February 18th, 2000
OK, OK
No more whining. I re-read that last rant and it just makes me look like the most pitiful boy in the world. Oh, woe is me (insert violins here) Just because nothing strange happens to me in a week's time I start thinking I need to get a real job. Well that got nipped in the bud (I have no idea's whose bud) this week with an e-mail from a reporter out of Alabama. Seems that some guy was having bad dreams and decided to go dig in his back yard. Wanna know what he dug up? Click here and read all about it courtesy of my personal investigation.
While I was traveling upstate I stopped in a little small no name 1 red light town and saw this amazingly profound time capsule cover. Boy they were really covering all the angles on this one huh?
You know, I was thinking about going into a sideline business. Something along the line of private detective work. I'm always really good at tracking down the facts when I hear about weird things and I bet that ability would cross over into being a gumshoe. Yea, Derek Barnes, private eye, gun for hire, cases solved and people found. The guy to call when you find a dead body in a locked room. Course, I'm getting my visions from all the hours of detective shows I've seen on late night TV. I get the sinking feeling that it's not as exciting in real life. I'd probably spend most of my time watching guys trying to cheat insurance companies with whiplash scams. . . .hum, wonder what it pays?
Oh, now get this, that guy I secretly recorded with the Jersey Devil baby found out about my little quicktime film and is up in arms. Seems what I did was bad, very bad, and I'm going to pay for my nefarious activities. I'm not sure if he wants to sue me or kick my ass but neither sounds like something I want to be involved in. Perhaps if I gave him a T-shirt it would calm him down.
More as it develops,
hurdy gur
Derek "I am not a crook" Barnes
