then decapitate him and all of the other patrons of Community Route 'Green,' with only two minor caveats. Those being:

A) I'm not Mexican.

and B) I don't normally carry around one, let alone several machetes.

Eh. You lose some and then you lose some.


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