I have a friend who is a senior consultant at Microsoft. We swap corporate gossip because I’m a current nobody at… not gonna do it. Oh, hell. Amazon.com. There, you happy? He’s happy to be there. I’m happy to be home tonight.

We made some oral NDAs and were talking shop recently — sorry, no trade secrets are to be found here. I was impressed with some of the efforts Microsoft is making to improve their products before they’re caught out again with how sucky some of them are. This is unusual for Microsoft. They usually won’t address problems until they are widely publicized by third parties. It’s expensive to fix problems. It’s also unnecessary from a business standpoint. It’s not a significant problem till it hits the news and what are users going to do anyway? Go to Linux and learn how to install packages without a GUI?

In the middle of the conversation I had the insight I’ve been looking for for several years. I’ve been pounding my head trying to understand how a company which makes second-rate products at first-rate prices can continue to thrive?

In every category of software which Microsoft has released products, better products exist. They are usually cheaper too. No widely used OS is less stable or slower than almost every single version of Windows. I can’t believe any business ever put up with computers that crash on a daily basis.

More importantly in the age of networks, extranets, and every box with an IP: no current OS has more dangerous or more constant security problems. How the hell hard is it to check your strings are 255 bytes or shorter for the love of Steve Wozniak!? Can’t anyone in Redmond count that high?

Back to my insight: Microsoft always wins because that’s what, exactly what, they set out to do. Their plan, their purpose, their only goal is to win. Not much of an insight, you say?

Winning doesn’t take the best software. It takes the bare minimum that functions and can get to market in a hurry and be impossible to reverse engineer. Winning doesn’t take low prices. It takes leverage to force hardware vendors to bundle your products so that you can charge customers anything you want. Winning doesn’t take innovation. Innovation is expensive and time consuming. Winning takes patience to see innovation around you and then steal it once you see which parts the market is really going to go for. Winning just takes being the first to market, initially.

Playing to win is important. Playing only to win is the behavior of a troglodyte. Playing only to win means you can never be the best. Playing to win may be good tactics but it is putrid strategy. Never being the best, while simultaneously being the biggest, is going against natural selection. Going against natural selection is a short ended game. A few generations in it at best.

So I finally know Microsoft won’t be here much longer. Not as it is, in any case. But Gates can’t lead forever and I don’t think the corporation will find another benevolent dictator to match him. How much longer will it stand? How about 15 years. That seems long but they have the capital to stay in the game as losers for even longer.

You think it’s just a theory. But there’s recent evidence that playing to win isn’t even good tactics anymore. If your main goal is brutish, your corporate culture will follow. If your employees are brutes in the high tech game — well, all the mass marketing CDs the USPS can carry won’t save you then.

The Japanese like OS X. This is Apple’s new operating system. It’s not that new. It’s mostly BSD underneath. This is the stepchild of UNIX. BSD is free. BSD (and its close kin, the *nixes) has thousands of very smart kids who hack on it because it’s free, it’s fun, and it’s rewarding to make things. Free developers who love their work. I wonder what the average salary in Redmond is. I don’t think it’s that low. I wonder how happy the average perma-temp developer at Microsoft is. I think it is that low. I think that’s why they have a hard time bothering to count to 16 squared.

The Japanese also play video games. Largely those made by the Japanese because they have been doing it quite well for awhile. Microsoft decided that because Redmond was full of restless Nintendo employees they would also make video games. They decided to win.

To do this, they paid off a few developers to take their wares to Xbox-only. They put money into a proprietary hardware system with more computing power than the competition. They did the marketing and they tried hard to only miss a couple launch dates. They used all their usual winning tactics.

How are they doing? You already know. They’re getting creamed. It’s by a factor of somewhere between 20:1 and 10:1 depending on which sales figures you go by. While a single game like “Grand Theft Auto III” for PS2 sells 6 million copies, there aren’t even 6 million Xboxes out there.

