True Love and Tiny Beers

Dropkick Murphys came out with a new album. They really got back to their roots. There's three traditional songs, and everything has an undeniable punk flavor to it. I'm a huge fan.

There's a few songs on there about hanging out with your buddies and getting into trouble. That makes me miss Bricker and Mauricio to a huge degree. It makes me miss Bricker too. We don't hang out as much as we used to. We both spend too much time on girls. That's growing up though.

There's a couple other songs about love, and specifically, love not working out the way you want it to work out. That makes me miss Jenny a lot. I spent a whole lot of time, money and effort on her. Notice, I said spent, not wasted, and that was a conscious decision. She broke my heart, but she's still one of the best girls I've ever seen. And I'm glad we still talk even if it hurts sometimes.

Jimmy having a baby and getting married really throws me for a loop. I want to do that some day, but in the other order. I think Mauricio would tell me my biological clock is ticking. Fuck you, Mauricio.

Anyway. Sorry for the infrequency of the posts and the less than comic quality of the writing. The last time Jenny and I broke up it did something. I can't write anything that's worthy of people seeing.

Guess I lost my Muse, right Babe?

Anyway. Love you guys. All of you. Here's a picture.

That's right. 3 inches of pure pleasure. No, not Bricker, it's a Baby Guinness. My mom made Kahlua in our pantry. Yeah, my mom's hard core. She made moonshine. So I poured the Kahlua most of the way off the shot glass, then I layered some Brady's Irish Cream (better than Baily's) on the top. I think I'm awesome because I can layer drinks. Anyway, here's me drinking said mixological masterpiece.

Slainte.

So...Jimmy's Alive

And that makes me happy.

We miss you too, Brother.

So, you're pretty much in hell. But I think you'd rather be there than still be here.
Don't get me wrong. I know you miss us, and I know you're going to be excited to come home. But think about how depressed you were because your life wasn't taking a direction.

Women weren't panning out. Berkly was a son of a bitch when it came to getting in an app. Now you've got Steph, congratulations, and you've got the groundwork laid(lain?) for a viable career path if you wanted to do medicine. If I'm not mistaken, you also have a way to get yourself into college, maybe be an English teacher with me.

You know who else was trained by Army and then became an English teacher? Stacy Omel.

What are you gonna do though, Man? You and Steph gonna live out here? Or are you two, Bricker, and myself all moving to Salt Lake City and starting a microbrew company. Swinging Brother's brand Ale.

I guarantee we'd make a fine IPA. Mauricio, you can come down too when you realize you have too much integrity to be a politician.

By that time my brother will be old enough to drink and he'll probably need me, so he can come join the crew. Patrick can come down with him, cause he doesn't like to miss out on all the fun. Both little brothers together should equal one whole person. That will make 5 of us. We can be the Thunder 5. Bricker gets that reference.

Don't worry, Brick. You're not going to make it to San Diego, but you'll become Dr. Fruitfly's protege, and take over when he retires, earning your own fame in the Drosophila field. You're going to be a big deal...not a mechanic.

All right. There you go, kids. I just laid out your future. You can thank me in the form of cash, baked goods or...well...that's it really. Cash or Baked goods.

Want a picture? How about the sexiest woman I've ever seen?

Where's my buddy?

Where are you, Jim?

Another Bick Boatswain Post.

"The mark of my divinity shall scar thy DNA."- Brick Boatswain

Wait a second. Brick Boatswain didn't say that. Gil did when you fought him as the final Boss in Street Figher 3- 3rd Strike. And that's a picture of Q-Ball, one of the more successful white emcees.

So I got an e-mail from Brick Boatswain. I thought it was actually from Bricker, but as it started to unfold...I realized that I was laboring under a false pretense.

I can't do the e-mails justice...so I'll give you the high points of some of them. Here is the original post if you missed it.

Dear Robbery Joe,

Its me, Brick Boatswain. I don't think that I know you, since I live two time zones away and, while I've been to Las Vegas, have never lived in Nevada, but I would like to ask: why do you hate me? Or is there another Brick Boatswain out there, being a jerk and trying to ruin my good name?

Please let me know.

Sincerely yours,
Brick
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Dear Brick Boatswain,

I don't think you're Brick Boatswain.

Whether or not you are Brick Boatswain, you use commas when you shouldn't and don't use apostrophes when you should. Yet another reason why I can not stand the enigma that is Brick Boatswain.

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what can i say - i ain't no english major.

please tell your brick boatswain to stop being a jerkass, just to make sure that we don't have any confusions. i want a clean slate.

