tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61556382011-07-14T17:38:16.523-07:00Being the adventures of a hard-drinking, chain-smoking, dashing man about town, aspiring gonzo-journalist and mystery-man.The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comBlogger841100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1141082052717582572006-02-27T15:14:00.000-08:002006-02-27T15:21:25.466-08:00

Dime-store detectives,     Remember yesterday when I was all bummed out because of the loss of one of my favorite actors and heroes? Remember how I said that though I’d been expecting it, he was the one I least wanted to see go? Well there was someone else I forgot.     And today he’s dead.     Much to my dismay, and with a heavy air of sadness, I must report that Darren McGavin has died.

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1140948820748781462006-02-26T02:13:00.000-08:002006-02-26T02:17:22.546-08:00

Mediocre mush-heads of Mayberry,     I had intended on following up on the previous post with a continuation of sorts: something to further explain why I haven’t written at all within the past two months. A bit of catch-up; a retelling of the things I lived through, a listing of the highs and lows. But my discussion of the recent events in my life will have to wait. Something more important has

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1136428370353349742006-01-04T18:32:00.000-08:002006-02-25T19:54:11.860-08:00

To you, my new-years nogoodnicks,     This seems the title that feels most appropriate right about now. After my prolonged literary absence from your dull and dreary worlds, and two weeks of intensity and exhaustion, the title rolls off my lips like a gentle exhalation. Like a sigh of relaxation, really. There are a score of other titles I’d kicked around and thought of using, alongside

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1135158089145068722005-12-21T01:41:00.000-08:002005-12-23T00:38:03.453-08:00

To all ye of soft, smooth upper-class hands and ever dainty hooves,     You see this? My swollen, bloodied, and purple foot? The bruised appendage attached to my fractured ankle? That’s what crime-fighting does to you!     The life of a mystery-man is not necessarily an easy one, and certainly not at all devoid of personal injury. Oh, there are many things to be avoided when getting tossed

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1134815998853225882005-12-17T02:39:00.000-08:002005-12-18T10:15:21.953-08:00

To my old foe, my own personal Moriarty,     Since I wrote my last post relating to you, you’ve checked my page no less than five times, both from your work and your home. I’m going to forgo the obvious route of asking the question of who’s really obsessed, and simply assume that you’re not going to honor my request for some peace and privacy. No doubt you’ll be reading this again some time after

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1134722496225589562005-12-16T00:41:00.000-08:002005-12-16T00:51:38.876-08:00

Ye of Krypton, Mongo, Vulcan, and Earth,     Hmmm… now today was quite interesting.     After fitful dreams of Adam West, sweat-pants, the girls from the B52s, and transforming robots, I woke up, once more, to the sound of my electronic chicken screaming at me. It was hard lifting my head from the pillow, harder still uncovering myself from my blankets; the night had been a cold one and my body

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1134541536152316772005-12-13T19:25:00.000-08:002005-12-13T22:49:14.623-08:00

Vilest of villains,     Okay Nadya, this is what you want? A complete dismissal of all privacy? Fair enough, you were kicked out of the ranks of society’s most noble a long, long time ago, if, in fact, you ever made it in. I see you’re still the same rotten, mean-spirited person you’ve been for quite some time so let’s get some things straight.     First off, and for the record, I quit drinking

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1134519329705281162005-12-13T16:15:00.000-08:002005-12-13T16:28:34.080-08:00

Faithful fretters,     Wow, both these guys are dead.     I guess I wanted to write a little bit on the passing of Richard Pryor. As most of you know, he died recently from a heart attack. Now, Richard Prior meant a great amount of things to a great amount of people. The impact of his influence is still widely felt today. Much has been said about his impact on modern comedy. I’ll not delve

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1134118264783007382005-12-09T00:51:00.000-08:002005-12-09T20:45:18.193-08:00

Outed obsessors and deficient detractors ,     And I thought this had all been resolved…     I start with what should be a rhetorical question: if you were to attempt to ridicule me with a 100% accurate portrayal of yourself, would I feel insulted?     Not nearly as much as I would be amused.     Would you honestly believe that I could be bothered by a hypothetical statement of what I would

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1134029664045401632005-12-08T00:14:00.000-08:002005-12-12T14:19:33.640-08:00

My dear, dear devotees and special spuds,     Three weeks sober and looky-here! I’ve found my lost post from two months back…     Oh yes, I've gone and done it. We made it to see DEVO!     As of a few weeks ago I bought the tickets to the upcoming DEVO show in Oakland and to my very good fortune The Magnificent M came along with me! There we were, up in the front row, against the stage,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1133926083065525082005-12-06T19:28:00.000-08:002005-12-07T02:26:26.576-08:00