They’re getting creamed because their tactics only work when they’re already in charge. Sony is in charge of the console market. When you are not in charge and you make mistakes — like shipping controls to Japan which are too big for the average Japanese player’s hands and sensibilities — the market punishes you. When you’re not the only game in town, the market will punish you quickly and severely. The Xbox is so far a very expensive mistake. Microsoft loses money on every console and isn’t making it back with the games.

The PC OS market isn’t a one pony show the way it used to be. With Linux’s rising availability of GUIs and support and Apple’s return to sanity with OS X, the game isn’t what it was 2 years ago.

Here’s something from our friend Google. I just did a search, in Japanese only, for Windows XP and OS X.

Looks like the Japanese are using Macs a lot.

You think that’s the punchline. It’s not. This is. I did the same search in plain old vanilla English.

You don’t have to sell your MSFT yet. But you might consider it during the first big rally of next year.

Nigeria is the cradle of black African civilization. At the same time the Picts and Brits were buggering each other in the name of Pendragon, the Nok were creating the art that would fuel rip-off artists like Picasso throughout the post-modern art revolution; which was more ultra-pre-modern than post-modern after all. If you see early African art next to Picasso’s work and also note that his radical style change came just after major African art exhibits debuted in Paris… well, let’s say the Art of Noise may not have called Picasso an asshole but I will. We don’t know much about the culture of the Nok but we know their art was superlative and peaceful.

I know this because my last two art history classes were Asian and African art history. I know what a fan ding is too. Do you finally see the value of a college education?

Amina Lawal of modern Nigeria had a baby out of wedlock. Her distant heritage is Nok just as my distant heritage is a bunch of stone stacking sister bangers. Amina is sentenced to be stoned to death by Muslim law. Not some vague provincial unheard of branch of Muslim law but really quite common Muslim law.

To every black person in the world who thinks Islam is the proper religion of black people, I ask, “What about the Nok? Are you fucking mad?” I guess that’s rhetorical. A good portion of Nigeria seems to be quite mad and not just because of Amina. There’s Agbani and Mohammed too.

The Miss World pageant was supposed to happen in Nigeria on Pearl Harbor Day. This was a coup for a nation only even remembered as a country by the rest of the world because of its famous Internet bank scam.

Nigeria won the right to host the pageant by having its contestant Agbani Darego win the previous. Nigeria could have been known for having the most beautiful women in Africa. You don’t believe me? Check it out:

That honor is going back to Ethiopia where it belongs because of what happened yesterday.

At least 100 people are dead because of the Miss World pageant and because a journalist at a newspaper called ThisDay published an op-ed piece about women in swimsuits that opined: “What would Muhammad think? In all honesty, he would probably have chosen a wife from among them.”

When he wrote that, it sparked riots. Lots of people were burned and hacked to death in the best West and Central African idiom. And you thought American journalists were dangerous.

A hundred people died and hundreds more were injured or maimed for a beauty contest. They only wear one-piece suits for Godsakes! All this death and pain for what? For a misunderstanding over lost cultures that the Prophet Mohammed has any business even being known in Africa at all. All over a simple opinion and a misunderstanding. It’s amazing.

I mean! If more than 100 human lives can be lost for someone suggesting that the Prophet Mohammed might have married a beauty queen just imagine how many lives might be lost if some careless individual were to suggest that the Prophet Mohammed took it in the ass.

By “spectacular” I don’t mean fantastic, clean, gorgeous or well-oiled. I mean it literally. A spectacle. A car wreck. An international caliber circus freakshow. Can’t take your eyes off of a single stitch of the thing.

Don’t get me wrong, again! I love what she writes most of the time. She has the Gift and her politics line up with mine 2 out of 3 falls. That’s a solid D+! I mean, Liberals are deceptive morons who somehow seem ignorant of the facts from the last couple generations:

Communism: 50 million killed [Ed: this is incorrect, it is closer to 100 million; democide figures per R. J. Rummel] or starved to death; Stalin, Lenin, Mao and all their freaked out kith have murdered or starved to death, at the very least, this many human lives since my grandparents were born. Economics doesn’t starve people to death, politics does. North Korea and South Korea have identical resources, cultural make up, and histories until 50 years ago when the North said, “Let’s give Mao a go.” The South is rich, the North is starving. The only difference at all between the two places is ideology.

