"Are you the creator of Hi & Lois, because you're making me laugh?"

Due to the propensity of band-width squandering, over-sized pictures on this page and their actual necessity to what words i type, i thought i would give you some options as to how to spend the time it takes to download everything. You could:
A. Go outside and read a book and actually do something decent with your time.
B. Close your web browser and play Quake II <--- this one'll date me when i never work on my page.
C. Leave the room
or, finally, D. Read all the text i have typed directly below that has nothing to do with the pictures.

What i type is entitled:

Zombie Scarecrow Bloodbath IV: Critters in the Cage

For what it's worth, i always find that the genesis of a page begins with a twinge of uncertainty that i am actually a human being. Certainly, people can tell you a human being, but there is always that tiny doubt that they aren't human beings either, and then what's going to stop them from lying?

When this identity crisis strikes me, i sit down in front of my computer and cry and call it my only friend. This never helps me much because i'm pouring my soul out to it and it just sits there and occasionally beeps when i strike a key in a fit of rage. Occasionally, i'll keep striking the 'h' key and screaming, "You like that? You like the letter h? Good, cuz here come some more, baby!"

Now, before you whip out your magic marker and scrawl 'Lunatic' on your computer screen, let me clarify something: i am a firm supporter of vegetable rights. After all, if all i did was sit around in the sun, grow, make seeds, and die, i would want somebody looking out for my best interests.

Of course, they can't really tell us if they're happy, but i couldn't really care less because the only thing i can metabolize is old paint chips, so the whole food thing is wasted on me anyway.

And speaking of paint chips, i find that they be quite painful if they are lodged in your gills, as has happened to me on several occasions. Thank goodness my prehensile tail can pluck them out of there because otherwise, i would spend all my time sprawled in the bathtub, gulping over and over, agony wracking my body with each intake of air.

The pain is comparable to spilling salt on your outermost appendages; there's nothing more embarassing than watching your lips shrivel away after you've taken a shot of tequila. i almost regretted maneuvering my eye stalks around for a better look when my friend Tim pointed out that my mouth was withering away.

Woah. i drifted away from my main point, and i apologize for that. Anyway, whenever i ask myself, "Am i human?", i can answer "Yes! i have a web page!" and that is, quite frankly, good enough for me.

Prepare for a plunge into sin:

If you couldn't guess, this is me. If you could, i'm proud of you! Way to go!

i can't really tell you why i am so resigned and unhappy in this picture. i mean, sure, i was wearing the big floppy black robes, but they're a major part of my day-to-day wardrobe. The hat sort of made my hair stick out, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, and it certainly isn't deserving of the obvious spiritual agony i was under-going. Perhaps it was a gnawing suspicion that when i got home, i would be subjected to more electro-shock therapy, which proved correct.

Oh wait. i was going for dark and dashing, with a hint of debonair, when i posed for this picture. i guess i sort of missed the boat on that one.

This is a picture of this guy i know named 'Nixon.' He won't tell me any other name, and this is probly because he is only posing as a fast food employee. He is actually one of those oil sheiks who have all the money in the world and secretly own everything but our corn supply. Nixon here escaped to America for a life of simplicity, but he eventually got caught up in the Arabians bid to acquire the corn. Only his involvement halted the mass corn buy-out. Now, he wanders from town to town righting wrongs and fighting those elements of society that would have us lose our corn.

In my social circles, there is a mysterious man calling himself only 'The Coolant' who circulates around, calming hostilities and curbing aggressive behavior. That's not him to the right; it's Chad Waddell, who graduated first in our class. His almost inhuman control of the grade spectrum was an astounding sight to behold, as he choked all of his foes into submission, either through trickery, outright violence, or both. Chad Waddell is the only man i fear. He is the ultimate, the indefatigable, the unerring evil that would destroy you for a 4.0.

Oh dear. i am, obviously, the guy on the left. Apparently, they took this picture as i was coming down from a nasty trip on meth-amphetamines. i'm standing next to my work-out partner Gregor Smitty; right after this, we headed to the gym and just lifted weights till our brains leaked out. He can bench a solid 500 pounds, but that's because he's on horse steroids. One time, i tossed the bar up at least three times before my weak heart gave out and we had to rush to the emergency room. As i lay dying in the waiting room, there having been a massive outbreak of malaria in the area, Gregor shot me up with enough metabolic narcotic to bloat me to a good 400 pounds. For the next month, i couldn't move without hurting someone due to my chemically induced physique.

Page II is more straight-out me oriented. Don't hurt yourself, please.