Wednesday, December 31, 2003

Awwww Man! Where'd my friend 2003 go?

2004... the BIG change.

since ray was gracious enough to shed a little light on his personal life... here's some news from my side (it's not as personal as ray's though, his blog was awesome)

it all started in 1993. i had 6 months to go before i turned 16 years old. that was the year i found my hat at a store called The Vintage Plus located on 23rd street in Oklahoma city, Ok. that day became frozen in time for me. since placing that hat on my head I have worn the same thing, everyday, for the past 10 years. i have worn nothing but my milan hat, button-up blue shirts, the same style of pants, the same style of white under shirt, a beard, and black & white shoes with some sort of stripe... every day... for 10 consecutive years.


well... i don't know. i guess i'm just strange. for some reason i've always been comfortable in these clothes. while wearing them i feel like myself. anytime i put on something different (like solid black dress shoes for instance), i feel insecure... awkward... FAKE. perhaps it is a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder? perhaps i'm just simple and don't like to bother with clothing style? or perhaps i have so many identity problems that creating a default image for myself keeps me grounded. perhaps these clothes make me a memorable person?

whatever. i don't know why i do it. it just feels "normal" to me, whatever that means.

NOW... the big news. In the next two months a drastic change will occur. i will be selecting the next version of derek christopher doublin. i will stick with this new image for the next ten years of my life. more than likely, the new derek will be completely different and unrecognizable from the first. changes will happen all across the board. i have decided to embark on my next "comfort" image. i will spend a week researching by myself and will present a picture of the new derek on the blog. i would be lying if i didn't say i'm a little freaked out. i originally wanted to do this on my birthday last august but chickened out. now it's for real. some changes are required because of medical purposes, genetic purposes, and comfort purposes while other changes are strictly cosmetic (and just so you know there will be no mascara involved).
get ready friends.
derek 2.0
coming soon.

Tuesday, December 30, 2003


Is this thing yawn do i have to get drunk and do everything around here?

Thursday, December 25, 2003

The Day I Held Christmas Hostage

I know you want to know how it ended. In all fairness I should explain how all of it got started. All of this is true. Let's go back a little...

In recent years, when Christmas approaches, my nose starts to crinkle and my mouth tightens like it is faced with lemon dog shit (I'm sure you can guess why). Of course, in public I'm always wearing my la la happy bear faced mask. Inside, I'm a writhing ball of tree needles. About a week ago, I decided that if Christmas was going to be half-assed again this year, why not go all out and make it no-assed? Or better still, negative-eleven-assed! That’s it! That’s what I would do. I am going to make this Christmas sooo assy that it has to borrow ass-Christmas’s from the future! This Christmas will take the ass-bullet for holidays to come. It will be so assy that everything after it will feel like stripper-sex (I assume).

Basically, too many things had built up between us and we needed an emotional enema. How would I go about it? Dad and Todd are so numb right now that anything I do will carry the brontosaurus effect and not reach their brains until Easter (fam. def. - mythical Catholic holiday possibly involving peeps). “Nothing stings like the truth,” I thought. “Your fat, why don’t you just go to your relatives', eat pie, and quit bein’ a lil’ bitch!” Shut-up me.

I started by telling my brother that I didn’t want to go in with him for Dad’s gift (he owe’s me from last year). Later that day I told them that I didn’t want to spend Christmas there because I needed some time away from their antics. Todd understood, Dad was baffled (he’s always baffled by me). Cut to yesterday, Dad makes a last ditch, I say ‘no’, I send email. Here’s how it went down…

Christmas Eve:

08:05 pm
email sent

10:40 pm
dad leaves message

12:38 am
I listen to message. Dad says that I shouldn’t be concerned with physical stuff and that I should be concerned with emotional stuff (duh) and that I should pick up my phone and that I should get down there. Obvious to me that he has not read the email yet and is going off previous conversations.

01:10 am
I decide to wrap the last two presents to take down there in the morning (Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? I had planned to go all along and show up with presents. Sorry. *grin-wink*) I’m such a bastard, I know, but Mom really used to say that everyone should have a present to open on Christmas Morning and I was determined to make that happen.