Socialism: 25 million or so dead; ah, but you forgot! Nazi is short for National Socialist in German. Isn’t that funny?

Capitalism: well, peacetime citizens shoot each other a little more often outside Totalitarian police states [Ed: this is incorrect, the US is currently 23^rd in national murder rates] but the government, in general has only killed a few thousand citizens in 200 years, a couple hundred thousand aborigines and perhaps a few million foreign soldiers, mostly Commies and Nazis, oddly enough — let’s say less than 75 million killed, anyway. All in all, the easy winner. Wow! Who would have guessed?

Those numbers are unfamiliar to, maybe, most Liberals. If you’re of that bent, the comments probably burn a bit.

And that’s why I love reading Ann’s Stuff now and again. She burns them. She’s a raging case of chlamydia for the left-leaning. And it’s great to see. The Left has a lot of really strong propagandists and poets. It’s nice to see the Right come back swinging with such eloquent venom. She’s part Oscar Wilde, part Joe McCarthy on her best days. And she’s pretty! What a coup! The Democrats really need to re-learn this lesson. It won them 1960 Presidency and it has lost them a few since.

Then I realize, her vapid nonsense is pretty much as devoid of fact or contextually meaningful information as the reduced-price tripe of congenital liars like Chomsky. Then every so often you get the whiff of Peggy Noonan’s bad hygiene: God. The ultimate in fact-free journalism. And you remember, oh, Quail, Quaale, or Quayle or something, Reagan, CIA selling coke, Bush doing coke, Nancy mad-dogging coke, Nixon, Keating, and, Christ, the list could go on for many some paragraphs.

The point is, Ann has a gift for prose and zingers and the occasional insight, I suspect she’s being fed, but she’s not that bright; thriving on veiled declarations of mass murder being the answer to our woes and any other piece of sensationalist guerrilla-crap she learned immersed in her Liberal complements while growing up in the 70s.

Now, say what you want about my dead friend Ayn Rand, but don’t say she was a Conservative or Right-wing. She loathed them. She would have instantly recognized Ann Coulter as a wolf in expensive hooker’s clothing.

Ayn viewed the Left as basically impotent, like the villains of her books, only given any power, steam, cash, or license to kill through the acquiescence of others. She said the Conservatives were the only ones with the power to destroy this country. Smart old bird.

Okay, I can take Martin Sheen having political opinions b/c he’s not the President but he plays one on TV. I can take drama students like Alec Baldwin thinking their opinions about anything matter though we all knew drama majors in school and they were the kids who could barely get Ds in anything outside their major. I can’t take Jeri Ryan.

Okay, so what if she was fucking the producer of the TV show she was on? That’s old-hat. Might not mean anything after all. Maybe she just likes producers, right?

And so what if her tits are the first, last, and maybe the only thing anyone will ever remember about that candy-coated new-age nonsensical sehlat-turd called Voyager? So?

The thing is… she was on a talk-show the other night, Letterman. She was kind-of-sort-of bragging about how she was studying to be a geneticist/doctor before fate took her to acting. Talking about how she was soooooooo smart. She could have been a geneticist. It was just one of those things that took her to acting. Genetics was too easy and boring for her.

The talk-show host, revealing a superb dilettante’s thirst for interesting scientific periphery, said something along the lines of, “So you know all about those A, T, C and Gs?”

Jeri Ryan stared back blankly. Apparently the pre-med biology and genetics wasn’t enough to get to adenine, thymine, guanine, cytosine, and of course uracil, which doubles for thymine in RNA, into her pretty little head. Those four letters are the most basic elements of all genetic studies. All DNA on this planet is made of those four and only those four things. If you don’t know them and what they stand for, you don’t know the first thing about genetics.

