West Texas Teardrops in my eyes
Sunday, June 23, 2002: 01:53 p.m.
Well I wonder, yeah I wonder how the world keeps spinnin' round. Where's a boy with bad intentions gonna settle down?

Yes. I am back... but I have to leave for a while.

As if my updating problems weren't bad enough, I'm going off to Tejas for a few. But before I go...
Graduation: It was nice and all, but it didn't really seem like any major event. It just happened, without all the hoopla that comes with a great celebration. Post-grad bowling was nifty though.
Loose Ends: Not all tied up, yet. Not by a long shot.

Yeah, I have to head off to the airport now, so I'll get back to this. Well, in all likelyhood, I won't. If you want anything from Tejas, or just want to say "Hey," call me on my cell phone. 408 area code = teh local call.

I need music.
Thursday, May 9, 2002: 08:38 p.m.
Hey. I figured out recently that music plays an important part of my life. (Wow. Profound.) Not only that, but I realized that a lot of song lyrics could double as page entries on this thing. It will make me look thoughtful, soulful, and lots of other -fuls (Save "full of shit") If it's in "quotations" then it is the entry title. If it's "not" then it is the first thing I would write in the entry. So, without further adieu...

"Imagine the dreams we've had sinse we were children are real."

"Is anything coming clearer smashing your mirror?"

"It's like waiting for the ocean to save you from the waves."

"And you say you've got that feeling again."
-It won't be long enough, but it may never end.

"One more day to fool them all. One more day to drop the ball."

"Inside I'm gone"
-You knew that all along.

"Is it all or is it none?"
-I can't decide.

"Tell me what you need to hear and I'll tell it to you again."

"I know you. Why don't you take what you need and then go away?"

"She said she hated Kenny G."
-That girl is way to good for me.

"For hurricanes have bluest eyes I've ever seen"

"The longest shadow has been cast."

This is taking a long time, but you get the general idea. whoo. whoo indeed.

Jigga Watt?!?
Monday, April 29, 2002: 09:22 p.m.
Hell man, it's 1 a.m.
I don't know where I am
Seems I went back in time
Chased by the Libyans

Got hit by a car
And won my mother's heart
Gotta find the Doc
So he can fix the Delorean

Please can you find me some
I need plutonium
Cause it will get me back to 1985

Gotta get Pops to the dance
And spark up some romance
Or I will disappear before your eyes

88 miles per hour

Here comes that jerkoff Biff
His car was filled with shit
So get your goddamn meat hooks off of her

He said, "Lorraine is mine!"
But don't fuck with Calvin Klein
I wish this nightmare was almost over

Gonna give it all I got
1.21 jiggawatts
Cause it will beam back to 1985

Gonna need a lightning bolt
To send a power jolt
So goes the ballad of Marty McFly

88 miles per hour

Everything worked out fine
I shot through space and time
And when I woke up
It was 1985

Got a new 4x4
And I love the girl next door
Seems life was better
I'm glad to be alive

But do my eyes deceive
Who's coming up my street?
Oh shit, it's Doc Brown
In his Delorean

Said, "We gotta save your son!"
To the future everyone
This can't be happening
Here we go again

Hip-Hop Has Blown My Mind.

Morningstar
Thursday, April 18, 2002: 10:31 p.m.
FROM: Stereo
TO: You
RE: While you were out...

It should really be "RE: That last message." I failed. Simple as that. I set out to do something, and I failed.
If I had a penchant for the melodrama, I'd say something like "that's another one that walked outta my life forever."
Luckily, I'm not big on melodrama.

One-third axis, two-third awesome.
Friday, March 29, 2002: 09:06 p.m.
The Germans have landed.

Recently, my humble little school of four thousand has been swept up in German Fever. It's Germnania! And, being the noble diplomat that I am, have taken it upon myself to ensure that at least one of the exchange students isn't ruined by my fellow students. I've already picked out the one, too.

And on a semi-related subject, I'm creating a new running tally.

Um... hey.
Monday, March 18, 2002: 09:35 p.m.
Hey. I really don't have anything to write about. I just wanted to write something, as I haven't updated in a while. I'm starting a new one of these pita things. The design is much better (if you'll recall, I promised a design rehaul for this site after the new year.) Well, that's it. the only problem is that I don't know what to write there. I could write the same sort of stupid stuff I write here, but then would I just get rid of this one? Choices.

Anyway, I'm at a lost for what I should do with that primo Ray Stereo real estate. Advice is greatly appreciated.