Festive feckwads,     Well looky-here, there was a kid watching the whole time. That just means more fuel for topics of conversation during future therapy sessions. This poor lad will have many years ahead of him of trying to figure out and justify in his head what exactly Santa Claus was doing on this fateful night. Just something more to plague him when he’s awake in bed, alone at nights,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1133680713609808402005-12-03T23:18:00.000-08:002005-12-07T02:27:03.400-08:00

Yuletide yokels,     I’ve been seeing this advent calendar around for the past month or two and the thing always brought me a chuckle, so I went out and bought the darn thing today before they were all sold out. I now own the only advent calendar I’ve ever had in my life. Why? The picture of course!     This was a particular favorite of mine while I was drinking, and now that I’m straight,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1133424016494084442005-12-01T00:00:00.000-08:002005-12-08T20:32:22.896-08:00

Profusely perspiring porcupines, porpoises, platypuses, and pachyderms,     While thumbing through my hardcover copy of The Batman Archives the other day, I came upon this scene at the end of a tale in which Batman foils some would-be gold thieves. I immediately cracked an evil smile; THIS WAS BRILLIANT! I later showed it to my friend, The Red Rightwing, and he too broke out in laughter.     “

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1132831419728570132005-11-24T03:06:00.000-08:002005-12-08T20:31:07.070-08:00

No-name nihilists, I know what you’re all asking yourselves, “is that Gomez Addams? What’s he doing here?” Nope. It’s just me. I AM a master of disguise after all. Here’s a shot of me in my costume from Halloween, taken and saved here for posterity. It would seem all the pictures taken of me during All Hallow’s Eve have either gone missing, or been destroyed. Though this certainly wouldn’t be

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1132520461536722122005-11-20T04:01:00.000-08:002005-12-07T02:29:40.246-08:00

Chomping and chundering chums, I assure you, that’s a sarsaparilla in my hand. Well here we are, whiling away the last hours of day four of my newfound sobriety. I must say, this is going much easier than I thought it would. If there’s been at all any negative side-effects in this newfound path I’ve chosen, it seems so far that my only inconvenience is a persistent and demanding sweet-tooth

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1132230876944303022005-11-17T03:53:00.000-08:002005-12-07T02:22:43.486-08:00

Leering lechers, I woke up today sharp and fresh, full of energy and vigor, and without the faintest hint of weariness, as if my very nose-hairs had been plucked out by a goateed Mexican devil. Up I jumped from the couch, dressed in my Sunday best on no less than a Friday, with a grin on my face and ready to face the world. The nip of Irish whiskey I’d had the night before had left a

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1129757186919968542005-10-19T14:24:00.000-07:002005-12-07T02:24:29.096-08:00

My ravenous rubbish receptacles, Ah, never, it seems, do I have a chance to write anymore. Even when I'm not fiercely busy or over-exhausted from the constant hours spent at my job; even though I've curtailed the amount of time I spend carousing with the guys, I find that I'm instead finding all my free-time sucked up into romantic evenings or other such pursuits with my lady-love

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1124711033776103212005-08-22T02:00:00.000-07:002005-12-07T02:30:23.330-08:00

My anxious and anticipating automatons, Okay, well I’ve been away for much too long. The life of a justice-loving, crime-fighting mystery-man is a busy one. Even in the most mild-mannered moments of my time spent as my alter-ego I am kept quite engaged by a full work schedule and a rockin’ social life. Too many things have happened to me, and far too much have I experienced since the last time

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1120789298580797062005-07-07T19:17:00.000-07:002005-07-07T19:27:33.506-07:00

My fine-feathered finks, Oh, I’ve put this off for far too long. I come here not to bury Frank Gorshin, but to praise him. Being that I am a most beloved crime-fighter and mystery-man, it is clear to me as night and day that I would be absolutely remiss in my duty if I didn’t make some sort of mention of Frank Gorshin’s passing. Nay, I would be remiss in my duty if I didn’t indeed praise him. I

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1120648002328171272005-07-06T03:57:00.000-07:002005-07-06T04:06:42.340-07:00

My calculating carnivores, As I hopped up from my Batman and California Raisin-decorated bed this morning, I pulled on my robe and hobbled over to my crutches. Stumbling on my crutches down the hallway, out to the kitchen where I had pizza for breakfast, and then down the steps to my frigid Virginlair, I was surprised to find my loyal ape sidekick, Bobo the Virgin Chimp, tapping away at the

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1120307792578024972005-07-02T05:30:00.000-07:002005-12-07T02:31:08.783-08:00