I had one and only one serious biology class in college. It was 16 years ago. I had to look up the spellings but I knew the amino-acids. How could anyone possibly forget four letters? CTAG? A talk-show host knows them for godsakes!

That class I took was in Woodward Hall. It had to be a big hall b/c there were about 800 kids enrolled in it. After the first mid-term exam about 300 kids showed up for class. Whatever the campus was, Jeri Ryan was surely one of the 500 who dropped due to embryology being slightly more difficult than memorizing a page of Neil Simon.

Could’ve been a doctor? For fucksakes! Could’ve been a stripper. Maybe.

I changed jobs at ******.*** not so long ago. Now I’m doing straight design and almost no programming. Doing design again after all these years seemed like a dream come true. I am an ad designer. I design advertisements. But that is way too generous. I don’t design much. I execute. I do what I’m told, how, when, and why.

I do exercise quite a bit of my own professional style where allowed though. This is almost exclusively when it comes to kerning. There has rarely been better kerning seen on the web! A dream come true — that’s for sure!

So, yesterday I found the dreaded email. The one that was inevitable from the moment I unpacked my new desk. I was asked to design… I don’t know if I can even say it in public. There’s no proof right now that I did it. Why commit it to Google’s elephantine caches?

I have to get it off my chest though. It was a request for an X10 advertisement. That X10. The Anti-Christ of the Internet. The horror that spawned a million-billion pop-up-your-unders. The one that Ruined It All.

I should have quit on the spot. Instead I went to their pathetic website for a long look at what they were after. Then I carefully evaluated the relative content of my soul, estimated I had enough to spare, and I did it. I made them another ad.

It’s not a great story, I admit. I wanted to write something else. I wanted to write about the worst thing in the world aside from X10. The thing worse than X10 is someone who takes comfort in the loss of another’s dreams. It can only be because it justifies one’s own meanly buried dead. Beware that comfort. You see I don’t want to quit to write my first novel. I want to quit to write my fourth. I don’t want to quit to take painting lessons. I want to quit to get back to where I left off. I don’t want to quit to write poems. I want to quit to write another 1,000 poems. I don’t want to quit to write a screenplay. I want to quit to finish my next 2 and finish a set of 30 teleplays. I don’t want to quit to learn guitar. I want to quit to write another 300 songs and add trumpet to the instruments I can play. I want to write another 50 short stories. I want to design another 40 fonts. I want to write letters to my friends all around the world. I want to identify a new species of spider. I want to add another 1,000 terms to my dictionary so I can publish it. I want to get back into real fighting shape and maybe learn a new martial art. I want to fill another 3 filing cabinets with notes and journals. And I want to be able to do it all the way I used to do — in the space of a few months — not in the acrid years it’s taking via these dot-com issued coffee-spoonfuls of free time awash in vaudevillian office politik.

It doesn’t make us brothers that you think I’m losing my dreams like you did. It just makes me angry and you’ll have to be the judge of what it makes you.

A 13 year-old shot herself in the head with a 9mm pistol yesterday in front of her friends after giving her favored possessions to them in the school parking lot.

A girl I was very close with at about that age (and maybe kept me from giving away my jumbo maroon peery, steel bone pin, and Zeppelin on vinyl) told me in dream last night: “I would [remember] but how do you contain the wound?”

The song on the MP3 player is “In the Light.” Which I sang, when we were 15 on a school bus, to a certain girl who cooked me Adobo and who cheated on her husband recently and told me about it to ease something.

In Korea after nearly a year of teaching English and many months of close calls with Tim it finally got ugly. The foreign country work experience is fantastic for learning about people quickly b/c it so closely emulates a life raft. You’ll think I’m wrong again, and you’ll regret it in a couple years, but the only way to truly know someone is to see them in an emergency. That’s the classical naked portrait.

I’m not talking about Europe as a foreign country [sic, sick, sieg!]. No European has ever done anything that I was unable to understand. Europeans and their bastard step-children, the Canadians, love to think they are unlike United Statesians. Many love self-delusion. Who am I to wake anyone up?

