Don't Look at This Site

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


Nate is really pee-oyed!

Nate has not spoken to me in months. I think he's still upset about how I sold everything he owned. What I didn't sell, I lit on fire--just to teach him a lesson: Stop being such a meanie-head!

But, the reason why I sold all his stuff was because I needed to make room for an adorable stray cat that came up to me while I was tending to the yard sale. The kitty is so cute!! A little bit dirty though--he's covered in soot. Could use a bath probably.

He kinda reminds me of a pet I used to have...

Sunday, June 12, 2005


Dear Blog,

I can't decide whether I want to have a Mandarin Chicken Salad from Wendy's or a Jack's Links Kippered Beef Product Stick for lunch today. The weight of this decision is almost to much to bare.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005


Sorry about the Toilet

I went out to buy a plunger. BRB.

I'm moving back in.


Tuesday, November 02, 2004


Lemme just detach this heart monitor

Okay, this hospital is getting real old. I'm certain my brain damage is sort of going away. I asked the doctor how much longer I should stay here and he told me I can stay as long as I want as long as my insurance company is paying. That hardly seems very ethical, but who am I to judge? He also told me my logic skills have been reduced to those of a toddler.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004


I was on the 2nd Floor window looking out.

Since I have temporary mild brain damage similar to amnesia, I basically flounder around the hospital room in a cloudy daze all day long. Fortunately, I have a crystal clear memory of all the events that transpired after whatever happened that put me in the hospital in the first place.

The other day, I was looking out the 2nd floor window, while my roommate Agnes was in the throes of a coughing fit. Down below on the street level, I see the most adorable cat casing the joint. He was putting his paws up to the bricks and leaping up to the hospital's lowest window sills. His fur was all matted and he had just the cutest dirt spots covering him. I wanted to run down there and hug the kitty endlessly... but I'm tethered to the bed.

Is it normal to stay in hospitals this long? I hope my insurance covers this. Do I have insurance? Hmmm...

Friday, October 01, 2004


I don't remember a thing!

This is so weird! The doctor at the hospital said I'm almost ready to be released. And I asked, "Uh, why am I here?" My primary care physician, Dr. Gupta, replied, "Well Debbie, I think you've sustained such colossal head injuries from the brutal beating you took, MRI scans show you may have mild brain damage. Sometimes it's just temporary brain damage and it just goes away. "

Golly! Doctors say the darndest things!

Wednesday, September 15, 2004



I'm... still... alive

...just... barely!

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Some people say The Council left him behind.
Some people say The Council set him up.
Some people say The Council sent him on a dangerous mission and quietly pulled out support.

Some people don't know what they are talking about.
Some people don't know that Sebastian deserved everything he had coming.


Monday, August 30, 2004

Last week did NOT go as planned. I've been meaning to tell Nate about the origins of The Council, why I have been assigned to protect him, and about Sebastian--the man who will stop at nothing to totally destroy us. Sadly, I have not had the opportunity to reveal any of those things to Nate.

I had a miserable dinner with him at Red Lobster in Times Square last week. I took the biggest dump ever midway through the meal. When I returned, an agent dressed as a waiter comes to the table and drops off a note saying that Sebastian has learned the names and whereabouts of all of our agents in New York. The note also politely informed me our intelligence reports suggested a bomb planted by him was set to go off within minutes. We got out just in time.

Monday, August 23, 2004

Well, the tipster who tipped off the agent working for the state was completely and totally wrong about the whole Freestone knows about The Council thing. It’s true he did stumble upon The Council’s secret password, “You Ain’t Ian Ziering.” However, we assumed Pat knew more than he really did and therefore overreacted just a tad. The council poured over his site and found not one mention of our organization. That’s when I received the phone call to pull the plug on the whole 4-eyed goose chase. It was a complete misunderstanding on our part and I sincerely hope Pat forgives and forgets about me kneeing him in the balls.

On a more progressive note, I caught brunch at the Waffle House with two other longtime agents, Shelly and Mindy. They told me to say "Hello." After the meal, we spent some real quality time back in my hotel room.

I leave for Brooklyn soon to continue my assignment with the winneroftheSAT. It's been nice not having to wear that stupid fullbody loincloth since I've been on this mission in Yonkers.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Last night around 11, I decided to have a personal chat with Pat Freestone since he’s been so hard to nail down with impersonal bullets, flaming arrows, and missiles. I walked into Big Screen Video in a nice blue and white polka dotted pantsuit, unnecessarily big sunglasses, and a wide brimmed novelty cowboy hat to cover up the area of my head that’s scarred.

I picked up a copy of Xanadu and pretended to look at it. Pat was behind the counter.
“Oh excuse me sweetie, can you tell me anything about this movie?” I called out as I held it up. Gosh, he’s really unattractive up close.
“Yeah. It sucks.”
“Can you come over here and help me pick something out. I’m so bad at making these decisions. I’m going to be all alone in my hotel room tonight with nothing to wear…er, watch. I confuse words so much. I’m silly.”
His glasses steamed up, his fingers twitched, and he slinked over to where I was standing. Now’s my chance. I grabbed him by his scrawny neck and pulled him into the Billy Crystal section to assure no one would see what I was about to do.