Sam Keith For the Eisner!
Friday, February 22, 2002: 08:28 p.m.
Almost forgot. My talks with the Diamond Distribution Company have come to a stand-still, and it looks like my unemployed self is still a ways away from opening my own production company. I did, however, manage to get myself a spot on the next Garish Zow Comics anthology/complilation/trade. And my house doesn't smell like fire anymore. Everything's coming up Stereo!

RE: Changing Strings
Friday, February 22, 2002: 08:13 p.m.
And the afro is no more. I'm half way free from a stiff kick to the face!

All apologies.
Tuesday, February 19, 2002: 11:37 p.m.
I started off writing an entry apologizing for no writing in days and days, but I read it over after I was done, and realized that it was incredibly stupid, so I erased it, but now I realize that this one is just as, if not more, stupid than the last, but hey... I guess stupidity just falls upon me like so many french door rope things every now and then.

And it is quite clear now because of that terrible run-on sentence I just wrote.

And now, for a change of pace.
Friday, February 8, 2002: 01:00 a.m.
Your reality is where you go. Your reality is who you love. What you think. What you create. Your reality is your tears; your laughter. Your reality is where you live. Blind to differences, your reality is your mistakes. Your reality is what you believe in. Your reality is framed by everything around you. This is your reality.

You're dreaming if you think you hang out at a place called the Peach Pit and your zip code is 90210, that your name is Felicity, Dawson, or Sabrina and you have perfect skin. This isn't some sugar-frosted sitcom fantasy land (do you see Tony the Tiger?) wake up to your reality.

They call you generation slacker. They think you steal from 7-eleven and download your term papers from the web. But you have dreams, hopes, goals. You aren't a statistic, you aren't a teenage mother, and you don't shoot up heroine. Some surrender to apathy. but you make your own reality.

You are not picture perfect. You are not the lip-glossed, hip-swinging, without-a-care models in Seventeen. You have bad hair days and zits. You don't ace every test and you barely read Catcher in the Rye. You have Mondays and you don't want to talk to your dad about marijuana or your mom about sex. welcome to your reality.

this is your reality. (this is your reality check.)
-Shaneather

Whenever I question myself as to why I spend all my time doing what I'm doing, all I need is a reality check.

I am a man of constant sorrow.
Wednesday, February 6, 2002: 09:21 p.m.
arrg. The sound of frustration. Say it with me. arrg. ARRG. All the little problems add up, and everyone else's little problems that somehow involve you rear their ugly heads, and before you know it, a few little problems snowball into one big ass ball of problems, comparable to a triple scoop of problem ice cream with a heaping helping of whipped annoyance and hot 'the worst possible time' syrup, hold the nuts. That, of course, is a whole other problem all together.

But I know it could be worse. These tiny, stupid misunderstandings that should have ever come to light causing any sort of problems in the first place will pass, and we can all just enjoy our god damned ice cream. Or tuna, which we all should know is the universal bringer together, not to mention highly recomended by four out of five hot kindergarden teachers. Now if I could only get that last one to come around.

In the midst of all of this, though, I did find my beanie...and the world is round again.

Here's a five, but I'm taking two ones...
Wednesday, January 30, 2002: 08:25 p.m.
Out of all the really bad things that have happened to me these last two weeks, the thing that bothers me the most is that I lost my beanie. I'll always have the memories...and the lingering odor.

DK2K
Tuesday, January 15, 2002: 01:02 a.m.
It's late, or early, depending on how one likes to look at things. I'm tired, but I can't sleep, because I have to finish my essay for my Santa Clara University. I'm actually writing my essay about comic books. This is either an increadibly good move, or a sure sign of a problem. I can only hope that the person who reads this likes comics, or my stupid sense of humour.

The greatest compliment
Sunday, January 13, 2002: 10:58 p.m.
"That's so great. I'm glad to finally meet someone in here with taste."

Thank you Andi Watson, you magnificent bastard. Thank you.

"Until the next time..."

soul power of attorny to squeeze
Thursday, January 3, 2002: 08:45 p.m.
Well, it's a new year and here I am with the same old design. Like I was really going to make that deadline anyways. But I've dedicated myself to this, and I am spending valuable hours when I should be writing my most important paper of the year essay and am devoting myself to web design. HUZZAH!

I'm also very upset that Microsoft took it upon itself to delete all my read e-mail to make room for all the spam mail I get. Sure, I'd like to increase my penis four inches naturally in three hours while I refinance my house and get both a real diploma and an international drivers license, but dammit, I had important stuff in there. Good bye forever, DELETED

Next week: Tejas.

