If anyone from Real reads this let me just say to you... I HATE YOUR FUCKING GUTS! YOUR PRODUCT SUCKS - AND YOU SUCK! DIE YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKERS! DIE! I LIVE FOR THE DAY REAL FINALLY GOES OUT OF BUSINESS!!!

Thank you.

"As tattoo shops surfaced in suburban malls around the country, and as the term body art began to geyser into the lexicon of the hoi polloi, it became apparent that tattoos were slowly losing their power to daunt, shock or amaze. But more important, they were rapidly being stripped of their traditional connotations as emblems of blue-collar lunacy, alcohol abuse and temporary insanity. More and more, they were becoming the province of middle-class wannabes, commuters and show-offs."

"Every night after we played the Whisky (LA venue Whisky a Go-Go), half the crowd would come back to our house and drink and do blow, smack, Percodan, Quaaludes and whatever else we could get for free."

"I used to get up every morning, before I even brushed my teeth, I would smoke a joint. While I was smoking a joint, I'd pop a beer. While I was sipping the beer, I'd cook up a spoon of cocaine, heroin -- whatever was lying around. Shoot it right into my arm, get completely wasted ... Flip on the telly, get high some more ... maybe order up some lunch ... have some girls over ... get high with them ... fool around with the girls ... get high some more.

I did that every single day for five years.

It was horrible ... it was horrible ... I mean, it was wonderful too, in its own way."

1. Since most movies in Hollywood are unmemorable or just plain suck, and since half the Hollywood budget is in marketing movies, Hollywood is actually in the business of selling shitty movies.

MESSAGE: Sometimes late at night, I drink red wine, turn on my computer screen, and stare longingly at your web site. After a glass or two I sometimes reach my hand down in between my...

SUBJECT: Pretty Hard Criticism...From someone with a UI as horrible as yours
MESSAGE: You critisize others for there poor UI design. Well, exactly how readable is BLACK ON YELLOW text? Not very. How usable is your tiny navigation bar? NOT VERY. Before you go critisizing others for poor UI, LOOK AT YOUR OWN SITE!!!

PS: Yes, this is a flame. Deal with it.

Eggers has staked his claim on advertising his book (in the Norman Mailer ''Advertisements for Myself'' sense) as both nonfiction and fiction. With the memoir in decline, so publishers tell us, and the novel reviving but not yet in full ascent, the borderland is the place to be. But how he presumes on his readers: don't you want to know everything I'm thinking, I love you, I hate you, listen to me, look at me! ''Aren't I the most brilliant boy you've ever seen?'' he seems to ask on every one of the 436 pages, not counting the preface and appendix. Mailer was asking too, but in 1950's and 60's style, he was trying hard to be a man about it. In the mode of our times, Eggers wheedles, demands and declaims like a man-child.

His throaty rasp has no range, and he constantly looks and sounds like he's taking a squirrel (insert your word here: dookie, dump, growler ... you know what I mean, but I promised my mother I wouldn't swear in these columns anymore.) Like him or not, The Boss is simply not a singer who's easy to listen to.