O, how lowly and blessed the barf bag, this wondrous device that has protected many a carpeted aisle from the contents of our stomachs, saving both the passenger and the airline staff from inconvenience. Were Abraham Lincoln alive today, he might very well write a modern-day Gettysburg Address on the back of one of these waxed wonders. Perhaps George W. Bush has done just this very thing while

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1120305732040678252005-07-02T04:59:00.000-07:002005-07-02T05:02:12.046-07:00

Cackling Cacophonies, Oh, I’ve done you all a terrible disservice in the past month. I’ve not written a thing at all. Oh, I’ve written, but I’ve not posted a thing here; I haven’t had the time. But now is the time for you all to recover from this recent bout with literary sobriety. I’m back. Between my heavy-duty work-schedule, my numerous adventures with all my friends old and new, romantic

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1117106686705026122005-05-26T02:00:00.000-07:002005-12-07T03:17:03.500-08:00

Captains of Kashyyk, It was a fine few weeks. I’d been planning trips, dressing sharp, and kicking butt at job interviews. I woke up every morning at an early hour and done my daily runs faithfully, watching my collection of Devo videos when there was nothing of note to be found on television. I ran everyday but Friday, because I hadn’t slept well enough that night, and after five minutes of

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1116332793236890662005-05-17T02:00:00.000-07:002005-05-17T05:37:41.506-07:00

Please read the following: I have finally somewhat begrudgingly (and mostly enthusiastically) accepted that what all the others were telling me, despite my protests, was right. San Francisco is the single best town around. I denied my birthplace its praise, but now there’s simply no denying, the massive township which is my home kicks ass like none other, at least not of the rather sorry

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1115974691782904112005-05-13T01:46:00.000-07:002005-05-13T02:01:43.966-07:00

Wakey wakey! I was going to go to sleep, but suddenly I’m not tired. I suppose that means that I’ll write instead, though my thoughts are sparse and disjointed. I fell asleep to the sound of Tipsy and Queen last night, falling asleep much too late, then waking up much too early to the sound of Brian Dewan. Despite the master’s golden pipes, my eyes were heavy and I craved the warmth of my Batman

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1115803851182658252005-05-11T02:10:00.000-07:002005-05-11T03:22:16.203-07:00

My loyal and lethargic listeners, Back when I was in high school, when everyone else was buying Collective Soul albums and picking colleges, I was busy writing my will and planning out my funeral. There were a few things I figured out about that eventual occasion: my buddy Immoral B would play Mellow Yellow (which had been my theme-song of sorts during my teenage years… not that the song’s

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1115630730729229652005-05-09T02:00:00.000-07:002005-12-07T03:21:15.906-08:00

Hey kids! I’ve got something different for you today: a story with pictures. Don’t get used to it; this isn’t going to be a common thing. I still expect you all to make use of your imaginations. So there I was last Tuesday, at home, freshly showered after my daily run and my head still reeling from taking in a viewing of Missy Elliot videos while my feet had been quickly pounding along the

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1115122711753239582005-05-03T00:00:00.000-07:002005-05-03T15:43:47.583-07:00

My prized piranha, Ah, it’s been a difficult day. I don’t know what it is, but occasionally a hangover has the same effect on me as does that time of the month for most females. I get moody, my energy level is shot, and I can feel a definite tug-of-war going on between my emotions. The punishment for a night of excess is that I become overly-sensitive, coming dangerously close to tears over such

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1114686771187189092005-04-28T00:05:00.000-07:002005-05-12T09:11:40.793-07:00

Dearest doormats, O, the love-bug has bit me. Things are going well between The Magnificent M and myself. I’m finding more and more that I’m enjoying each new visit with her to an amount that seems to be continually increasing. Our relationship is easy-going, neither one of us is officially boyfriend or girlfriend by name, yet I kiss only her, and I am the only one she kisses. It’s cool. The

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1114259435977713782005-04-23T03:00:00.000-07:002005-04-26T00:07:38.446-07:00

If bedeviled, befuddled, or befriended be you, I’ve said it before; I’ll say it again: good things happen when you drink a fine Irish whiskey. This past week has been such a glorious mess of business that I have trouble even recalling the activities of a few days ago. Wednesday was another day spent in the presence of The Magnificent M, a day spent in enthusiastic appreciation of the band Queen,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1113387918485679272005-04-13T03:19:00.000-07:002005-04-13T03:25:18.490-07:00

To you, my flitting fishies, My, how I miss Soundgarden. Ah, it’s been one of those weeks where I’ve been gripped firmly in the hand of music appreciation. I’ve loudly and joyously sung many songs to myself as I’ve trekked around the house, the store, and the county in general, only to find that as soon as I’ve sung one song out of my system another melody has clawed its way into the cranial