Many times my Korean friends, employers and co-workers did things which I still can’t understand. Bizarrely delivered hard-core racism, taking things personally that have nothing whatsoever to do with the person in question, lying about things neither worth lying about nor possible to lie about in any permanent way, naïveté in full blown 40 year-olds to the Nth. Now that’s the foreign sea I’m talking about that threw all us North Americans together in a little satellite city of Seoul, ROK on a life raft called the Kuk Je Language Institute.

I never took the time to find out what exactly made him Tim. He was a native Californian. That’s usually a pretty bad start. I think he was also an only child. Another hand on the forehead of sidereal motion. He lived with his mother till he was well into his 30s. He probably only went to Korea b/c he couldn’t get work in the US and perhaps b/c of having been burned on catalog orders as a teen he wanted to collect a shiny new mail order bride in person to make sure the picture and the pieces-count were exactly as advertised.

Tim is a social retard. I don’t say, “was.” It’s unfathomable that he will ever not be. Conversations with him could be good and even enjoyable. They could be uncomfortable or pointless. Watching him speak with others tended to be uncomfortable.

One afternoon gathered around a sik-sa break for kim-bop, and probably duhk, we tangled. For some reason, he thought that making a joke at my expense in front of a crowd would work out for him. Unfortunately he couldn’t tell the difference b/t fun and a real barb. Or maybe he meant it as a barb, but he really is a nice guy so I have to assume it was an accident. But after 11 months on a life raft I wasn’t having it.

I replied — upped the ante considerably and made sure there was no room for reply other than to throw down, as the kids say. The English fluent portion of the room laughed and shifted from foot to foot uneasily. Tim was unable to throw down, while I was able and heading into Willing Country. The Koreans so wanted to stay out of Western business that I knew there would be the most cursory of police intervention afterwards and no consequences but bruised knuckles whatsoever.

Tim paused, looked down at the table, and reflected on his wounds for awhile. A few minutes later he asked me if I would step into the hall. At last!

In the hall he only wanted to talk. To set me straight. He insisted that I not speak to him that way, and so on. I told him that not only was he not going to tell me what to do ever again but he needed to not start things he wasn’t there to finish. He was shaking and fixing to cry but didn’t. I had the best adrenaline rush since the last time someone swung a 2x4 at my head (oh, that one’s for a book or after more time has passed).

During the next week Tim went to everyone at the school from the Korean manager to the newest Canadian teacher and asked in essence, “Do you like me or Ashley better? Do you have any problems with me?” Everyone said, “Uh, no.”

I didn’t know about this till later. No one told me though 10 of them could have. More life raft behavior.

Tim was a pretty good teacher. He worked hard and was conscientious. And his awareness of it was the root of his next play. He went to the Headmaster and said, “It’s Ashley or me. Fire him or I am quitting and going back to the US.”

The problem with the play was two-fold.

A) No one is comfortable giving honest feedback to someone they are uncomfortable with, obviously. Most teachers at the school had complained about Tim. No one was about to tell him that. No one was going to say, “I like Ashley pretty well, man. You actually creep me out sometimes.”

B) He was a good teacher and I was mean to him so he assumed that made him a better teacher than I am. Every teacher at the school was using curricula and lessons I wrote. When I left, the school bought it all for several hundred dollars. I was the most requested kids’ teacher b/c I was the closest to Korean, a hard-ass who loves kids. The kids loved me, and my classes learned faster than most of the others. I was teaching up to 52 hours of classes a week (and doing 10 more hours of lesson preparation) and Tim was doing 20-ish of classes so that he had time to be thorough and do a good job. I taught all the Korean public school teachers in a town of 100,000 by an invitation only appointment. I was invited back the next year b/c I was able to be thorough and do a good job on a ridiculously hectic schedule.

The short of that is, I was not only a better teacher, I was at least twice as valuable to the school as a revenue generator. Plus, I didn’t creep people out. I never insulted chopsticks or made fun of han-boks. I fit in.