- b

(Here, I was confused, because he used his mind reading powers to find out I was an English Major, and he used the word Jerkass. So I thought he was Bricker.)

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The theory of Original Sin dashes your hopes tabula rasa Mr. Boatswain, and even if you don't subscribe to Catholic Doctrine, you know your sins are wide an varied.

You can not run from yourself or your own, dark past.

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yup - i'm definitely not your Brick Boatswain. i'm a 27 year old guy from missouri who lives in washington, d.c. now. have fun - b


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Are you not the same Brick Boatswain who had your own Website in the mid to late 90's?

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actually, yeah, now that you mention it, i did - why do you ask?

are you sure this isn't just some weird coincidence? - b


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Did you happen to get some hate mail that said a whole page of mean stuff about you because you were sad that a Smashing Pumpkins album was too short for the price you paid?

And the guy who wrote it called you fat, and then went on to talk about how Led Zepplin IV was the best album of all time even though it only had 9 songs?

(Now I'm doubting it's Bricker.)

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bingo - that's me.

i just paid $300 for a ticket to see the Pumpkins tomorrow night here in DC - I'm pretty excited.

I like Zeppelin, and have a decent collection of albums, but you have to remember that those were recorded at a different time, where there were tighter limits on how much music you could put on a record, and bands typically released albums more often than once every two years, which seems to be the norm nowadays. (Here, he mirrors my opinion on music, freaking me out.)


you're still angry about that? awesome. anything else you're angry about that has to do with me? (He thinks holding a grudge over something ridiculous and petty for several years is awesome. This guy has to be cool.)

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Holy cow, Bro!

I read that e-mail when I was like 14 and I thought it was the funniest thing I ever read. The blog that's blasting you is an homage to that e-mail.

Holy shit, you, Sir, have been a generic bad guy for the past 10 years because of that one e-mail.

Holy shit! You're THE Brick Boatswain. I'm honored.
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holy crap. glad i could provide a laugh, and that i could be your generic bad guy for so long. seriously - curiousity is absolutely piqued right now. this is awesome.

my friend actually emailed me this morning, and asked 'who is robbery joe, and why does he hate you?' your blog is about the second thing that shows up when you type my name into google. awesome.

(He talks like Jimmy from High School.)

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This is so weird, Man. Talking to you is like being confronted with a myth.

Holy crap, I'm awesome. That's funny, cause as far as I know, only like 7 people read my blog.

You mind if I put some of this conversation up as a post?

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go for it - i'm kind of strangely honored that Brick Boatswain, the Man, the Myth, the Legend actually exists, even if it is for the fact that i'm kind of an idiot.

awesome. purely awesome.

(He's right, you know. Having someone you've never met talk about you for 8 years is purely awesome.)

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I hope you appreciate what kind of bind this puts me in. I've used you as a comedic villain in a thousand hypothetical situations, now you come along and mess it all up by actually being cool?

The Brick Boatswain of fantasy is a bumbling tool. You're actually a well spoken, nice guy. Who's vocabulary is close to my own, and who's sense of what is awesome is eerily akin to my friends'.

Why must you do this, Brick Boatswain, Wrecker of Dreams?

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Wrecking dreams is what I do; its how I make a living. And while I appreciate your situation, you may see below for an opportunity to re-villfy Brick Boatswain.

Seriously - this is like an episode of Oprah: "Email Rivals Reunite".

This is cracking me up. How exactly did Brick Boatswain get used? Like, you see some piss on your toilet seat, so you just assume that Brick Boatswain was there? If some guy hits on your girlfriend, you immediately assume that he's Brick Boatswain?

Here, I'll give you some ammunition to discover my true inner toolness - http://thoraxmalone.blogspot.com/ my blog, which is about nothing, which I hardly ever update. The fact that my friends and I have a running joke about the hypothetical "Thorax Malone" has to say something in and of itself. There has to be some stuff in there that is worthwhile.

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There you go. That's how Brick Boatswain proved that he's not really a tool. He's actually pretty damn cool. And that's why he's still a bastard. Always proving me wrong. With a hand clenched in a fist of rage, I cry to the tumultuous heavens, "I'll get you, Brock Boatman!"

Quickie

Zebulon B. Vance (May 13, 1830- April 14 1894) was an American Civil War hero and three-time Governor of North Carolina. A prodigious writer, Vance became one of the most influential southern leaders of the Civil War and post-bellum periods.

