Not nirvana, certainly. Not spiritual absolution, serious cultural critique, or even a single inspired thought. But you just might have a laugh and forget yourself for a moment or too. So take a look, have some fun, and please don't take me too seriously.

Who are you?

Who am I?! Who the f*** are you? I don't have to answer your goddamn question here...(besides, i've got a whole section for that. =) But since i asked...

Who am I?

If you find yourself here reading this, chances are you fall into one of six major categories...

• You are a stalker. You follow me around, sigh at me dreamily, and pick through my garbage for keepsakes. If so, know this. I am a desperate individual, and i will sleep with you no matter your race, creed, sex, or special classification. Or if you prefer a more indirect method, you may send me $35 to purchase a pair of my underwear.
• You are a person here at my request. Hah, you've been duped, and are wasting valuable minutes of your waking life.
  
• You are affiliated with the Russian mafia. You are here find out what happened to your $20,000 and briefcase filled with human testicles.
• You are Katie Holmes. You have come to kiss me and hug me and take me away from this dreadful, dreadful life.
• You are a person in dire need of porn. If this is so, look no further. Many of the people i acknowlegde as my friends and family in this site are flaming homosexuals, rampant pedophiles, or practicing necropheliacs. Simply follow my links to their sites and away you go!
• You are my mother. In which case, i have written all of the above at gunpoint, and am still a very, very good boy.

i remember when i used to sleep in on sundays, awakened only by the heavenly mid-afternoon smells wafting from the kitchen. my grandmother would visit on weekends, and she would take advantage of the quiet in the house to prepare some absurdly delicious baked goods. yessir, i would wake to the smells of fresh pies and cookies, and before then my dreams would swirl and tingle reacting to sweet sweet odors i was smelling.

i remember in particular this one cobbler grandma used to make...peaches, with vanilla and creme. yeah, she would slave for hours and hours over a hot stove to produce each one. and as soon as i caught a whiff of that cobbler i would dash up the stairs and throw my nose right in to grandma's armpit...because to me there's no sweeter smell than that of old granny perspiration.