So when Tim sat at the Headmaster’s desk and gave his ultimatum, the response was, “Well, if it’s Ashley or you that’s leaving, Tim… It’s you.”

True to his word. He was gone in two weeks. I respect that part. I wasn’t planning on ever telling this story as non-fiction.

I work at the most successful Internet retail company in the world now. Multi-billion dollar successful. I don’t know what it is about my situation that makes me still not want to type the name but I don’t want to. Maybe after Christmas, NASDAQ willing.

Anyway, there are a lot of Tims at my workplace and a lot more around the world. Like the Tim in this story, some of you are basically nice guys who just don’t understand that no one particularly likes you. You creep people out and they’re not about to tell you. They do talk about it when you’re not there. Just b/c your mother and your once-upon-a-time-girl said you were funny doesn’t make you so. And the guy in the office that you think is mean, or not as valuable as you are to the company, is busting his ass to make the place work while you’re coasting on some meager talent and the goodwill of the management.

I don’t know if you’re gonna be crying today, or fuming, or thinking what’s the big deal, or looking cross-eyed at that Sikh b/c you’re stupid and think he’s Islamic or maybe you just miss Indira Gandhi. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll be doing either. I do know a few things though.

The monetary estimates of the damage in NYC last September come in at about seven billion dollars, or much higher depending on who you believe. I think the low end is more likely. It’s still a pile of money that would make a nice mulch for the entire state of California. It’s $7,000,000,000 dollars in Arabic numerals. It looks much bigger that way, don’t you think?

As of this writing, 2,801 persons are certified dead plus another few hundred at the Pentagon and a field in Pennsylvania. More than 3,000 for the final body count but not much more.

Pretty bad. We watched human beings jumping out of windows 90 stories in the sky rather than burn to death or feel the floors go out from under them for a gut-sickening zero-gravity nightmare fall when the towers collapsed. Any of us that aren’t contemptible cried. We did foolish things like insisting on donating blood when the blood banks were already full. We all stopped hating New York and realized we had only been jealous all along. We were most all very, very nice to each other for a long time.

On September 11^th last year, 1,205 persons died from smoking. Another 300 or so from drinking. Another 128 in car wrecks and another 50 or so in gun deaths. It only adds up to about 1,500 but on September 12^th, it happened again. On September 13^th, it repeated. On September 14^th, another 1,500 people died. By the end of the year 150,000 or so gone. By the end of this year another half million more.

Enron and WorldCom were caught doing bad things this year. They were bad things to the tune of many, many billions of dollars. At least $10,000,000,000 and maybe more than $15,000,000,000. There were a few deaths involved; suicide here and there from lost pensions and careers.

The deaths and costs from the wars of the last 100 years pale the day. If you’re under 40 you probably don’t know much about WWII. If you’re under 80 you don’t know much about WWI. There were more before. There were some between. More are coming.

I’m not sure how to say what I mean. September 11^th, 2001 was bad. I don’t mean to lessen the deaths or the loss. I can’t. In the end though, all that happened was a lot of property damage which was much smaller than what our corporate leaders have done to us lately, and loss of life that is not as great as what we do to ourselves every other day all year, every year.

It was bad and worth crying over and worth killing over and worth most of the rest. As bad as it was, it was only a drop in the bucket against the strength and longevity of this nation.

Thierry Meyssan is a French author. Meyssan wrote a book. I don’t know what to say. I know I tried to not write anything about it b/c even bad publicity is publicity. Still it’s nine days till the anniversary and I need to write something now, not then. This should be sorted out before it interferes with any important reflection.

His book discusses theories that certain unknowable hyper-conservative parts of the US government shot a rocket into the Pentagon last year and also highjacked some planes which mostly ended up in New York the same day, as you may remember. In short, September 11^th was a US conspiracy.

Now I’m mostly curious. Why is this guy still alive?

If he’s right, the weight of the US government should have fallen on him before he even got the pile of merde to his publisher. Since the French government and cops were absolutely cooperative during the post-9/11 investigation, they obviously would not have stopped it or even got in the way.