I typed "Vance is a Hero" into Google image search. This is what came up. He's a mythic, C.P. Squires-esque hero. He was active during the Civil War, but was obviously a space traveler from the future. He was not simply a time traveler, because they have names like "Cabal" or "Bishop." People named Zebulon do have the ability to traverse time, but they need massive space ships to do so.

I'll have another, richer, bustier post soon, but this picture pretty much spoke for itself, and was bound to make Jimmy wet his pants (or someone else's). Too good not to post.

Unlikely Heroes

The Ubersänger, The UberLadie'sman, and Tony all walk into a bar...Ouch!



You know Nietzsche's "ubermensch," theory. The theory that there is an exemplary man somewhere. This Platonic man is the "Uberman," fantastic in all ways of life. I say Nietzche's view was a little narrow. Nietzche was a nhilist, so I understand his outlook being a little bleak.

I'm a worldly man and I've traveled far and wide meeting people that are fantastic to say the least. There's my dad, Richard Ditando, Earnest Hemmingway, Jimmy, Qui Chang Cane, Han Solo and LightSoul. Indeed, Ubermen are all over the place, being awesome, renovating history, and never getting the recognition they deserve.

Because of the abundance of Uberman, and Bricker's insatiable need to classify things into manageable categories, I've decided to give a few ubercategories which you may have overlooked. For instance Brian McMullan is our resident Uberpublican.

Don Henley: The Ubersänger

Don Henley is better than the Eagles, his collection of songs that utterly rock is larger than Joe Walsh's and he's actually better than Glenn Frye in every way. I need to say that I love Joe Walsh, and I really dig Glenn Frye. I like the Eagles, but I'd rather listen to any one of them solo than 88% of the music by the Eagles.


This begs the question how could a whole possibly be less than the sum of its parts? Wow...I didn't expect that. Bricker just explained how it's possible with physics. Apparently Henley, Meisner, Frye, Felder and Walsh are sub-atomic particles, and The Eagles are an atom...but I don't understand that. So we'll stick with my field of expertise: complex linguistic jokes.

It's simple, The Eagles, as a whole, are less than the sum of their parts because a hole by it's very nature must be so. The more component parts to take away from the hole the more it increases. Shut up, it was going to be funny before Bricker punctured my humor balloon with the ice-pick of fact.


Anyway, Boys of Summer kicks ass.

And i can see you
you brown skin shining in the sun
You got that hair slicked back and
Those Wayfarers on, baby

I love brown skinned women. I love Ray-Bans.

Out on the road today, I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac...

The Dead were a counterculture icon. A Cadillac is a status symbol. What's this? Henley commenting on his own generation? What's that Sir? The rebellious youths of your generation grew up to become captains of industry? Are you saying that liberals are only liberal because they want things to change, and then those who get their way become conservatives? But what does this do to my tenuous grasp on political ideology? That means there's no cleat cut right and wrong. That means that we should hear everyone out because both change and tradition have their merits. That means we should be wary of radicals no matter what their affiliation. Could this possibly be true about other areas of life? Religion? Work? Video games?

Mr. Henley, you're the reason why I'm a well-informed, responsible voter.

Don Henley is awesome, and he's a hell of a guy. Check this:

Phil Collins: The Uberladiesman

Woodsmen gather wood, Fishermen gather fish, Ladiesmen gather the ladies. And Phil Collins is a titan in the industry. He's not the best. He's been married three times, so he enjoys the luxury of monogamy, but he's simply too much man for one woman. So it never lasts. He seriously gets chicks left ant right, which anyone can do, but not anyone who looks like this:

Seriously, my friend here is some sort of mystical Joe Pesci/John Belushi/Paul Simon hybred. And the ladies love him, not to mention he's two steps below Christopher Walken on the dancing scale. His sense of humor puts him over the top. Hats off, Sir.

Tony: The Uberbetrüger

Who's had years of corporate training in passive aggression? Who can shake your hand and ask how your holiday went while secretly wishing a safe would fall in front of your car on your drive home, after you have a crappy day at work, causing you to veer off the road into a ravine of stagnant water containing species of interbred hairless-cat/cockroach mutants gifted with the power to control your mind making you think the slurping gurgles you're hearing as they eat your insides like soup sound like Neil Young singing Mandy Moore's greatest hits?

That's right, me.