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1113303168730726372005-04-11T23:59:00.000-07:002005-04-12T03:52:48.740-07:00

To all, save those vile Hessians, Again, I’ve not posted in a small while. I’ve let myself be sucked into a blissful realm of camping trips, romantic dinners over vegetarian meals, and eating Pocky. In the time since I last wrote, I’ve discovered the joy of “Trader Joes’ bliss”, the delightful experience of running through the aisles at the local Trader Joes with my new squeeze, the carefree

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1112164745223681252005-03-29T22:38:00.000-08:002005-04-08T16:02:37.876-07:00

Desensitized dissenters, The nefarious Fergie of the vile Black Eyed Peas stood before me on the rooftop of the Colonial Hotel, a cocky smile on her face as she looked down upon me. Her bejeweled right hand gripped a gold-plated pistol which she casually waved around (I certainly was in no position to disarm her) and her left hand rested upon her hip. As for myself, I was hanging by my fingertips

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1111744181889789912005-03-25T01:33:00.000-08:002005-03-25T03:18:42.956-08:00

Buddhas and Brahmas, Ah, where to start. I haven’t written in a small while... I’ve been a bit distracted to say the least. Last Friday I was to go camping with my allies, the Caroling Canuck and the Red Rightwing. I excitedly packed up my clothes in preparation for the journey; I lined Bobo the Virgin Chimp’s cage with fresh newspaper and filled his serving-dish with a few days’ worth of

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1111143032864469542005-03-18T02:34:00.000-08:002005-03-18T02:53:44.573-08:00

Top O’ the evenin’ to ya, Well here we are on what seems to be St. Patrick’s Day, and the Virgin Prince is dry as a bone! I’ve pulled my finest green coat from the closet and yet I have no one around to drinking and rabble-rousing with. What’s worse, I’m waiting for a phone call which means I am effectively trapped inside. I’ll not let it bother me though! The Virgin Prince always celebrates his

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1110964535330709132005-03-16T01:11:00.000-08:002005-03-16T01:15:35.333-08:00

Loyal letches, I’ve finally returned! I’m back from the mountain, my spirit rejuvenated by the country life. All it took was little more than the opportunity for a good day’s work, and the company of family. Every morning I would wake, dress, and work out in the yard until the sun went down. As the darkness set in, I’d bring my sore bones inside and relax while watching the music videos of

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1110162083889515722005-03-06T18:20:00.000-08:002005-03-06T18:21:23.890-08:00

Friends and foes, I’m off for a small while so you most likely won’t be seeing any updates to this page in the very immediate future. I’m off to the mountains, for how long, I can’t say, but I do know there will be no computers, no internet, and very little in the way of television signals. It’ll be just me, the mountains, the lake, the trees, and the opportunity for a good day’s work. I’ll be

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1109936053446045442005-03-04T03:00:00.000-08:002005-03-04T22:26:57.123-08:00

Furry and follicled friends, Well, I’ve finally done it. Having already lost my sideburns-cosmic due to pre-job-interview-grooming and having little left to lose, last night I shaved my head. It was really just the result of weeks of pent-up annoyance over getting a less-than-adequate haircut. You see, I’d started visiting a new barber recently, having not gotten any proper haircuts at all in the

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1109761835228631862005-03-02T03:09:00.000-08:002005-03-02T03:25:57.616-08:00

Illin’ homies, Here I am, finding myself very close to reaching 2000 hits on the old BlogPatrol counter. I had hoped I would reach 2000 before the month of February had ended, but I was about 20 shy. No matter, 2000 hits by BlogPatrol standards is quite an accomplishment; 2000 hits on BlogPatrol is probably worth about 4000 hits on SiteMeter. Sweet! I’ve been noticing I’ve been getting a lot of

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1109153720251363072005-02-23T02:12:00.000-08:002005-02-23T02:15:20.253-08:00

Gonzos and Grovers, Howl! Oh, howl! Sorrow hangs in the air today, and not merely over the loss of my cosmic-powered sideburns. One of the great ones has left us. I unlocked the steel door to my Fortress of Fortitude today, the cave lair under my abode, with a fresh newspaper in hand, once more to change the newspaper lining under Bobo the Virgin Chimp’s cage. I’d barely had time to change into

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1108823128368158872005-02-19T06:25:00.000-08:002005-03-30T23:59:07.410-08:00

To all you Gullivers of greenbacks, Ah, I was meant for better things. I never thought I’d be unemployed this long, but then, I never thought I’d accept a ride on a bus with a cross-eyed driver, and that happened only a few short weeks ago. Sad as it is a fact to report, in my handsome alter-ego, I too require money to survive. The quest for employment has been a long and frustrating one, filled

