i'm really glad simon doesn't enforce his deadlines or hassle me about writing these columns, cuz i'm getting a little behind and if he hassled me it'd just add more stress to my already manic mach three pace of life, even though i would probably get these things written more often. then again... maybe simon doesn't hassle me because he doesn't care about my columns... that BASTARD!

after all the work i put into writing these columns so that you, John (or Jane) Reader wil have something to do late at night when you're feeling cold, unloved, and alone! dammit simon! my column IS important and, as such, i feel i deserve to get pestered, hassled, and bitched at like a real writer! do you know how many pathetic socially inept geeks' lives would just disintegrate from utter lack of interaction with other human beings if i were to quit writing these columns?! do you know how many?! DO YOU?!?

at least one. at LEAST. so there. see, this column does have its importance! take that, Mr. Simon"i-won't- hassle-nate-about-deadlines-cuz-his-columns-always-suck-anyway"King!! without me you would have died after that knife fight at that bar in Gary (me and simon were at a bar one time in Gary and simon started spouting off about how he could take any man in the room [he had super-human powers at the time, which he has since lost due to the increase of ultra-violet rays as a result of ozone depletion.] so this little guy steps up and takes a gun out of his pocket and proceeds to stab simon and beat the hell out of the both of us. it turns out the guy had a kryptonite belt buckle he bought at Lex Luthor's Used Kryptonite Warehouse and had been waiting for me and simon to show up just to prove that he was tough by beating us up. so we're lying there in the street and simon's bleeding pretty heavily. i tore up my brand new minor threat t-shirt to make a bandage for him, and called Lois to come pick us up and take us to the hospital.), and this is the thanks i get!   

but you know what? i don't need to justify myself, not to you, to simon, or anybody! dammit, if simon doesn't think my columns are important then fuck him! i'll show him! loyal readers (both of you [you know who you are {jim and craig}.]), i think action must be taken. i want all of you (?all two?) to write hate-mail to simon, and to me, detailing how much you love my columns and how the treatment i get is just totally not what i deserve (do you know idon't even get complimentary Evian water, a monthly stipend, or ANYthing? ["the satisfaction of a job well done," you say? BULLSHIT! satisfaction schmatisfaction! you know what i get out of this column?! NOTHING!!!] it's high time this came to an end! spring to outraged [and outrageous] action, my loyal followers!) or detailing how much you hate my column. or how boring my column is and that you read it as sort of object lesson in how not to be boring. just write, okay? please? your mother and i miss you. (you know it's been a long time since you came to visit...)

  on the other hand, maybe simon's right...maybe my column really IS unimportant... i mean, i don't make any social or political statements, like rybread and andrew occasionally do, and i don't live in new york and hang out with cool punk rockers like euxine does, and i don't have my own weg page like charlie does. all i do is run at the mouth, or the keyboard, and make a few witty but far-too-subtly-ironic-for-the-average-bear quips about punk rock and maybe swear a little or talk about sex and then i'm done.

ah HA! that's it! my column may lack importance but it's got sex-references, which everybody loves! so therefore my column DOES have appeal, in the form of sex-talk and maybe some shock value! yay! (incidentally, i origninally had a deeply moving bit written here about how all the aforementioned columnists here and everyone else who contibutes, and all the readers like you, are all different and yet come together to form a harmonious whole. it was very uplifting and inspiring, like those really rad after-school specials when we were little, butit also contained the phrase "festering heap of dog-shit" and so simon judged it too offensive to be printed. *sigh* yet another great work lost to the tragedy off censorship, as the powers that be try to defend people from the truth that they need to hear.)

well, i better get a move on then, the column's nearly done and i've said hardly anything about sex and i've hardly sworn at all!  let's see, to get the good part of the column really fucking rolling... i'm about 6 feet tall, 175 pounds, brown eyes, buzzed brown hair, and i'm typing this completely nude except for a pair of high-heeled shoes and a faux-fur hat. i've got a thick layer of Vick's brand Vapo-Rub smeared all over my body, on every exposed surface except for my lips and eyeballs, and there's some mellow jazz playing in the background as i type this. i've got not just a mirrored ceiling but mirrored walls, floor, and bed-spread! getting hot yet?  

speaking of which, my friend lindsey has one of those "Tickle Me Elmo" dolls, and you know, after playing with it i really do understand why it was such a hot item! i mean, beanie-babies, yeah those are dumb as a bag of hammers, and those little tamagachi digital pet things can suck my left nut, but this Elmo doll's cool! if you squeeze it right it he not only laughs but also shakes in a way that, depending on how you position him and in which direction your imaginative energies run, lets you pretend he's either Epileptic Seizure or Cardiac Arrest or Pelvic Thrust Elmo! and the vibration is really strong too... (i'll let you make your own inferences on the comedic and libidinal potential of a vibrating muppet...) umm. my sexual imagination is really pretty bland, and i've been   unrelationshipped for around five months, so i'm afraid i've run out of things to say on this topic. so... how about that wacky princess diana, huh? pretty wild huh? like, who'd-a thunk it, huh? ... err... well...

i guess i could tell a joke how many punk rock kids does it take to change a lite bulb? ten! one to change it and nine to say they did it first and call the other kid a sellout and un-punk rock. hahaha! ouch. rough crowd.

Nate Holdren

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