Working here has given me a cynical view on the integrity of the human race to say the least. Most of the people I deal with are snakes, liars, backstabbers and general monsters. How do I stay afloat? I make friends with them. Having Irish heritage, I can drive away the snakes, usually with intimidation. But I can outlie the liars, making them think I'm "on the level." I'm too quick for the backstabbers, which gives them a good reason to respect me, and, being a D&D kid, monsters of all kinds are my specialty. They think my knowledge of their twisted ways comes from my own experiences, not careful observation of their ways.

So basically I outclass them in every way imaginable, even humility, which, taking this current statement into account, is quite incredible.

I am Robbery Joe, the Master Trickster.

Good Times

So in this picture I'm totally decking the Jimma-Jam. That's cool in itself, but the real star is Bricker. Look at him, in the corner, so menacing, so Joe-Cool. Bricker doesn't smoke, but that guy in the picture sure does.



Sometimes, at 7:00am it's good to elbow-drop your friends. Bricker has Jimmy here. He's actually beating him pretty brutally. Why am I elbow-dropping him? Not so I can save Jimmy, it's so I can simultaneously pound both their faces into hamburger.



See, there's two ways to look at this shot. I like to pretend I'm kicking Bricker in the chest and he's flying away Jon Wu style. What's really happening is I'm trying to kick him in the solar plexus and he's thwarting my attempt with his bet. Seriously, Bricker was coordinated and lightning fast enough to wrap his belt around my leg mid-kick. He's the biggest bad-ass. I don't care if Jimmy can kill a man with his thumb or not. Also...Look at Jimmy in this picture. The fact that he's sitting back, toad-style, watching in amazement instead of joining in the carnage is bigger testament to what's going on than my simple words can convey.




Possibly my favorite shot. Bricker is already out, laying on the ground, helpless, certainly crippled, probably permanently. I'm useless, Jimmy lands a solid right, all 130 lbs of him backing the blow. You know I was out before I even hit the ground. After this, the camera goes black and Jimmy feeds his dark essence with our souls. It makes a man weep.

The hat that's been knocked off Bricker's head and lies motionless amidst the bloodshed is really a statement about our society. Probably. Think about it. Also, think about this:


Yeah. I'm that friggen cool. See what you're missing, Jim? You could have been watching me make out first hand, instead you're "saving lives" and "fulfilling a duty to your country and ancestors." Whatever.

I'd like to show you something.

Two things actually.

First:

Click on this.

That's Right. It's the Order of the Phoenix trailer. Are you Jazzed? Are you Jammin'? Are You Jump/Jive/Wailin'? You better be, or I'll kill you.

Second:

I have a picture of Daniel Radcliffe's butt. He's in a play in London called Equus. It's about a shrink who tries to help out a kid who has a pathological obsession with horses, or as I like to say, the Anti-Bricker. So...without further egging the custard, Harry Potter and the Ass of Sorrows. So, when you comment, come up with a clever title for a Harry Potter book, and incorporate bare butts somehow. Jimmy, I'm counting on you.






There you go. Enjoy.

A Perfect Life

Here are two pictures of what I want out of life.

Two things are absolutely essential for a perfect life.






















1. Beaches

2. A hot wife

Beaches are essential because beaches have water, sand, fishes, rocks and air. In short, all the things
one needs to survive.

A hot wife is also essential. A regular wife is not sufficient. A hot wife is necessary for several reasons, to make your friends jealous, to be aesthetically pleasing, and to help you keep it up.

There are two flaws in these pictures, and they are interrelated. The first flaw is that the girls are not Hispanic. Hispanic women are better than white women because in general they are prettier, and they almost always cook better. Up with Hispanic women. Jenny, we're fighting today, I think, but I love you anyway, and I'm sending you a link to this post so you can read it.

The second flaw is that the couples are not interracial. Interracial couples are better than same-race couples because they produce genetically superior offspring. Natural law dictates that diversifying your genes gives you better offspring, creating a truly superior race. Eat that you Nazigoatsuckers.

Once you've got the basics down, a hot wife and a beach, there are a few things you need to obtain true perfection. The first, is an animal companion, preferably a male, and equally preferably, a dog, gazelle, horse, unicorn, tiger, dragon, platypus or, if you're lucky enough, a bear. Cause...let's face it...women are confusing, stubborn, and wrong most of the time. Also, they like to be alone. We don't like to be alone. So, if you're sick of your woman, or she's in one of those moods, make her go sit somewhere and enjoy being alone, and then, you can play with your dog/marmot/umber hulk/whatever. Animal companionship is important.