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1108277113302526402005-02-12T22:42:00.000-08:002005-02-13T05:17:48.546-08:00

To all you magnificent mice and men of modern ‘Merica, Last night I was caught up in the strange swirlings of Dadaist dreamings. Nemo and the Sandman had conspired together to present me nocturnal images the likes of which Dr. Timothy Leary once had to spend hours in the laboratory to produce. In my confused, unconscious state I was greeted with visions of kung fu-fighting soul brothers,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1105693232150301902005-01-14T01:57:00.000-08:002005-01-21T18:10:09.673-08:00

Good citizens, A peculiar thing happened to me today. I was sitting quietly at home, minding my own business, when the phone rang at 10 minutes to 9:00 PM. “Hello?” “Hello?!” came the response, with a bit too much force behind it, strangely, “My name is Vince and I’m calling on behalf of the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department. How are you doing tonight?” “Doing fine,” was my casual,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1105430272877385812005-01-10T23:48:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:13:19.286-08:00

To those of you in the real world, I hate to interrupt myself in the middle of a story, but there’s something I really have to bring up. I’ve discovered something rather peculiar. I’ve had one of my stories printed up on a fanpage for the rock band Journey. Specifically, the page is for their former lead singer, Steve Perry. I must say, I’m fairly flattered, as people seem to like my tale,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1105111317790304072005-01-07T07:13:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:11:16.883-08:00

Wow, has it really been that long since you’ve been able to stare your doe-like eyes at my fine, fine words? I’ll grant you all a nice long post tomorrow. For now I want to say a word or two about Will Eisner: WILL EISNER IS THE MAN! It really doesn’t get much better than The Spirit. Okay, those were my words. For those of you that care, look up Will Eisner, you just may be impressed. I’m

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1102778200017185442004-12-11T07:14:00.000-08:002005-01-22T01:13:53.473-08:00

Loyal lambs, I returned home from my long time spent abroad feeling exhausted, and nearly broken. What I wanted was to sink swiftly into a long nap, the kind that ventured to the borderlines of coma territory. I was unaware of just how much feces an ape could produce within 4 months. I’d almost completely forgotten about my (semi-)loyal sidekick, Bobo the Virgin Chimp during the four months

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1102510253207989852004-12-08T04:48:00.000-08:002005-01-22T01:10:45.833-08:00

My amorous automatons, I’ve not written for a terribly long time. Dreadfully sorry for my prolonged absence, but it would seem the current administration, here in the United States of America, doesn’t take kindly to people that take part in exposing the truth about the president, and furthermore, is intolerant of camera enthusiasts that take photographs of secret government prison camps. In

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1084392786852616232004-05-12T13:11:00.000-07:002005-01-22T00:42:42.800-08:00

Vicars and Vulgarians, Surviving my recent trip through the sky with the president, I’ve come to re-evaluate things. After gathering up my scattered comics from across the countryside (thank Kirby for polybags), there was no sign of the President or his men anywhere. I was left to assume that he must have escaped from yet another act of sheer idiocy unscathed. Typical. In better news, the pilot

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1084298040636716712004-05-11T10:47:00.002-07:002005-01-22T00:40:29.276-08:00

To my tech-savvy tuners-in, I was drafted into a government assignment over the weekend, I had little choice in the matter if I wished to remain on relatively good terms with the federal government. As appealing as avoiding squads of policemen and National Guardsmen sounds, it’d be easier to just go on the stupid mission. I’d prefer it if my trusty ape and I didn’t have to dodge the bullets of

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1083369625733440882004-04-30T17:00:00.000-07:002005-01-22T00:38:11.486-08:00

My leering, lecherous, and literate listeners, How go your small and dreary lives today? I couldn’t be better! I won half of Russia in a poker game last night! My evening started out normal enough, I came home from work, showered, shaved, and received my daily paid beating from a redheaded schoolgirl. It’s a pleasant arrangement really, she gets to go to college, I get to stay out of prison,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1080678107825827352004-03-30T13:21:00.000-08:002005-01-22T00:14:16.850-08:00

To my many enthusiasts, I never seem to be able to write lately, always being so busy, and my page is sadly left unchanged. I know how you, the mortals, my adoring public, so desperately hang on my every word, so anxiously awaiting the teaches of the ever-loving Virgin Prince. I've been busy, struggling against agitated factions of militant Neptunians and cleaning monkey-guano from my shower

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1077144317799035082004-02-18T17:00:00.000-08:002005-01-22T00:04:31.136-08:00

Slack-jawed simians, Two days now left until I make my way through the spaceways to Virgo 13, stopping first in the not quite as distant, but equally strange land of Canada. There, Rush Girl and I have a bottle of Vodka to drink between the two of us, the brand of which has since been discontinued for causing excessive hairiness in Russian lads. If you think about it, that's quite a feat. The