So maybe he’s not right. Now I’m still curious. Why is this guy still alive? Answers must include: he doesn’t live in the tri-state area, his home address is not easy to find, and no one in North America is taking him too seriously.

The thing is, I’ve written essays praising the assassination of the Kennedys and damning the government cops that seem so prone to killing US citizens. If there were the smallest stitch of truth, the faintest whiff of coffee, to this conspiracy theory then I’d have it up and running. I wouldn’t even be trying to make money off it. This place is called Sedition·com for a reason.

Now I’m really curious — how directly can one call for another’s murder without being responsible? Held responsible, I mean. Hamlet had no idea what the question was b/c suicide is a question that answers itself. To be: you are. Not to be: doesn’t fucking matter to you anymore.

I know I can’t write, “Kill this French fuckwad!” Besides being artless, that would be too much. That’s close to the edge of complete responsibility. The only thing that might make it moreso would be adding my annual income and offering it in cashier’s check by return post to the sender of his head. What would the international air postage on his head be, I wonder?

I might allude to him being dangerous, so very dangerous that his existence threatens us all. That might be subtle enough. Problem with that angle of course is it’s not true so I can’t write it.

So, I’m stuck. I can’t use untrue twisted psychology to make the case for his erasure b/c I’d be trading against your trust of me. I’ve never lied to you. I can’t outright ask for murder. I’d get in trouble and worse still, I might get you in trouble. And I can’t afford the plane tickets, bribes, and time off from work it would take to make it happen in person. Stuck.

I couldn’t remember the cat’s name when I started to write this. Or the title of the book. I searched Google for “French fuckwad,” sure that it would bring him up. He didn’t come up. Maybe I am stuck, but at least now and ever after if you search for “French fuckwad” you will find “Mme Thierry Meyssan.” It’s not much but I’m fairly sure Sedition·com will last longer than this French fuckwad’s notoriety.

I called his sister a whore and we more or less stopped being friends that day. It hurt his feelings quite badly, I think. I miss him a lot sometimes. It was 10 years ago.

He tried to reconnect not so long ago but I’m hard to reconnect with and there was always the lurking question: is your sister a whore or was I just an asshole for saying it?

She was fucking all kinds of guys while she was dating, supposedly steady, our friend and sometimes drummer, Chuck the hockey player. Chuck was a drummer, which I think I mentioned. He was quite good at both. I have another story about him being a drummer and me being sad about not being in a band. Our current story only involves him being a nice guy who didn’t deserve his steady to be out fucking Luc Longley.

I guess that’s why the story will be suddenly interesting to sports fans. That rust-colored scarecrow is somewhat famous now. I wonder if I’ll get a letter from an NBA lawyer.

One night I met Luc and a friend of his; another college basketball player but not a very good one because I can’t remember his name and I’m sure you never heard it. It started with an R, though. Robinson, maybe.

I was a security aide on my campus, which we discussed before. One night I was called up to a girls’ dorm to evict a couple boys who had overstayed the curfew. It was Longley and his retard friend R-something-or-other.

I suppose I could get another one of those legal threat letters for calling the kid a retard. But I don’t think it’ll be on NBA stationery so it’s not too scary, and I’ll stand behind the retard label. Here’s why.

When I very politely asked him and Luc to leave, R-for-retard gets like he’s gonna get up and swing. All oral, like tall white boys get when they never got knocked down for their lunch money as kids.

Now, R’tardo was out for part of the season due to a knee injury. I knew this. I also knew that was exactly where I was gonna kick him if he stood up too quickly. Man! I thought. This kid is *never* gonna play ball again. How perfect is that? I was probably smiling about it. That calmed him down I guess. He got more cooperative when it looked like I was a little too interested in his lunch money.

To be fair, Luc was a perfect gentleman. Excepting when he fucked Chuck’s girlfriend who was Jeremy’s sister and also a redhead. That really wasn’t so cool.

All in all, it was much cooler than that whore constantly encouraging my girlfriend to cheat on and dump me.