01:50 am
off to bed

02:45-03:15 am
finally fall asleep

Christmas Day!:

07:00 am
wake up to a messy house, no santa, and I’m hungry. All I have is eggs. I had no idea if any store was open. I had no plans of eating with relatives. I did not know what kind of Love’s truck stop beef jerky feast awaited. Fuck it, I’m gonna celebrate with eggs. Fuck you Turkey! Fuck you mashed potatoes. Ham and pie, walk away... walk the fuck away. Cilantro for green, Louisiana hot sauce for red, viola! (intentional) Christmas eggs. Pan in the sink “to soak”, presents in car, I’m out the door.

10:10 am
Todd calls. “Hey,” I said. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “You too,” I said. “If you disown me, I disown you! FUCK YOU!” “I guess y..” Click.

At this point I could only assume that I had gotten their attention.

Little did Todd know that I was only 30 minutes from his house.

10:11 am
wow, he was pissed. Did I go too far? WOW, Todd was pissed. I had only wanted to "wake up" and piss off my Dad. Todd was only supposed to be a residual piss off. It's the only way they listen. Nope, I had come this far and I was going to finish it... finish it for dysfunction everywhere.. finish it... for those people! (farm shack outside Denton) Hell, they were probably shouting at or fucking each other with their presents by now. I will do it for them...them and gravy... and potential sanity.. also bacon. salt lick. I need a speeding ticket. I accelerate to eighty-twoooo.

10:35 am
arrive at Dad's. first day of school jitters. Do I go up the drive and into the side garage? HELL NO! We are going to do this on the FRONT LAWN! White trash propah. I pick up my cell. "This is Todd." Good, he didn't look at caller i.d. "I'm outside if you want to talk." "OK.", he replied.

10:36-10:38 am
Todd looks in the garage for me.

10:39 am
Todd pokes his head out the front door and sees me. Goes back in.

10:40 am
Todd pokes his head out the door. Todd realizes I mean to do this on the lawn and comes out.

10:41-10:44 am
Initially, I let him go first. Accuse, accuse, accuse. then the tennis match...Accuse. Deny. Justify. Justify. Justifyjustify. deny. cry a little. deny. hiccup a little.

10:45 am
Dad comes to the door to ask if I would come in and help him fix his computer. I tell him to call tech support and that I really had some important things going on. He finally comes to terms that I am really upset. He asks to go inside to talk. I told him a polite, "No, the neighbors cannot hear us very well when we are inside."

10:46-12:00 pm
We settle on the backyard. They get the point. I get a Ryobi "The Works" tool set with electric chain saw. I fix Dad's computer. Hugs. Back to Oklahoma.

01:30ish pm
I watch a maroon convertable camero drive past me.

02:23 pm
The convertable has been in a wreck. Everyone seems OK.

02:24 pm
I think about the scene in "A Christmas Story" where Ralphie goes blind from being punished with soap in the mouth and he thinks about how sad his parents would be for him. If I had seen that wreck on the way to Dallas, my seven year old brain from five hours earlier would have totally been, "If I get into a wreck on the way to see them, that'll show 'em. Then they'll be sad. Yeah. Sad." Seven year olds are so selfish. But sometimes they are fun.

06:32 pm
I arrive at the house and by some postal miracle and three cat lives, Todd's present for me is sitting in between the screen door and the front door. He got it to me on time. Great, now I'm the dick.

The end.

thanks for sharing my Christmas with me.

I think I dropped a sock.

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

holidays etc.

Subject: holidays etc.
Date: December 24, 2003 8:05:52 PM CST

The first Christmas after Mom died we went hunting in Eagle Pass. Though a decently fun trip, with the casino and shooting at rocks in the Rio Grande with my pistol, it could have been one of a hundred fun hunting or fishing trips. Christmas, it was not.

Mom always gave it her all when it came to Christmas. She would shop months in advance. Always careful to get the perfect combination of pragmatic gifts and toys, each carefully wrapped and tagged. Her taste was impeccable. She only wanted the best for us and despite her meager income, she would usually outspend Dad. I still wear one of the Ralph Lauren shirts to this day. It hasn't worn out and it still looks good. Quality. Not that Dad didn't have some home runs. The first Christmas after the divorce (1983) was the year of the Honda Three Wheeler. When you are thirteen, fun beats a full house, toys over pragmatics.