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1076792570399766922004-02-14T19:02:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:56:50.436-08:00

Neosapiens, Neanderthals, and Nincompoops, I slept a rough night last night, constantly awoken by a trickle of jellybeans tossed at me through the grating of the ventilation shaft leading to my room. The cause? An infestation of goblins living throughout the ducts of my house. First there were rats spreading droppings and Hanta Virus throughout the nooks and crannies of my garage, and now

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1076573460068601572004-02-12T01:11:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:53:21.196-08:00

Lowly friends, Some of you perhaps may wonder just what sort of distinguished gent or lass might read my page. Who are the fine folks lovingly gazing upon my written words that so surely must be the pinnacle of elegance and taste? Is it truly possible for so large a group of people to epitomize intellectual perfection and evolutionary success? I can not tell you truly, all I can say for sure is

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1076535699434981572004-02-11T17:41:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:50:18.016-08:00

Dearest mortals of frail body and weak mind, Here I sit once more, at a glowing screen which presents to me electronic representations of modern conveniences. Yet, I feel not convenienced. The battle logs of Rush Girl and The Green Mike remain untouched, vacant, empty. There’s nothing new to feast my eyes upon, and my boredom has lead me to simply peruse the journals of some arcane cat-creature

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1076438874883209012004-02-10T01:00:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:46:43.056-08:00

Valued Friends, I woke up from a very strange dream this morning, one involving Britney Spears as the principal villain. Though I can't recall the specifics, I do remember that she killed a bunch of people and had acquired the ability to change shape, going at will from human to plastic doll. In the end, revealed for her murderous crimes, she faked her own death, locking herself inside a

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1076200441286015372004-02-07T21:34:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:44:08.250-08:00

Dearest eye-gorgers, Returned again to read my words have you? To hear my tales or perhaps be the first on your block to catch wind of the new American national anthem? Well I must confess, writing a national anthem is not as easy as one might think. How does one write a masterful coupling of ryhme and verse to inspire strong feelings of patriotism without also instilling feelings of national

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1075798516185093052004-02-03T01:55:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:39:24.056-08:00

Loyal followers, This morning, as I was about to head out the door to work, Bobo the Virgin Chimp grabbed me and shoved a newspaper in my face. The precocious beast keeps up to date on current events largely due to his love for the daily gossip column, he has a strange fascination with Paris Hilton, especially now that she has her corn-rows, and she never fails to make an appearance. But today,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1075100888914567592004-01-25T23:08:00.000-08:002005-01-21T23:32:57.483-08:00

My faithful readers, The other night, at about 2:00 in the morning, I awoke to a loud pounding at my door. Stumbling out of my bedroom in my bathrobe with the ducks on it, I slowly dragged my feet towards the door. It was Blitzen. That old alcoholic reindeer was at my door with a case of beer and a floozy on each arm. I opened my door to inspect the goods. One of the girls was a hot blonde in a

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1074755738808182942004-01-21T23:15:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:54:09.566-08:00

To all you virtuous citizens, As you may be aware, Bush is planning on starting up the draft again. The old draft-dodger and duty-ditcher wants more young American kids to send off to Iraq to fight his father's war. More people to die while killing innocents so that Bush can stick to his normal routine of laying in his Texas-made bathtub (the one with the longhorns attached and a gun rack on

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1074119320795718032004-01-14T16:28:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:40:03.486-08:00

Most terrible news everyone! I’m back. No, that’s not the terrible news. Rather, I think that would warm your shrivelled and callused hearts. No, the terrible news is that once more, I am without servant boy. Thursday, after cleaning spotlessly the Virgin-bathroom, young Bjorgen was slightly dizzy, no doubt from all the cleaning chemicals he’d been exposed to. Though in his modestly altered

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1073509336613632902004-01-07T16:02:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:35:07.280-08:00

Fellow enthusiasts of the finer things in life, Well, it would seem that the Food Network doesn’t want William Shatner and Christopher Walken to have their own cooking show. It seems that the Food Network is masterminding some great conspiracy to keep them off the air. It would also seem the Food Network has some powerful friends. I didn’t make it 3 blocks before I was surrounded by police

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1073422922549895742004-01-06T13:01:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:29:03.106-08:00

Am thinking is safe. The virginman is gone. The uniform men take him, he was dance in street in shorts. The cave is locked being. The force bars sting. Please am help me! I am being Bjorgen Bleddershpuddle. He make me wear the cape and tights. He feed me yoohoo and twinkie only. He have the love unnatural for the Wonder Woman. Pictures of the naughtiness lining the cave wall. No can