“Who do you know Freestone??” I tightened my vise like fingers around his nipples and applied a double titty twister. His eyes bulged even moreso than normal. He crumpled.
“Ahhh! That really hurts so much!!!!”
“Tell me!” I kneed him in the junk.
“I don’t know anyone. cough…hack… I swear! Did Mr. Napp put you up to this?”
“Nope. I’m the one asking questions here Pattycakes. You will tell me everything you know about The Council. Then I will decide how to handle this.”
“I don’t know anything about no council. Christ.”
I flicked him in the nose.
“Is it true someone came in here a few weeks ago looking to buy a single egg?”
“someone help…me!…oh, that guy?”
“What did he say to you?”
“I don’t know…”
“What did he fucking say to you??” I bent back his pinky.
“Jeezus! he said, I’d like to buy an egg!”
“And what did you say to him??”
“I said, This place isn't a freakin’ bodega, man, it's not an episode of Beverly Hills 90210, and you ain’t Ian Ziering!”
“How did you know to say that??”
“It’s the first thing that popped in my head.”
“That’s all I need to hear.” I pulled out a glock from under my 10 gallon hat. “This is going to hurt.”
“WAIT!!! Stop you freaking psycho! I swear I don’t know anything about a council. I’m a night manager of a video store! Look at me!”
“If I had a choice, I’d let you live. But I’m not sure why you’d want to.” I turned my hand sideways and pointed the glock at him ready to bust a cap.

Just then, my hat started playing a midi version of Britney Spears' "Toxic."

“Hold on a second. My satellite phone is ringing.” I threw the cowering twerp to the floor and answered the phone stored under my hat.

“Hello. Yes, this is Debbie. Uh huh. … Oh? Hmmm….He’s right here. Yeah? Oh. Well that’s a kick to the pants. All righty. Talk to ya later.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Freestone picking up a boxed set of The Sopranos Season One on VHS. He lifted it over his head. I assume he wanted to hit me with it or something. I superkicked him in the throat and he collapsed again.

I stood above him like V.I. Warshawski.

“It’s your lucky day Freestone. The hit’s been called off.”

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Something doesn't make sense. Mr. Freestone seems completely unaware of the fact that our organization is trying to take him out. He keeps going about his business like nothin's happening--like he has other things to worry about. It's time to shake him down.

Friday, August 20, 2004


cat & mouse

One attempt today on Pat Freestone's life resulted in a scene similar to that one in "The Jerk" where Steve Martin thinks people are trying to destroy the oil cans stacked behind him. I accidentally hit the laundromat next door to Big Screen Video with a series of short range ballistic missiles and Pat ran around screaming trying to save bags of dropped off laundry. Through binoculars, it seemed as if he was solely rescuing womens' underwear.

The second attempt to kill Mr. Freestone was foiled by his drug dealer. They were doing bong rips off the video store back loading dock. I had been surveying the location from a nearby rooftop when the target came into view. My Whisper 2000 hearing device picked up the following:

Dealer: "Why are you bogarting the reefer?"
Pat: "I'm not bogarting the reefer, you're bogarting the reefer."
Dealer: "Nuh uh, you are. Quit bogarting the reefer. Gimme!"
Pat: " Fine. Take the reefer. Okay, now give it back! Stop bogarting it!"

Just as I squeezed the crossbow trigger, the dealer had a coughing fit that placed him square in front of Pat, thus making this poor guy's chest the unintentional recipient of a flaming gasoline swabbed arrow. Pat bogarted the reefer before walking back inside to call the police.

I hope to have better luck in the days ahead.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I received a letter from our associate deep undercover within the NY state executive branch. He wrote that The Council had received an anonymous tip regarding a certain resident of Yonkers, New York, named Pat Freestone. A complete prospectus of this man can be found here. Pat Freestone, 43, Not Gay.

Our contact disclosed that he has evidence that Pat may have stumbled upon our organization's existence.

As you know, the agent has petitioned The Council, seeking a writ of assassination. It was approved and I was asked to lead the special forces team in charge of executing Mr. Freestone.

Saturday, August 14, 2004

Yonkers really stinks. I'm too exhausted to write about what I'm doing here right now. It has something to do with an assassination attempt. My fingers are tired from pulling too many triggers and it's difficult to type.

Saturday, July 24, 2004


lease agreed to

Before putting on the burqa, I took one final look at the fleshwounds traversing the lateral right side of my head.

The meeting went as planned. Nate was difficult to negotiate with, but a verbal lease agreement was settled.

Friday, July 23, 2004


preparations for contact

Tomorrow, I will make first contact. From interviews with the various people seen coming and going from his building, I've gathered that he is looking for a roommate. I located a copy of a vandalized flyer he made and I have accounted for the stringent guidelines he has for the look and girth of his future roommate. A burqa was ordered online.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004



I've found a remote dumpster across from his walkup in which I can set up a monitor base. I have to remember that every tuesday is "crush the contents of the dumpster into a small rectangle" day. Something is moving in here. What is today anyways? Is it tuesday? Ah! This dumpster is being picked up! Oh no! helpp! gurgle gurgle...

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

As per the orders of the Council, I will do everything in my power to protect Nate--even if that means giving my life. I have been staking out his Brooklyn apartment for a week now. He doesn't leave much. When he does, he comes back with pizza. Recently at night, I have noted heavy activity of burly, bearish men with sunglasses, moustaches, and leather shirts carrying pizza into his building. Connection? Unconfirmed.

Monday, July 05, 2004


Secure Site Established

This blog shall be my only means of communicating with you during this operation. Using the satellite phone or Instant Messenger is too dangerous. The site is secure, for I have titled it, "Do Not Look at This." I can only assume no one will look at it because that would be quite rude and a breach of proper websurfing conduct. We cannot risk blowing our cover.


07/04/2004 - 07/11/2004   07/11/2004 - 07/18/2004   07/18/2004 - 07/25/2004   08/08/2004 - 08/15/2004   08/15/2004 - 08/22/2004   08/22/2004 - 08/29/2004   08/29/2004 - 09/05/2004   09/12/2004 - 09/19/2004   09/26/2004 - 10/03/2004   10/24/2004 - 10/31/2004   10/31/2004 - 11/07/2004   02/27/2005 - 03/06/2005   06/12/2005 - 06/19/2005   07/10/2005 - 07/17/2005  

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?