Merry Christmas
Tuesday, December 25, 2001: 02:29 p.m.
Merry Christmas, every one who reads this. (That would be you, Vince.) I hope everyone got everything they wanted, and they'll never give it back. I know they hate that fact...

I hope you shared eight wonderful days of Channukahian fun, and got all the tube socks, pieces of gum, dental floss, and other crappy gifts that you dreamed of.

I'm off to Texas in two days, and if anybody wants anything, just ask me. But I'm only putting that offer up here, so only my great online fans can partake. Now, go start up a club devoted to me, or something. DO IT!

We may be living in a post-apocalyptic, post nuclear winter barren wasteland, but at least we'll have eachother.
Saturday, December 15, 2001: 10:22 p.m.
Hey yo. I went to a dance the other day. It was interesting. I may post pictures, and then the title of this might make just a little more sense. It was a night to remember, and not just because I had a lovely date. I was witness to something that night that, well, it's difficult to describe. It was one of those things that you might see in a movie. Maybe there was something behind it that we didn't know about, some snippit of information that would make it all make sense. Was it something that they did all the time, and we only saw it then, on accident even? Maybe it was one of those things that was spur of the moment, and the the people involved will just dismiss it as a one night only thing. Regardless to what they decided that it was, I am greatly affected, and I don't think it's fair. Call me selfish if you want, but the idea of something like that happening... it bothers me. Sure, it may make the people involved happy, but don't they realize that there is no way that it could end in a positive way? Argh, I don't know. On one hand, I really like the Olive Garden, but you just can't have people putting stuff into the food that doesn't belong there.

And speaking of pictures, i was cleaning out my computer when I stumbled across this beauty. Ah...poor, misguided youth...

Long live Tekno Team 2000!

It's, like, freezingly cold here.
Tuesday, November 27, 2001: 08:54 p.m.
"...A combination of musical differences and frustration led to the eventual demise of the band. Thinking that the path with Robert wasn't the best when it came to the band, they parted ways..." - Hey, recognition is recognition, and free publicity is always good. [snide]It's a shame the humour on that site is so low that the highpoint is purposely mis-spelling people's names.[/snide] You break my back with that comedy karate!

It has been increadibly cold these last few days. I mean, unmercifully cold. Almost, get this, 45 degrees! I'll wait now for all you North-East Coasters to stop laughing. I don't know how the hell I'm going to survive Boston College if I can't handle a 'harsh' California winter. Of course, I could just not get accepted, which would solve this whole problem right here and right now.

I was going to write a long insightful thing about my problems with relationships and long lost love affairs and ponies and unicorns and all that romantic crap, but I'm sure you'd much rather hear about TENTACLE RAPE! Now the only one question remains... do you have the guts to open this... AT WORK!?!

That's it for now. A huge site overhaul is in the works. Look for it before the new year.

Juggernaut.
Saturday, November 24, 2001: 08:30 p.m.
Whenever I want to write something in here, something goes wrong and I never can. Woe is me.

I had a lot of important things I wanted to write about, but I just can't remember right now. Doesn't that just suck? Well, I'm sure at some point I will have something important to write about, and then I shall write with such vigor and fury, but until then, yeah.

>>Snakes & Ladders<<
Monday, November 5, 2001: 09:18 p.m.
Right from the start, existence was a worry.

There have always been these long, nail biting, stretches of anxiety.

After the fuss and fireball of that first Big Bang, there was no follow-up, just silent blackness lasting for millennia.

The elements of substance were in place, but form would still take time.

One flash, then that uncertain pause.

The Universe as a substandard firework no one dare approach...

Was that it?

That's just like me; always leaving you wanting moore...

Some day, later, I'll update with important, meaningful writings. Until then...
Sunday, November 4, 2001: 09:18 p.m.
/FILLER

Sometimes, I reflect on my life and get increadibly mad at myself, but then I remember that other people are to blame for everything, so I have a hearty laugh at their expense. Isn't life grand?

/FILLER

Here comes the money. Bling bling. Dollah dollah
Wednesday, October 31, 2001: 12:13 a.m.
I just got a money order in the mail for $10.50 from selling an action figure on eBay. Screw college! I'm going to make a living seperating idiots from their money!

No, I'm not dead.
Saturday, October 27, 2001: 01:29 p.m.
"Yay. Then we can take lunches together and we'll have things to talk about, and I'll be like 'Have you read this?' and you'll say 'No, but have you read this?' and it will be great, and... What? I just get excited when I have material to talk about, because I think having something to talk about is the most important part of communication, and communication is the most import..."

