... Remember me? No? WTF is wrong with you? Still don't know who the shit I am? I'm fatherfucking iTech! AKA Mike The Spike! Did y'all miss me? Off course you did, even I would miss me. I did actually, miss myself, when I tried to commit suicide with a machine gun many months ago. It took twelve clips before a pellet grazed my left ear, and several surrounding guilty victims died in the process (The plan was to commit suicide as a protest against high-school shootings, in the hallways of a local high-school. I would then use the resulting media attention to start a career in Gangster Rap. The plan wasn't very good, but hey, at least it sucked) This was what I had in mind for cover art for my first album "Another Bullet-hole In The Wall"; Or maybe this; At any rate, I ended up in prison. A gigantic black mofo with an enormous dangling mutated penis (don't ask how I know) became my cellmate (he's the guy on the left), I'm the guy that looks like a faggot; Devouring several different species of exotic insects during my stay at the most dilapidated state penitentiary (more like PenisTent-iary!) in the country screwed with the domaninergic neurons in my brain and cast me into a deep psychosis where I envisioned myself being Captain Jack Sparrow, the hero from the well-known Disney trilogy "The Matrix". I spent many lonely nights riding a parade float made out of discarded cigar-tubes, glue and recycled toilet-paper which I had stolen from an elementary school's volleyball team, down the streets of my hometown (They were called "The Perky Pirates" and had a float in the form of a generic isohunt user. Hey, I couldn't find a damned boat OK?) while randomly swinging at passerbyes with a sword made out of wax recycled from candles I collected at a local graveyard; The result of my nightly escapades and slight resemblance with the actor protagonising the role of Dr. John Sparrow ("Keanu Reeves") brought me into contact with three willing females that all wanted to be my girlfriend. Too bad by then years of rampant crackaïne abuse had paralyzed the nerve responsible for flexing the corpus cavernossum in my otherwise astute penis; I tried that Viagra crap they sell on chinese websites, and it didn't help. Then, I remembered that black inmate having whispered critical advice in my ear one night. I couldn't remember the actual advice, but reminiscing on the event somehow helped erect my primary genital organ into full capacity. But the problem was the only bitch I could get now after those three girls vibrantly described the predominantly flaccid state of my penis to every other low-self-esteem skank hoe they met consecutively was my retarded Italian cousin's mentally disabled Russian sister (don't ask, we're a really weird family); At least, I hope it was his sister... Painfull evidence I cannot cast aside would suggest otherwise, though I'm not positively really sure (What's your sex when your vagina has teeth? Besides obviously "painfull"?). After a judge testified in my behalf in the case of iTech Vs The State Vs Godzilla, out of shear terror, I was cleared of all criminal and medical charges and was briefly employed as a Dead Turkish Rockstar Impersonator by aliens making a documentary on crappyness; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bar%C4%B1%C5%9F_Akarsu and later I worked down at a local Micky D's, which I only did because somehow the teleport ray the alien vessel that regularly transported me to intergalactic meetings contained some sort of resurrectional properties, as my retarded dead sister showed up one morning with a craving for "crap-burgers" after the beam had scanned over the grave we made for her out of cigarette-boxes and ducktape in the backyard, hence the employment at Micky D's because no way I'm paying for that shit anymore. In my opinion, you only have one life, once it's over all obligations are lost, I don't give a shit you got resurrected by an extraterrestrial homing beam, I ain't paying for this shit no more! Being one of the best computer programmers in the past 450 years, with a calculated I.Q. of 128 (calculated by my crackwhore mom on the back of a cereal box with crayon when she got stuck in an Acid trip in which she believed she was "The Germinating Breakfast Residue On Einstein's Mustache"), the disgrace of working in a fastfood joint was what devoured the last trace of humanity that was left in my blackened soul, and that's the reason I'm posting here again. So how are you guys?