Bjorgen Bleddershpuddlehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18405345707684193707noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1073371580731605322004-01-05T22:46:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:23:17.876-08:00

I find myself filled with joy, overflowing with life-loving cheer. Perhaps it’s leftover from Festivus. Perhaps I’m simply high on life. I know not. All I know is I feel like kicking my legs up and strutting out into the streets. I feel like singing, like rhyming “riddley rum dum-dum” with a “yum chum-chum” as penguins dance behind me. All my lecherous feelings have left me, leaving instead

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1073103983460836672004-01-02T20:26:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:19:12.050-08:00

Citizens, My apologies to you all for failing to post yesterday. I'm aware that the tales of my adventures are most likely the most exciting thing in your mortal lives, and without which, you no doubt begin to shrivel up and return to the thought processes of yearning for death. Never fear lowly civilians! You'll have my great and noble words today! My tales are as unstoppable as the cosmic

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1072932302927651502003-12-31T20:45:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:14:14.390-08:00

Greetings citizens! As you may have noticed, I haven't posted much during the past few days. I've been busy entertaining family for the past few days, my niece, sister, and brother in law came to visit for the holiday season. Between my niece's constant screaming and my brother in law's death-metal blasting throughout the house, I've had some difficulty in concentrating. Committing my thoughts

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1072822746222273862003-12-26T17:19:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:27:43.060-08:00

My fellow men and women, As I stepped outside the house Christmas morning, I found quite a surprise. Lying face down in my neighbor’s yard was the bullet-riddled corpse of Santa Claus. You know, this is exactly the kind of thing that happens when you put a nation in hysterics with a level orange threat warning during Christmas. People worried about imminent terrorist attacks tend to shoot first

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1072340211247707652003-12-25T01:16:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:25:16.913-08:00

Dedicated devotees and superstitious simpletons, The time of Festivus is nearly upon us! Time to speak in rhyme non-stop, with the wit of a clever demon. Break out your suspenders and codpieces! Pull the togas out of the closets, stuff your stockings with rusty, jagged-edged throwing stars, place a fresh parrot upon your shoulder! Tis the season to par-tay down, to celebrate, to Wang Chung

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1072203690896388052003-12-22T23:59:00.001-08:002005-01-21T22:05:21.956-08:00

To those about to rock, Although many months have passed since it happened, I am still wrapped in a shroud of sorrow for missing the last concert played by the Who. I’ve found nothing that rocks my Amadeus quite the same. I miss the pulse-pounding feeling of a live Who show. To give you an idea of the rock and roll magnificence of the Who, I’ll tell you now what I remember from the show I last

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071903500544141952003-12-19T22:58:00.000-08:002005-01-21T22:01:49.106-08:00

Friends and Mortals! As it worked out, I ended up at the bar yesterday with Blitzen, an old friend of mine and member of Santa’s crew. We had drinks and shared memories of times past. Of course, we brought up the tale of when we first met. I was just a young lad of 10 that Christmas, way back when. Santa was a little bit more tipsy than usual and had completely missed the roof to my house,

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071727923690441372003-12-17T22:12:00.000-08:002005-01-21T21:57:31.516-08:00

Good news everyone! I’ve acquired a new servant-boy! My manor is now kept perfectly spic and span, courtesy of my new friend Bjorgen Tiberius Bleddershpuddle. I’m not sure quite where he’s from, but it matters not, he’s small enough to crawl under the house, and with his poor command of the English language, I can’t understand a word of his pleas for rest. If there’s one term I’m especially

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071647401749787552003-12-16T23:50:00.000-08:002005-01-21T20:04:20.013-08:00

It occurs to me that upon reading the poem written for my grandfather, some of you might be curious as to how my grandfather could have possibly served in the United States military when my family is, in fact, the royal family of Pluto. Well, I’ll tell you a story. Back in 1940 (Earth-years), old Gramps (or young Gramps, as he was then) was in deep doo-doo. The time had arrived for him to

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071608162551543772003-12-16T15:56:00.000-08:002005-01-21T20:01:31.190-08:00

I had a brainstorm recently. The yo-yo craze has happened, twice. The hula hoop craze is over. The spinning top craze kinda fizzled out. It’s only a matter of time before the kite-craze kicks in! Of course, it’ll never happen as long as companies continue to make the mediocre kites they’ve been making. Go to the store and look at the selection of kites. What do you see? Unicorns? Yuck! Harry

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071564797270723382003-12-16T01:53:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:58:42.163-08:00