Next, proper attire. Shirts, for men, are strictly forbidden, and for women they are frowned upon. As we can see in picture 2, cargo pants are acceptable, but a utilikilt is the best possible option, because it combines the two manliest garments: cargo pants and kilts. Remember, you can carry an entire six-pack of beer in a utilikilt. If you choose to do so, go with bottles, they stay cold longer and they don't seem to fizz as much when you open them.

Lastly, children. Kids are cool under certain conditions. Fist you should be 30+/- 3 years of age. Second, your wife should be willing to make out with you as your kid runs around like a retarded goose. It takes a special woman to do this, cause a lot of times women are born brain damaged. Hot women rarely think they're hot. Conversely, women who do think they are hot are usually fat, diseased, deformed, or worse. Back to hot women. Hot women usually think they are ugly, and once they have a kid, they know that their husbands think they are fat and gross forever after. I don't have a way to fix this, I just thought you should be prepared...Patrick. You're going to end up with the hottest wife probably, besides me. You have the next best taste in women.

That about covers it. But wait. You know what? You want to know one more little bit of happiness? Something that can put your perfect life over the top? Okay, I'll tell you. If you have a woman that really loves you. I mean really loves you. She'll wear this:


Yeah...It's a chainmail bikini. Yes, in the idea situation your woman will be clad in chainmail, twin daggers strapped to her sweet caramel colored thigh. You'll be back to back, with her, broadsword in hand fighting off the mutant squid/bat hybrids crawling out of the ocean just before sundown on your little beach in post-apocalyptic Big Sur California. Sure, Big Sur is a pine forest now, but after the bell tolls well...you'll see.

Holy Bolshoids...

With the addition of Patrick and Mauricio I've effectively doubled my readership. I'm a big deal now. And as a big deal, I figured I should post something a little more entertaining than the day to day minutia that comes up in my head. I really found Jimmy's post exciting, and so I figured, "Yeah, combat medic is pretty damn exciting, but it doesn't hold a candle to Maildude."

Hold on to your butts, Kids, and get ready for a day in the life.

I woke up this morning, Bosstones blaring out of my iMode. An iMode is a docking station for one's iPod that functions as a clock-radio. You can wake up to any song on your iPod. It's a struggle just to get up, but there's no choices here. You have to get up, you have to keep going.

So I pour myself into the shower and turn it on as hot as it can go. It burns, burns to the point of being mildly uncomfortable, but you have to live with it. I rub the big green bar of Irish Spring all over my body. I pay...special attention...to my delicate parts. Then I get a good lather going on my hands and soap up my scalp.

First blood...I cut myself while I'm shaving my head. It takes...I don't know...5 or six whole seconds to stop bleeding. As the panic fades I look up into the shower head and laugh with pure joy. Another near miss...perhaps I'll live to do it all again tomorrow.

This section has been deleted by the FCC
ducking through the aisle at Von's. It helps that I'm listening to Steppin' Razor by Peter Tosh. It makes you believe you can do anything. I spin around an endcap, narrowly avoiding being spotted by the cashier. Finally, I'm there. The bakery. Like the flashing lightning I make my selection: poppy seed, with plain cream cheese. A man's bagel. I pay, and get back in the car.

At work, the adrenaline takes over. I'm outside myself, watching myself do amazing things, things I never knew my hands could do: folding, stuffing, taping. The mail comes like an endless wave. Resisting it would be resisting the tide, so I flow with it. It comes in, it goes out. All the while there's a steady crackle of office politics in the background. I am immune.

At 4:30 I sit, the demands of the job quelled. I contemplate what to do later, to pass the time. Will I watch a movie? Will I make out? Who knows? Anything goes when you live on the edge.

Here's a picture.

Groundbreaking News!!

Gentlemen...this is the most important day of my life. Actually, August 14, 2007 will be the most important day of my life. That's right. You guessed it. After waiting for so long, Warner Bros. will finally be releasing Kenneth Branaugh's Hamlet out on DVD. This is so friggen sweet.

Here's a picture. Not one from the film, but I thought you'd like it just the same.


This guy heard the call. And I photographed his license plate. He probably doesn't know. Unless the Great Old Ones told him. In which case, I'm fucked. I'm pretty tough, but I can't take Hastur the Unspeakable, He Who Must Not Be Named. Think about that.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

I feel like Hamlet today. I feel like Hamlet most days. I feel like I'm living in a play, and not one that I entirely enjoy.

That's no way to talk though. You have to keep an upbeat attitude.