I think I'm in love.

But I'm also deathly ill and dead tired, so my thought process may be a little off.

The nicest guy.
Saturday, September 22, 2001: 10:20 p.m.
I enjoy writing. I like to draw. I want to write the next great American novel, the epitomy of what great writing is in the 21st century, but I'm not that good. I want to draw/paint a masterpiece, a work that will one day be considered the most influencial piece of art of our time, but I can't draw nearly well enough. What is an aspiring writer/artist to do? Two words: Graphic Literature. Or one, easier word: comics.

I'd like to say that I was always a huge comic book fan, but I wasn't. I was a little when I was younger, but it wasn't until recently that I started to get into them again. My time is running short here, so let me just say that the best people in comics right now are Steve Seagle, Matt Wagner, Kevin Smith, and above all, Andi Watson, the nicest guy in comics.

P.S Pick up any issues of Slow News Day, Hopeless Savages, and Origin, if you can. Good stuff.

God Bless America
Friday, September 21, 2001: 11:01 p.m.
This last week I've been trying to articulate exactly what I was feeling, but I was unable to. I will return to my regular shcedule (I stopped posting regularly as to save up for a daily marathon post, starting Monday, Spetember 10th going until I was done. Per usual though, I procrastinated.) I have nothing I can say except give my condelences to the families of the victims, and sincere thank yous to the recue workers risking their lives to help.


God bless, America.

/MOD
Saturday, August 25, 2001: 08:59 p.m.
/MOD

Please forget that this message was ever posted in the first place. Instead, why not think of pancakes. Warm, fluffy, delicious pancakes. We all love pancakes! With syrup even!!!

Hollow Anti-Virus (tm)
Wednesday, August 22, 2001: 01:22 a.m.
My friends. I am here to warn you. If you get an e-mail titled "I forgot to tell you" DON'T OPEN IT!!! That is the dreaded and deadly Mutaba E-Mail Virus (MEV). The Mutaba was immediately go to work deleting your hard drive the instant you open the e-mail. It will reformat any discs you may have in your A Drive, and will also reformat any discs that are being held within ten feet of the computer. The virus will scratch your favorite CD, rendering it unplayable. The virus will put a bag of dog feces on your porch and then light it on fire. The virus will drink the last of the milk but put the empty carton back in the fridge. The virus will give you a really bad hair cut. The virus will turn off your alarm clock so you wake up late for work, and then it will hide your car keys so you will be even later. The virus will mug you while you walk downtown. The virus will call you fat. The virus will flush a sponge down your toilet. The virus will call up that girl or boy you really like, tell that person that you like them, and then also tell them that you ritualistically masturbate to a picture you have of Ed McMahon while spreading mayonaise over your naked body and listening to John Tesh. The virus will make your brother throw a football that breaks your nose right before school picture day. If you don't have a brother, the virus will make your parents have dirty, sweaty sex on your bed, have her get pregnant, give birth, and have the baby boy grow to an age that is old enough to throw a football with enough force to break a nose; all in the span of 20 seconds. The virus will download pornography onto your office computer and get you fired. The virus will make you fat, again. The virus will point you out as the second gunman on the grassy knoll. The virus will question your sexuality and seriously make you ponder. The virus will laugh at innapropriate times. The virus will say annoying things like, "Houstan, we have a problem," all the time. The virus will screw you up the kiester while simultaniously putting sugar in your gas tank. The virus can make you pick your nose and eat it while your picture is on the Jumbo-Tron at a nationally televised sporting event. The virus will do ANYTHING it wants to... except kill the Grimace. Nothing can kill the Grimace.

They had tie-dyed basketball jerseys in the Barcelona Games!
Friday, August 17, 2001: 03:08 p.m.
Note to self: Must visit the country of Lithuania sometime before I am either old or married. More to follow.

Getting to know you.
Thursday, August 16, 2001: 12:58 a.m.
I'm thinking about adding a webcam. Yeah, that's the ticket. I mean, I'm trying my hardest to reach a wider audience (preferibly one that feels the need to give me money) and really, what better way to get people to like you then by letting them get to know every intricacy of your life? It will be awesome. I mean, what's the point of reading messages, even if they are increadibly well written, if you can't identify the words to an image. Sure, I'd have to reconfigure my entire copmuter station. I'd have to move my Bulba, Ivy, and Venus-aurs. Edge and Christian (with flash photo action!) would have to move from the monitor to the computer base, along with my ultra rare Mariachi Matt Hardy variant. Doyle Wolfgang Von Frankenstein (and accompaning coffin) would have to move from the base to somewhere else, along with my ultra hip Model Nomad (with opening doors and non-detachable surf board!) I could move the misfit and the car from the base to the non-functioning scanner maybe, but then I'd have to move my awesome CyberShark (the bad ass Sharkticon of the future) somewhere else. I'm some what concerned of the thought of touching my CyberShark, seeing as how i think I broke him while spending the better part of two weeks trying to transform him from robot mode back to animal mode. I could move some stuff by the speakers. I mean, Psyduck did seem kind of lonely... and stupid, but that's out of my hands.