As you may have heard, Saddam Hussein just got captured. Initially, I didn’t know how to take the news. I mean, I suppose it’s a good thing, the guy was a bastard and a murderer, and this pretty much confirms that he can’t cause anymore trouble. But I have this overwhelming fear that this is just going to help Bush’s approval rating, and with the Democrats’ front-runner running with a strong

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071545660458544532003-12-15T19:34:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:55:44.723-08:00

Grandfather I was thinking about the war today the second world war the one you served in How amazing it must have been serving under General Patton in Easy Company fighting in North Africa against Irwin Rommel holding that hill, staving off German forces your company all broken and still around you All those promotions turned down to stay with “Wildman”, the history teacher “Four-Eyes”, the

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071284703071278282003-12-12T19:05:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:53:05.950-08:00

Why hello! ‘Tis I, The Scarlet Irritation! The Virgin Prince has left me unsupervised in his Fortress of Fortitude! I’m most fortunate that he seems to have forgotten that I was in the bathroom when he ran out of his lair in an attempt to catch Bobo for his weekly bath. I had initially planned to scan my bum with the Duplitron and check his computer for pornography, but I ended up stumbling on

The Scarlet Irritationhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09942714948100762174noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071192541789380822003-12-11T17:29:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:45:51.810-08:00

As I left for work this morning, I found I was missing two things: the button to my nice green coat and my ring. Fucking gnomes. Now I’ll admit to perhaps being a bit biased. I’ve hated people of the mythical persuasion for some time now, ever since little Harry Potter and his smarmy little band of annoying, precocious British friends left a bag of flaming dog poop on my porch. Or perhaps it

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071121608379342292003-12-10T21:46:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:42:59.026-08:00

I don't feel much like writing today. Last night as I was sleeping, my home was broken into by ninja monkeys. Again. There I was, tucked in and cute as a button, sleeping soundly in my sleeping cap, Green Lantern T-shirt and happy-face boxers, under my Pee Wee's Playhouse comforter and Batman bed sheets, dreaming sweet dreams of sharing an apartment with Elvira and Betty Page, and having to

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1071007722842059442003-12-09T16:08:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:39:29.713-08:00

Having travelled a bit in my time, seeing places both average and strange, two places currently stick out in my mind. One, Republitron 874, strange automaton colony of space sector 2354, where bills are passed with collective hive-mind efficiency, business booms, profits maximised, and the native moss-people, the Algores, often called “the Green”, go largely ignored as existing, left to live

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1070921526753413332003-12-08T16:12:00.000-08:002005-01-21T19:36:50.986-08:00

Last year, about this time, I was laid-off from my job with 3 days warning. Fortunately, I had enough money saved up that I could still provide presents to my loved ones. I had to quit smoking, give up comic books (even Batman!), and subsisted on a diet of mostly rice. And let me tell you, it’s not easy shopping for the deposed royal family of Pluto. Fortunately, I blew the last of my cash on

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1070591881007473512003-12-04T18:38:00.000-08:002005-01-21T18:53:01.606-08:00

In my line of work, that being crime-fighter, mystery-man, super-hero, call it what you will, I’m not without connections and I have amassed quite a bit of knowledge, I have been privy to various bits of information, I know many things I most likely should not. So to you, my loyal readers, I disclose secrets from the vaults of U. S. Intelligence. Juicy W.W.II gossip. Take yourself back now: the

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1070576440790068262003-12-04T14:20:00.000-08:002005-01-21T18:49:15.353-08:00

God is dead. That’s right, God is dead. I’m not saying just another cliché line either. On September 12th, Johnny Cash died. That’s right. God was the man in black. Now it’s a little known fact that roughly every 300 years God comes down to Earth and walks among us as a mortal. Why he does it, I don’t know, he’s God. Maybe it’s to get some human perspective, maybe it’s to take a break from

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1070437033109271552003-12-02T23:37:00.000-08:002005-01-21T18:39:41.500-08:00

To all you virgin readers, The relationship between writer and reader is an interesting one. It involves a bit of honesty and trust. So, in the interest of building a relationship with my readers, I will tell you a story from my childhood. This story takes place in my fifth grade days, when I was interned at Pacific Heights Middle School. It was sunny out, and I was walking through the

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6155638.post-1070353383697497662003-12-02T01:23:00.000-08:002005-01-21T18:07:30.236-08:00

Huzzah! Here I am! The 90˚ of right in the triangle of good and evil! How go your dull and dreary lives, lowly mortals? 'Tis I, the Virgin Prince, eccentric visitor from another planet, here to regale you with my tales of grand adventure, debauchery, tragedy, and lechery. Soak your finest silk shirt in 36 ounces of your own drool as you stare slack-jawed at the computer, your eyes locked on to

The Virgin Princehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670412295065658445noreply@blogger.com