Well, it’s finally happened. AOL has finally made it literally impossible for me to sign on to the AIM screenname I’ve had since I was 17 years old. It’s a little bit sad, but mostly irritating.

I guess someone changed the password or something, and long story short, there is nothing I can do. So goodbye Drumner. And hello waderandolph@gmail.com. Tell your friends.

I’m going to youtube, searching for “sad song” and embedding the first result here.

the way spam computers who want to draw you as a cartoon see it.

Everyone would be white. Wait a minute…

and stumbled upon this prestigious category:

It does when you jump the shark. Come to Channel101 this Sunday and vote for Wade and Eric Sold a Movie, or fuck off altogether and don’t be my friend anymore.

Listen, you can buy our ship models. But only if you want the best made, best priced models of ships out there, okay? So if you want some poorly made overpriced non-museum quality ship models, don’t waste your time buying our superior models for less. Trust us. Don’t buy our ship models.

There I was, minding my own business, trying my best to eliminate an entire species of ants, when I heard the most pathetic, scary meow of my young, handsome life.

The ants are here because my cat hasn’t been feeling well. As far as I can tell, cats throw up when they’re fully healthy, so when they’re sick, it’s like barf central, ya heard? Anyway, I guess I didn’t do a great job of cleaning up some cat puke that happened to be on power strips and computer power converter boxes. Therefore, ants. Hence, Wade: Ant Genocider. They would rather leap to their deaths than face me.

I look over and there’s my poor cat, in barf position. Cats are awesome and know that when they puke, humans have clean it up, so they look for clothes, luggage, carpets, rugs, to do it on. I being a skilled cat vomit controller, sprung into action and sternly yet gently and handsomely held my cat as she dealt with her issue.

Problem was, the issue was bigger than the both of us. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t get whatever it was, up. Panic strike. First her, then me. She began flailing, jumping, trying to get onto her make shift bed, also known as, my rolling luggage.

“No way!” I thought, as my grip tightened. She snatched the corner of the lightweight and stylish carry on and flung it into the air. Now I was holding a cat who was holding my luggage and throwing up. Shit was happening.

Over and over she tried to get away from me. It suddenly occurred to me that this could be serious. She’s trying to throw up and not throwing up and that probably means she can’t breath. My cunning and sharp mind quickly formed a plan: A) Run her into the living room where her cat carrier is. B) Throw her in. C) Get in my car. D) ?

I would have to improvise the rest which is no worry for a man of my intelligence. I quickly, forcefully, but gently, and a little bit sexily, picked a cute but furious little kitty up and swung her around.

Something caught my eye on the floor. I turned to investigate and there I saw the largest hairball known to man. I had inadvertently Heimliched my choking cat, and saved the day. I thought about taking a picture, for the mere mention of the size of this hairball would be the genesis of legends and myths for years to come.

But I didn’t, because that would be gross and I had a still panicked cat on my hands. I tended to her, she calmed down. It was over. I cleaned her up as best I could. We shared a look between us that said, “What the fuck!?” then she went to hide under the bed.

Biggest fucking hairball ever, for real. Holy shit.

Anyway, now my massive forearms are riddled with little knife like cuts. I have to keep them raised as I type this or my battery-less computer might short out from all the blood.

102 Ants were murdered with my bare bloody hands during the typing of this story.

Mr. Walk down me. Lead me to the building. Fuck you.

I like this song. The video I’m “eh” about, but total score, stealing this shit from the (alternative) Man!