Okay. So I've totally altered the lives of, what, ten or eleven toys/plushes/models/action figures, and for what? You wanted a picture, an image, and you are totally content to sit idly by and watch the lives of these brave...things be destroyed? God, what kind of fucked up viewership do I have? Besides, I don't have enough available memory to make it happen anyways. In the meantime, if you need your image to identify with so badly, I'll take care of that.

28 questions
Saturday, August 11, 2001: 08:10 p.m.
I took her soul, and my only regret was that I never had the chance to give it back... but I guess that's just the fascist in me talking.
That is all for now.

conformicity (a.k.a Why the fuck do they call it a 'blog' anyways?)
Monday, July 30, 2001: 01:24 a.m.
Lately, I've been going through various peoples PITA websites deals, looking to see what they've been able to do, design wise, in an attempt to further humiliate my non l337 HTML skillz. Upon doing so, I came to a startling realization: Most of these pita pages look the same... stupid. It seems as though there is a standard now for how things are done. Stupid anime picture on the top, a bar on either side with a slew of information (name, alias, d.o.b/age, mood, favorite anime person, etc.) I saw a couple of sites like this. "No big deal," I thought, "maybe they're friends and set up similar sites." Then I checked another site, and another, and another. I checked 17 sites, and all 17 followed the same format. Holy scheisse! Am I so far out of the teenage girl loop!?! My page must look even more substandard.

Maybe I can call myself "old school," and get respect and credibility from the pretentious crowd? Maybe I can take a minimalist stance, saying that well written post make up for a lack of stupid pictures? Of course, for that to be the case, I'd have to actually have well written posts, but that's not the issue right now. The issue at hand is that I'm being beat by the newer, younger, hipper crowd more swayed by fancy graphics and mind numbing posts instead of good old fashion writing. I'm losing my touch with the common man. I need a post, one single post that ties together every person, brings together the population under one common banner, makes us all see that we are not alone when we have eachother. Dagnabbit, I need to bring back the good old fashioned values that made this country great. I need to unite the people. I need to take a stand!... but mostly, I need a web designer to make my ugly page less ugly. Maybe I just need a new ad campaign?

If your secret was an animal, what animal would it be?
Wednesday, July 25, 2001: 09:51 p.m.
When it starts, it always starts small. So small that the origin almost always goes unnoticed... Almost.

Have you ever felt like something was wrong, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't figure out what it was, let alone fix it to make things right again. I feel as though something isn't right, like something has left my person, something small, albeit important, and I'm at a loss as to what exactly it is. Woe is me, I suppose. Woe is me.

No gnus is good gnus
Tuesday, July 24, 2001: 05:17 p.m.
I, along with the two other propriaters of this website have come to a decision that will most likely radically effect your lives in more ways you can imagine. That's right, we archived our first page. It is entitled "Introductions" because, basically, we used those posts as a way to introduce you to the lovably down on his luck "Robby" character. Yes, that smart, witty, handsome, nice guy managed to find a way into all of your hearts. You can relate to him. His problems are similar to yours. Most importantly, you trust him. You will believe anything he says and take it as the total, unbiassed truth. You will send him all of your money, if he asks, because he is you. Now that we have that part out of the way, we can now proceed to part 2 of our diabolical plan for world domination. Wait, this memo was supposed to be for HOLLOW evil plan staff members only... please, ignore the previous statements...

Honestly though, I think that first page was just a tad bit too long, and I'm sure you readers (all seven of you, but seven is better than three!) are tired of reading about some of my more meaningless posts. Gone are the posts about ducks and stupid alcoholics at really bad parties, replaced with ACTION, EXCITEMENT, and most importantly ADVENTURE!, you're choice.

Oh yeah, Ann called me from American soil today. ROB=TEH HAPPY. But she left my uber-cool gift back in Germany. ROB=TEH SAD. Mark my words you Kraut Bastard, those eggs WILL be mine!!!