Unloosen

After an annoying Labor Day weekend spent in contact with customer support, all site-related functions, including TypeKey, are back in proper working order. My hosting company installed a new firewall and it was blocking communication between Unloosen and TypeKey, but the line is open again and things are back to normal.

I highly encourage continued use of the TypeKey system for leaving comments, but I'm leaving the comments open for the time being. If spam comments become an issue, I'll move back to limiting the comment functions to TypeKey users. For now, feel free to comment using either method.

And while comments are on your mind, why don't you test Unloosen's commenting system by leaving feedback on Swamp Ass Senators?

The following is the English translation provided on the box that my ornamental cat with the swinging paw came with. I purchased it down in Chinatown in Philadelphia.

Do you think there are sweatshops that are filled with nothing but ten year olds copy writing? (And now my brilliant pun in the title is understood!)

On a side note: I hope to get my creative juices flowing and produce a story soon. I have ideas floating in the ethereal void that is my noggin but nothing has manifested itself into the written word. Probably soon as I am back in the city of Brotherly Love and Philadelphia seems to be my muse. To be more exact, my muse and my mugger.

Inspired by the recent accumulates post, and awaiting my next burst of literary chi flow, I have decided to post the yet-to-be-released short stories that I have finished.....in blurbs that really make no sense. Each paragraph is a different story, so take it for what it is worth, and that is very little. As an update of sorts, I have a few more stories to finish, but may opt to hit the main portion of the book very soon. I seem to add to the miscellaneous section every few days. I'll have to re-read SAS, because I tried to post something during the Great Firewall Scandal of 2006.

One of my life goals was finally fulfilled on Wednesday night when my friend Alex and I met Chris Elliot. In this photo, the king of absurd comedy is pointing to his cadre of Alsatian bodyguards, each of which, he described, would kick my ass if I didn't leave at that very moment. I counted twenty-four of the the brutes, but there may have been a few little ones hiding in the stovepipe-leg pants of the big guys.

Alex was so scared by the impending doom that he wet himself.

After toiling for a few more hours than I would have liked, I've updated the site -- hopefully for the better. Gone are the days of a splash page. Instead, users are instantly directed here.

Also, for security purposes I've reorganized a bunch of the files on the back end, so please be on the lookout for problems and broken links. Archived files should have the same links as before, but I couldn't check each and every address. I think I weeded all of the issues out, but let me know if I missed anything.

This was given to me as a birthday present a few years ago. It is a marvel of mangled English. Behold, the product of Chinese translation, design, and engineering:

Yes, in case you were wondering what class of vehicle this was, it is the ever-so desirable "Advanced Grade of Contest Model."

This bold illustration entices English-speaking youth everywhere to feel the power and luxury that is an Awning Car.

Time for installment #2. Enjoy the new

Accumulate #6: Wound Up

Two days later and the cut still hadn’t healed. Steve had nicked himself on the lid of a can of soup, which was an incredibly stupid thing to do because the can had a warning about that very thing right on the label. He could read, he knew of the danger, and still he had cut himself.

Your mother.
Your best friend.
A black guy.*
A young Australian couple.

*If your best friend already happens to be a black guy, then another black guy.

His eyes opened in a flash to the morning light streaming in through the Venetian blinds. He closed his eyes again and rolled over to go back to sleep but then snapped back awake and alert. As if suspended by wires, Henry Black floated out of bed and softly onto the bedroom floor.