Okay, I don't mind being sentimental here, because you, plural, Jimmy and Bricker, are the only ones who look here. I'm going to list 5 things I'm grateful for, and if you want to leave a comment, you have to do the same.

I'm grateful for:
1. My Dogs
2. My friends
3. Jenny
4. A good family
5. Frank Herbert

Wow...those came really easily. I'll let you guys in on something, and I know it'll sound stupid, but I'm in this kind of mood today. When you feel like crap, start thinking of things you're grateful for and it usually goes away pretty quickly. Now that I think of it...That's what Bilbo did in the Hobbit when he was homesick. Holy crap! Tolkien taught me yet another thing! Yes! I'm friggen Jazzed about that.

Okay, well...nothing funny today...that sucks...Oh...Wait...I got one. How many goblins does it take to light a torch?
.
.
.
.
.

Give up?
.
.
.
.
As many as possible! Because we'll kill all the goblins in the torchlight and a 50ft. radius beyond! Such is the might of the Dwarves! HA!

I guess that really isn't that funny...Genocide isn't funny..........Psh! Who am I kidding? It's friggen hilarious as long as it isn't us.

So what do you guys think about the LDS guy who's running for office? Also, what do you think about Nathan coming home tomorrow?

Also...what do you think about this picture?



I don't know about you, but I think this dude deserves a kick in the nuts that straddles the border between crippling and lethal. I'm a geek, but I don't photoshop flames and wings into my pictures.

Okay...Thanks for stopping by, Guatemala (I don't end sentences in prepositions, at any cost).

End of the school year.

But I know you're checking to see any updates...Bricker.

So here, take a look at this.

http://picasaweb.google.com/DesertPirate/YeahSheSMyGirl

Two Words(Letters)

Brick Boatswain

You're nothing but a loser. You're fat, and I can't stand you. There's no excuse for a worm like you unless it's to make the rest of us feel better.

What I can get over is your stupid fancy suits and your big, stupid smile.

That's the kind of shit-eating smile the people get slapped for where I come from.

You know what your favorite cereal is, Brick Boatswain? Coco Pebbles. Think about it.

Brick Boatswain, if I were to write a poem about you, it would be language poetry. Because language poetry has no finesse, no form and is utterly disrespectable. In fact I'll give it a try.

Brick Boatswain, a poem by Robbery Joe.

Worm, greececan
Sypihlitic
Wartorn malevolent; lackluster

Insignificant.

There you go Brick. I hope this teaches you something.

Randal Flagg

Randy Flagg is one of the worst villains in literature. You know why? Cause he's like Iago. He has no motive. He just wants to screw everything up for everyone.

You know who else is like that?

The friggen' Shredder, that's right. I'm talking about Iroko Saki. Why did he want to kill the Turtles? No reason. He had a feud with Hamato Yosi, Master Splinter, but he just wanted to kill the Turtles cause he was a douche.


As a side note. I didn't see this guy's face. Usually that would be like "Psh...who cares, you didn't see the guys face." But not when the guy's initials are RF. Ramsey Forrest, Richard Fry, Robert Franq, Russell Faraday, Richard Fannin...Yeah...We're talkin' about The Walkin' Dude.

I didn't see this guy's boots either, but if he wasn't wearing faded blue jeans and dusty boots, I'm a Billy Bumbler.

Stephen King Follows Me

Kind of...

How do you explain driving behind a truck that says 19?

Sometimes,

Late at night, when the wolves are howling and creeper vines are scratching at your door, you lay awake and think.

You lay awake because you're too scared to sleep, cause you know what evil dreams lie in wait.

You think because that's all you can do. That's all God gives you. You're alone; nothing but your own wicked paranoia to keep you company.

I don't know what fears keep you up, but I know the one that has me caught there, by the balls.

It's the fact that this guy's out there, and there's nothing I can do about it because I don't know where he is.

I'll get you one day, Fat Man. And I'll get my coat back.

Okay this is kinda fun.

Seriously...I love this girl.

Enforcer/Defender

It's often been debated by scholars, the distinction between these two words.

They actually come from the same Indo-Latin root meaning "One who has the ability to kick ass"

So...I used the words interchangeably in the introduction and the blog title.

Introducing:

Without further egging the custard,

And with no more ado,

I give to you the Keeper of the Flame of Aragon,

First man through the breech at the Battle of Bethlehem,

The Seeker of Serenity,

The Protector of Italian Virginity,

The Enforcer of our Lord, God!!

The One!

The Only!!

Robbery Joe!

The internet is no longer safe.