Nick Crothers

Student

murder, kittens... or kitten murder.

right now its the onion: ad nauseum, and the collected stories of breece d'j pancake

anything funny. i really dont get into the drama.

anything that you won't find on an endcap at FYE or Tower is usually ok. i love old 70's italian police movie scores.

Mr.Show, family guy, simpsons, scare tactics (they edit out the parts where the people poop their pants)

When I was eight, I was sent to live on the melon farm of
an uncle--a sixth-grade dropout who attributed his IQ of
70 to sniffing gasoline and glue from the age of five, and
whose manner of compulsively clawing at the skin behind
his neck was a characteristic sign of amphetamine
toxicity. One morning he served me a cereal that consisted
of sweetened corn puffs and marshmallow, hook-nosed,
bearded "Jew-Puffs"; I asked him never to serve that cereal to
me again.The next morning, he set a heaping bowl of the
same cereal on my place mat. I killed him with a 12-gauge
shotgun blast before lunch. That night I buried him in the
cyclone cellar. I stole his pickup truck and drove out to
a huge diesel-run electric turbine plant near the
outskirts of the city and I had my first sexual
experience. A f t e r w a r d, I lit a cigarette and
looked up into the sky-there was God, wearing a pink polo
shirt, khaki pants, and brown Top-Siders with no socks,
his blond hair blowing in the powerful wind of charged
particles and intense ultraviolet radiation from the
galactic center. I hated him. And he hated me.
I have spent the majority of my 21 years in orphanages,
reformatories, prisons, and mental institutions. I had
four oboe teachers and each one fell into an irrigation
sluice and drowned. I'd tried explaining to my social
workers that I hated double-reed mouthpieces. I pleaded
with them not to make me take lessons on any instrument in
the oboe family, which also includes the English horn, the
bassoon, and the double bassoon. But nobody listened.
I hated the other children. Especially the ones whose
parents could afford to provide proper orthodontic care. I
had to gnaw constantly. My incisors grew four to five
inches a year: if I'd stopped gnawing, my lower incisors
would have eventually grown until they pushed up into my
brain, killing me. Over the years, I was treated for a
slew of psychiatric and behavioral proble

Abe Vigoda, Jesus (in that order)