As we got older it became more about the little things. Clothes were usually the mainstay but there were always Hot Wheels. Growing up, Todd and I LOVED Hot Wheels. We would race them, bury them, build bridges for them, set them on fire, put eyes out, pretty much anything you were and were not supposed to do with a small dense projectile, we did. We eventually got too old for them but there they were every Christmas. Mom said, "Just leave them in the package, they'll be worth something someday and that will be your little inheritance."

Buying for Mom was a different story. It was actually pretty easy compared to all the fuss she made over us. Mom wanted Arthur Court ( but not just any Arthur Court. She wanted the Bunny designs. We would save a little and Dad was always really good about giving us money to shop. Foley's and Dillard's carried it but after a few years we had to go to all of the Foley's and Dillard's within a hundred miles to find the right piece or a piece she didn't already own. We learned pretty quick that if we didn't shop early she'd be stuck with porpoise napkin rings and a weird elephant face picture frame. It always felt really good watching her open those gifts. She already kinda knew what she was getting (like we couldn't tell what a wrapped up sweater feels like either) but she really, truly appreciated it, as did we. Mom was not at her happiest in the last years of her life. We took care in wrapping the gifts those years because we were not wrapping a pitcher or serving tray, we were wrapping one guaranteed, solid, joyous moment. and those were rare, and still are.

We always had a tree, even if we had to wait till Christmas Eve to afford one of her beloved Noble Firs. "It's the only kind that will hold my ornaments and the needles on Douglas Firs are too itchy", she would say. I loved decorating that tree (I did not love taking it down, no-one does. Many times Mom did it herself). I'm sure it's the same in most families. You've got little dangly recollections of every Christmas you can remember. Two of my favorites were made for Todd and I by some crotchety ancient baby sitter. The only thing I remember about her is that she would threaten to pop us with the fly swatter if we didn't behave. The funny thing is you could still threaten me with a fly swatter today only I'd be more afraid of the gross than the sting. The ornaments are these two spinster hairballs of beaded perfect. These are the little starburst weapons that Space Grandma's would fight their interstellar battles with. They are ridiculous and perfect at the same time. As I typed that last sentence, I realized that I can trace my entire appreciation for crap back to these little glitter globes.

We always had stockings. Even when Mom didn't have a fireplace, she would put them on the bookshelf. Our stockings are not ordinary by any means. THEY ARE FUCKING MAGICAL. Hand made by Grandma (Dad's mom, not the Space one, although now I have images of Grandma fighting Space Grandma. Space Grandma firing her Christmas Orbs and Grandma bagging them in the Magic Stocking and firing them back at Space Grandma like some weird Yoda on Yoda action). The stockings were and are my favorite decoration. They are also where the Hot Wheels were put.

I never fully appreciated how much I missed Christmas with my mom until we woke up at the butt crack of dawn on Christmas morning 1996 in Eagle Pass to go hunting. No tree, no wrapped presents (although I'm sure Dad had given us money or something), no stockings, just cold. Since then, our Christmas's have been borrowed. They are spent a few hours at a time at close relative's homes around Ft. Worth. It's almost like being punished for loving Christmas. Having to see their tree, their ornaments, their stockings, the scattered bows and bits of paper. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing my relatives and sharing Christmas with them. It's just a perspective thing.

We still do the big family christmas (Dad's side) every year in Temple. I always enjoy this and it's my last bastion of traditional Christmas. Although today, I was informed that I need to pick up my brother to take him down because Dad has to be in Mexico on business.

So how's my violin sounding about now? Just wait, it gets louder.

Not having anything to do one Christmas Day Eve in 2001. Dad, Todd, and myself went to one of Dad's friends homes visit and hang out. I, of course, managed to leech another taste of Christmas punishment. Little did Ray know how cruel the punishment would be. Pretend like I'm saying this in a hushed and serious tone with the appropriate music score. We were there for about five minutes when I wandered into the kitchen. "Those decanters are exactly like my mother's", I thought to myself. "Those decanter's are exactly like my mother's.", I said to our host. There was a pause and her face went a shade lighter. "I bought them at your Dad's sale awhile back." "My Dad's Sale?", I asked. The most awkward of pauses. "Somebody's in trouble aren't they?". "Yes.", I replied. She then went and retrieved the Beatrix Potter Toddler Dish Sets by Wedgewood that my mother bought for Todd's and my respective children. Mom gave them to us two weeks before she died because she knew she would not live to see her grandchildren (her words).

