DJEvil's Happy Fun-Time Bio Page 2000!

There was once a time when a man couldn't rant and rave about how Cannibal: The Musical! was the greatest movie ever made. Now, thanks to Al Gore, we have the internet. Finally, we, who talk and talk and talk and talk and talk about Shawnee Smith, Whale, and hula-hoops, all the while showering in malt Ovaltine, doing the Electric Slide to the tune of "The Humpty Dance" by Digital Underground, and lathering up your (or mine) genitals in green spandex while wearing vasoline...we have a forum. (Tyler's words coming from my mouth. And I used to be such a nice guy...)

Here, anybody with working knowledge of computers (or not) and a little time can run their damn mouth off and people will click and read whatever you have to say.

Oh, the sites I have seen. Pinhead's got nothing on some wackos out there. I've been to the site of Kentucky's ska band, disproving my theory that Kentucky didn't exist. Or that, if it did, no one lived there, let alone knew what "music" was (but I'm from Alabama, so what do I know, right? We still don't have electricity). Speaking of music, Death's web page points out it's fondness for punk rock. I just found it funny that death has a Geocities page. Like most of us, it can't afford its own domain name.

Funny ol' world, indeed. The internet has shown us that you can now make babies online, there are 7-year-olds who can kick my ass, and "Honest" Abe Lincoln's got a video game. What have I learned from all this? I've learned that, thanks to the internet, anyone can have fifteen minutes of fame.

The way I see it, this as close to a Mexican variety show as I'll ever have, so I'm gonna milk it dry. Just by knowing that someone'll see this, and ask, "What the hell is their problem?!"...That makes me smile.

So, now...How about we actually write a f*ckin bio, DJ?

I'm a native Alabamian with no accent, which confuses the hell outta everybody else. I graduated from high school in '99 with an advanced diploma. A month later, I figged (lied) my way into a DJ'ing position at the University of Alabama's radio station, New Rock 90.7, by posing as a student. "DJEvil" was the on-air name I wanted to use, but, it was deemed stupid. Seeing as how I already had the prostitute by the balls, why haggle about the dress? So, DJEvil was dropped. Eventually, I decided it was too cool to abandon, so internet, here I come. DJEvil became my nickname at the message boards of CHUD, and yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada...

Eventually, I learned that $75 a week won't pay rent, so, I moved, hopped from job-to-job, experiencing hell after nightmarish hell of a variety of customers (and don't think they won't be getting their own page up here soon). Let me make a list: movie theater usher/projectionist/concession sales/assistant manager/whatever else, waiter, department store clerk, exterminator, pizza-maker, sock mill boarder, and I took the drug test at Wal-Mart (I passed!). At the end of the day, I said, "Hey! I can't hold a job! Cool!!"

Having fulfilled my dream of becoming a loser, I felt that I could now dedicate my time to my other hobbies. So, here I am, finally running my own webpage as I see fit. Here, on the internet, I can be the boss. I can fire whoever I want. I pay myself whatever I see fit.

*spoken as Brad Pitt's Tyler Durden*
You're in trouble, my friend. Here, we don't wear ties, we don't wear khakis, we don't say "yes ma'am, no ma'am," there is no senior discount, we cuss, we wear Evil Dead T-shirts, we spit in your burger if we don't like you, we slap your kids if they get on our nerves, we smoke while we cook your veggie pizza with the audacity to cough up our cancers on it, we break your fingers if you don't leave the full 15% gratuity, we have blue-dyed hair, piercings and plainly visible tattoos, we wear our own hats, you may skate in our parking lot, we play Busta Rhymes on the overhead speakers at full volume, NO! we do not deliver, NO! you may not have fries with that, NO! we will not accept checks, regardless of how many valid forms of ID you have, and YES! You, the general public can eat it. Fockers.