I usually bring something to this, like a nice picture, or some dazzling links. Not this time, Baggins. I’ve run out of desire, motivation, and 50-cent pieces (like the kind your mom wears for earrings). Unfortunately, I’ve not run out of commas, nor ever will I. One authority on humanity and its downfall brought forth this notion: “you…filling space with nonsense.” Well, first of all that doesn’t make any sense. The correct word would be FILL and not FILLING. Just a little something for me, don’t worry about it. You call me nonsensical, worthy of being detested, foolish, dumb, etc. If you aim to please, then be my guest. I never have, and I don’t plan to start sucking up now.

That’s all bologna up there, what you just read. The truth is, why be coherent? Half the visitors to this site are too blind to read anyway, and the other half happen to reside in a “womb”, which is a fancy name for a belly. I have failed in my responsibility to keep you posted on the latest headlines and the breaking news. Important stuff doesn’t always make CNN, though. Remember that the next time I post about rabbits, because those suckers are pissed off. Quiet, sure. But angry just the same.

So two paragraphs later we return to the beginning, down the chute and past the mulberry bush. No points, no agenda, just good clean fun. Seriously. Have a good week, all you thesaurus studying contributors. And if anyone visiting this site can both see and comprehend this sentence, you have a good week too. I’m out like the smile on your dad’s face when he watches little boys play soccer. Goodday.

I am momentarily alive and kicking. As of around 4 am Sunday morning April 29th 2001, I’m out for a while. If you don’t get it, check my site- there’s somewhat of a description after the aforementioned time.

To address all things current on my way out the door- sneetch is an idiot whether he’s right about the Fresh Prince or not. Lou has an affinity for filling space with nonsense. Go to smokefest so jerome will shut the fuck up about it already. Oh, and apparently nobody likes Kos.

For some reason that last one makes me laugh, go figure.

Just a quick couple things before I go back to sleep. First, I detest Lou. Second, Kos will be a mouse-buying non-smoking virgin in Kirksville Missouri this weekend, as he should be. Third, since I uploaded it, I would hate to forget to link the Fall ‘99 Trailer, which happens to be my personal favorite. Oh yeah, and here is damning evidence some of us take Smokefest to an inappropriate level.

Ha! In one click of the mouse and a wasted hour I’ve successfully put those smokefest posters where they belong…below all else. Chalk one up for the old Lou-dawg. He’s got more balls than your mom, and yes, your mom does have balls. And by balls I mean truck-size pieces of dandruff. Wait. I had a burning sensation once. That’s no joke. I hate when more than one female talks at the same time, especially if they’re quoting something together.

You can’t beat a flying turtle. You really can’t. Nothing says ” ” in a more direct, obscure way than a turtle that is preparing to soar. And soar they will, my friends. What do you think a turtle has to look forward to? I mean real turtles, not that trash you see at Passpets or wherever the heck your mom gets her toof brushed. What on earth does a turtle get anxious about? They are the ultimate creature. A turtle basks in the sun, eats whatever it can, and hopes to its Creator that it doesn’t get squashed by a Ford Festiva. Even worse than getting smashed is being trapped by children (or southerners). Then you have to deal with a box, and lettuce. What sort of life must you lead when you think lettuce is among the finest dining this world can offer? The life of a turtle, Tabitha. The life of a turtle.

I’m going to a barbeque this weekend. The host isn’t 1227 enough to create posters or a “theatrical trailer” for it, but he didn’t invite Kos, either. So we’re even, unlike all prime numbers except 2. Don’t question it, slow-wit. If all your ifs and buts were candy and nuts we’d all have a merry christmas. Steal dank code at will, Sammy, but don’t touch the content. It’s a keeping jewel. I’m out like your will to read. And don’t forget, the laughter never stops when you’re dead from never going to a Smokefest. Or maybe that’s the other way around.

While sorting through some old Fest files, I stumbled upon a collage of Winter ‘99 Video stills. A weekend that will perhaps live in eternal infamy, Winter ‘99 Smokefest saw 17 members braving the biting cold to get in every last drag. Enjoy this quick glance into the past of the greatest festival of all time.

Smokefest Spring ‘99 became the first fest to have it’s own feature-length trailer for promotion purposes. With it’s simple storyline and state of the art digital effects, the Winter ‘99 trailer quickly reached legendary status in the world of filmography. Now, you can download the Smokefest Spring ‘99 Trailer from Dank, your home for the latest and greatest in the world of carcinogens.

Okay, Dank may suck right now, but give me a few hours…or an ounce of initiative. Whichever comes last.

Cuba and Omar are brothers, as well as brothaz. Peep tha intelligenz. Word. I’m out like tight-rolled jeans.

I was just watching tonights Fresh Prince episode between Simpsons commercials. Will is working for some rich guy, picking his stocks for him. The guy’s name is Mr. Jamison, and Will constantly calls him “J”. This first initial thing seems to be a nasty habit.

I’m out like Gamble’s dignity.

Ok. There is an ongoing heated debate among Dank contributors about The Fresh Prince.

Now I think, and have always thought, against the advice of every other dank contributor, that Will Smith calls Geoffrey the Butler “G” because his name is Geoffrey and not Jeffery. I understand that black people can and do sometimes call each other G, but I am certain that they also may call people G for other reasons.

Now, a television writing teacher at my school wrote for the FP for a few seasons. His name is Michael Fry. If you are smart enough to go to IMDB in the previous link you will not see him credited as a writer because he was only on board for a few seasons. However, I asked him the neutural question “Why did they call the butler G?” He looked at me like I was an avid Leno watcher and said “because he spells his name with a G.” I asked him to type that up on a FP letterhead and sign it but he refused.

Once again, fellow Carltons, I apologize in advance for all of the backlash from at least one fellow dank writer this will cause once there are no more basketball games to lose.

I am willing to take the word of one of the show’s writers. As for you, this is your own choice. It is a vital one and I can only hope you can and will make it a right one. Yes, black people call each other G. No it is not always because they are black. Why didn’t Will call anyone else G? Why did they have a baby in the next to last season and then in the last season he was magically 5? Why did the Winslow’s have a little girl and then they just didnt? How did ALL the characters from Saved by the Bell move from Indiana to California? And is Omar Gooding from Wild and Crazy Kids related to Cuba Gooding? we may never know. G’s.