How are the violins treatin' ya?

That's actually the happy part of the story because those items were recovered and my Dad's friend was truly gracious about giving them back (Did you ever give her money back, Dad?) The Arthur Court, the Hot Wheels, Hummels, and countless other of her personal effects, all sold. Garage sale style. Untraceable. I like to go to garage sales, but now I wince every time someone's hold's up something and screeches, "How much is this?". It gives me the fucking chills.

Dad calls it a misunderstanding between himself, Todd and I, and the "friend" of his that organized the sale while he was playing golf. Mom's good stuff was not 'sitting out' either. It was carefully packed and tucked away. This 'friend' was working on commission. It was supposed to be a sale to get rid of Dad's 'junk' (his words). Curiously enough, all the 'junk' is still there to this day, sitting out in the open. Mom's stuff? Rifled through like a dime-store panty hose sale.

Todd and I immediately ran home and assessed our personal damage. We called Dad and commanded him to come home. He obliged, took a verbal beating, apologized, and then pouted, "My grandmother's silver is missing!" This is the silver that is supposed to go to Todd or I depending on who gets married first (at this rate it's not going to matter). This is the same silver that our Mom kept for several years, stashed carefully away, so carefully that it survived a robbery of her apartment. Dad bitched and moaned to get it back from her so he could keep it in the drawer of the china cabinet as bait for his 'maid of the week'. Low and behold, he actually keeps it under some old papers in the living room where I found it 4 weeks ago.

This story is just the tip of the iceberg and happens to only highlight one of Dad's poor decisions. Todd has quite a resume and Dad's house (where Todd is living) is littered with remnants of carelessness and outright disrespect. The coffee table glass sat broken for MONTHS. The cigarette burns on Mama Casey's table, the gun case, mom's chair. Missing knobs...

Where the fuck do knobs go? Do they just disintegrate in your hands when you pull them off? When knobs fall off, stop what you are doing and go get an ashtray to put your cigarette in and then put the knob back on. You have TIVO.

Deck screws and a crap mattress on the guest bed. Skeletons of Mama Casey's chairs in the garage. Broken window in the computer room. My son or daughter will never shoot the guns I killed my first anythings with because Todd was a hoodlum and a latch key kid in high school, DAD. Where's Mom's banjo? Where is the .45 pistol Todd? Why did you destroy the Lightsey's rent house, Todd? Who was it that taught me to leave things better than when I found them, Dad? Dad say's the whole situation is partially my fault because I could've gotten Mom's stuff out of his house anytime. What he really meant was that if I didn't get this stuff out of his house he and Todd would destroy or sell it. I get it now. Everyday at Dad's house is the anti-Christmas. I get part of my soul ripped from me. It's not just the stuff either, it's the entire attitude, the blaming, the hypocrisy, the whole big lumpy mess.

Some of these things I mention are from soooo long ago that they are mentioned only so the whole cycle (which is starting right back up) will be noticed.



I forgive them for everything. But I also hold them accountable for everything. I love my family so much. They had better WAKE UP and make an effort or they will barely see me. I am truly blessed with some of the best friends in the world. I am talking friends that would do anything for me. I am talking anything INCLUDING taking responsibility for their actions or lack of action. I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR PEOPLE THAT HAVE NO RESPECT FOR THEMSELVES OR OTHERS.

Todd called today to say that he sent me a Christmas present and it will get here Friday. Dad called today in a last ditch effort to see if I was coming in for Christmas (I told him a polite "no" a week ago). We then argued for about two minutes about why I was upset and then he found something more important and hung up. He called back later to ask if I would give him some notes on an airplane contract. Todd's present will be returned unopened. Maybe he can get it here on time next year. I do appreciate the fact that he wrapped it this year. I really do.

I know that all of this sounds harsh. I am certainly not without faults. I hope you can forgive me for those. If you have any mud to sling. Sling away. I will answer for anything I do. I will have no regrets. If I have wronged you, I will make it right.

For those of you who may not be able to read between the lines. This is not about material items. They are simply the most tangible ways of demonstrating how people are stumble-fucking their way through life.

If you think I'm being dramatic right now, you should see me cry every time I walk through Dillard's.

