Flights of Boredom

March 6, 1999

By Morgan Carlson

I must confess. I have no topic on my mind. None what so ever. Sorry. But we're going to let loose the vowels of war, and see what arises. I'm the kind of writer that takes these gutsy chances.
First of all, let's give a major chunk of love to Matt, who's out in London, spreading the Family tentacles overseas. (Also, let's send some love to Carrie, who is doing the same down in Virginia. It's not across any major body of water, but it's still a pretty long drive.) Anyhow, Matt, as always, is tirelessly updating his page to include my musings, and he doesn't receive a red cent of payment in return. Thanks, big guy. (But you're STILL not getting any head from me, limey.)
Also, I'm starting to get a little miffed at the lack of crowd participation in these letters. You ALL check your E-mail like postal junkies, so don't pretend that you're not reading these hours after they're sent. Feedback makes this thing fun... it's a 'Family' list, darn it. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that this operation is valuable enough by my hands alone. Give and you shall receive, my children. (Grinning as I am bathed in a light from above.) Demagogue I may be, but I still need some 'amens!" from the little people to solidify my position as spiritual leader of the Family flock.
Actually, the Family is really a leader-less unit, which has always been one of its charms. It's been a unique blessing to have created a circle of friends that consists completely of irresponsible layabouts. But we're all a UNIQUE kind of lazy. I have that 'this is so easy it's not worth doing' thing going. Allan's more of a 'this can wait until five this morning' kind of slacker. And Brie-Anne is.... wait. Brie is pretty darn responsible. Wait, why do we hang out with this girl? What a goober. Hey McKernan (not Pam, the other one... you know, with the shirt...), why don't you take your 'books' and your 'future' and go cure cancer or something. Nerds. Huh.
Speaking of nerds, the Y2K thing is rapidly advancing. I have no fucking clue as to the results of this little dilemma, but if I have to go without a computer for an extended period of time, there will be trouble. I have nothing against human beings or anything, but they don't really offer the coldness or machine-like reliability of the PC. And can a person run X-Com at a Pentium level? Puh-lease.
Wow, I dragged this out pretty well. I DEFINITELY have a future in this business. All I need is a catch phrase:
"And that's ALL she wrote." - Too feminine. Yikes.
"Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom." - Too Mafioso.
"Slam, bam, thank you ma'am." - Too.... fraternity-esque.
Remember 'Fraternity?' Ed and I designed a cologne named 'Fraternity', which was just a beer can with a perfume spray nozzle at the top. Shit, Ed, we could sell that by the truckload, both as an alcoholic product and a gag gift. Man, Ed, we're sitting on a goldmine... stop jerking off and start buying cheap beer!
Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom. - Morgan -

ecent.