I dare you to do something selfless while no one is looking. i'll end with one of my previous scribbles...

i received a gently worn dollar bill in the mail yesterday from David Filipek of Alameda, CA. it's the most valuable dollar i have had the pleasure of spending in many years. i used it to fund some of tomorrow's halloween candy disbursement.

you see, i sold an old pair of button fly jeans on ebay. they meant nothing to me, but were the subject of some denim dreams for David as he shelled out seventeen-fifty plus four-fifty shipping for my forgotten 501s. three days post-auction, a small letter arrived with one of those tiny $7.95 return address ink stamps in the corner and adorned with a 'first flight Wright Brothers' postage stamp, inside, a neatly printed note (same return address stamp in the upper left hand corner) wrapped around a crisp twenty and it's neighbor a series 1995 two dollar bill (well that's nifty). I promptly mailed the jeans off and that was that. happy feedbacks for me and all my good friends!

Yesterday, as i'm shuffling through the rain forest of junk mail that oklahoma crams me with every day, i came across a letter from california. It was not your impersonal #10 size envelope, but another A2, complete with a 'welcome to oklahoma' postage stamp (well that's nifty), David Filipek again. my heart sank. were the jeans defective? was there a napkin from a strip joint in one the pockets? you can't take back positive feedback mother fucker. those jeans were perfect when i sent them off. fucking postal service must have fucking fucked them up in transit. i can't believe i have to deal with this bullshit. i fucking knew that $17.50 for a stupid pair of jeans was too good to be true. i tore open the envelope and readied myself for whatever interstate mail fraud i was going to be blamed for. the note read,

Dear Ray,

I noticed that the jeans I purchased from you cost $5.50 to ship and not $4.50 as you stated in the invoice. Here is another dollar to cover that.

David Filipek

I immediately sent him a free pair of jeans y'all. He found a 'Welcome to Oklahoma' stamp to use on the letter to me. He lives in California. Found an 'Oklahoma' stamp. California. Oklahoma. Dollar Bill. I love David Filipek from Alameda, CA.

I guess that is what this world has come to. I feel I have to give out prizes in response to random kindness. If that is what it takes, then that is what it takes. I will be a politeness prize patrol. So keep up all the good work all of you kind, rare, and wonderful people with manners and common decency. I will now be watchin' and prizin'.

For all you dicks out there. I have in my employ, twelve hundred three dark devil gnomes who will flatten your tires if you don't stop bein' dicks, you dicks. so don't be a dick, be good and win a prize.

Monday, December 22, 2003

oh great and powerfullest St. Catsup

i came home tonight to find, like abandoned condiment babies on my stoop, a bottle of A1 steak sauce, one packet heinz malt vinegar, and two tempting morsels of whataburger fancy ketchup. i must have missed the coup whereby the cable ace awards were recommissioned. i do, however, appreciate the doorstep gift. so am i to take it that A1 sauce and heinz malt vineger are the key ingredients in making ketchup fancy? is this a tell-tale sign that you will not be bringing back the A1 Steak Sauce burger? or since the whataburger ketchup was already 'fancy' per se, was this just a martha stewartesque way of make fancy ketchup seem fancier. either way, i delight in determining what to put on what. do i sprinkle the ketchup with the vinegar, poke my finger in the A1 then digit dive into the vinegrup? is the vinegar merely a swig and lick chaser? any way i dip it i will be in for some accentual delights. thanks again St. Catchup... whoever you are.

Friday, December 19, 2003

i ain't never

Well I never been to Spain
But I kinda like the music
See the ladies are insane there
And they sure know how to use it
They don't abuse it
Never gonna lose it
I can't refuse it....hmmmmm...

Well I never been to England
But I kinda like the Beatles
Well I headed for Las Vegas
Only made it out to Needles
Can you feel it, it must be real
It feels so good, feels so good

Well I never been to heaven
But I've been to Oklahoma
Well they tell me I was born there
But I really don't remember
In Oklahoma, not Arizona
What does it matter

Well I never been to Spain
But I kinda like the music
See the ladies are insane there
And they sure know how to use it
They don't abuse it
Never gonna lose it
I can't refuse it....hmmmmm...

Well I never been to heaven
But I've been to Oklahoma
Well they tell me I was born there
But I really don't remember
In Oklahoma, not Arizona
What does it matter

Hunter catches alleged thieves WITH A CROSSBOW
By Brandon Truttling


Lawmen tell us these two men were caught red-handed with an armful of stolen electronics.

But it wasn't police or deputies that nabbed them.

It was a retired Shawnee hunter who decided to flex his strong arm of the law.

Milford Bowlan spends about three days a week in an environment much like this.

More times than not, Milford leaves the woods empty handed, but his most recent trip revealed two turkeys of a different variety.

There's no water in sight, so Bowlan couldn't understand why things all of a sudden smelled "fishy."

Bowlan decided to take the law into his own hands, and marched the guys back to civilization.

But the drama doesn't stop there. Officers made an eye-popping discovery: One of the men had a loaded weapon.

Milford's heroics weren't so well-received at home..

After all, he's 74 years old -- more than five decades the thieves' senior.

Bowlan, who's been hunting all of his life, is not at all rattled after the experience.

But his wife? Well, she's threatening to keep him from going back to the woods for at least for a little while.

The two suspects -- William Smith and Cody Treadway -- are facing burglary charges.

I love Oklahoma. LOVE IT. LOVELOVE TRUE. i also like the moon.

Tuesday, December 16, 2003

please go to this website with no delay

Oh buddies...

This is my vote for best picture of the year.

If this picture doesn't make you grin you should drink a beer or just stop being a weirdo.

This picture rules.

Thursday, December 11, 2003

More ketchup, please!

let's keep researching this topic - i have to keep copying and pasting it to friends who are avidly interested in this controversy and the difference (and we think there is one) between the taste of ketchup vs. fancy ketchup. I'm thinking the fancy one is sweeter - or maybe it's catsup that is sweeter. perhaps we should have a blind taste test this weekend. Might as well through in some cheap beer to taste test as well - you think you could tell the difference between Busch and Milwaukee's Beast blind-folded?

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

Who does this guy think he is?

Tuesday, December 09, 2003

The blog picture below... EXPLAINED

the couple below is a husband/wife scientist team. they are currently working on their very own robot... for real. the couple decided to make the robot a monkey robot. they made a latex rubber mask for the face. it turns out that the rubber mask was too thin and it melted in the sun. now their monkey robot looks terrible. i know this sounds like bullshit but it's not. i found this picture on their website and these people are 100% serious. they love their robot and were very upset when its face melted. in my opinion, i think the monkey robot is pissed. he looks bitter and angry. i bet he will never forgive them for leaving him out in the sun and melting his face. he will never forgive them. you can see the sadness in the couple's eyes. they are sad. they fucked up... and they know it.

Monday, December 08, 2003

Saturday, December 06, 2003


i had a horrible fever or brain rash in 1984 because i got this ticket.
I don't recall how or why but I am so thankful that it never got used.
It's a shame too, cuz taco bell dick wanted me to have a good time

c'mon 'ford driving rock and roll'?!?. more like 'dorf driving roll and crok' is what it is more like. commence with the of me fun making.

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Blog of the Year

My vote for Blog of the year goes to the "Why is some Ketchup Fancy?" question. That's a damn good question. I've now started asking people in hopes to find out the answer. We should not let that question go away. We should find out the REAL REASON behind fancy ketchup.

I did an extensive web search through multiple search engines and the best I could come up with is this vague, uninformative answer posted on

"Q. What's the difference between Ketchup and Catsup? And what is Fancy Ketchup?

A. Well, this one is up for debate. As far as I am concerned they are the same thing. Catsup is a sauce, Ketchup is a sauce. One opinion I heard that was Catsup was the less commercial far tastier version of Ketchup. As for Fancy Ketchup, I would be keen to hear from people with some opinions, but I think Fancy Ketchup is similar to Catsup, again just another name."

THAT WAS NO HELP. THIS IS A REAL MYSTERY PEOPLE. I decided to take a closer look at two separate bottles of generic Fancy Restaurant Ketchup as well as multiple stolen ketchup packets from Whataburger. One thing I noticed was that the key ingredient was tomato concentrate. Could it be that fancy ketchup is made with tomato concentrate and real ketchup is not? I don't think so cause that wouldn't make the ketchup fancy. The one with we do know is that Fancy Ketchup has something in it or about it or some sort of history that makes it FANCY.

Let's keep this topic going and find out the answer to this.

Monday, December 01, 2003

i went looking and found my first business card, it reads

2200 South Pleasant Valley, SUITE 710
Austin, TX 78741

it's totally the metropolis apartments