delivering powerful diversions and ASCII noses via hypertext transfer protocol since 2001


Can you feel the love tonight?

My social life is fun. I kind of loll back, not doing much of anything, you know? I don't really connect with too many people, and when I try, it usually doesn't work out for one reason or another, and I always end up feeling guilty about the way things turned out (if I ended it) or really depressed and dejected (if she ended it). But every once in a great while, I meet a really teriffic girl who actually makes me HAPPY. Of course, happiness doesn't come for free, so whenever I'm finally HAPPY, a bunch of girls start sending me flirty messages, just to taunt me.

I used to believe that it was because the universe is a cruel place, but now my theory is that the system of girls flirting with me can be described as a Poisson process, and since these events are more likely to cluster together than to be evenly distributed, and since there is a reasonable chance I hook up with a girl who flirts with me, odds are I hook up with a girl who flirts with me at the start of one of these clusters and then catch the rest of the events of these clusters in the non-single state. It's simple math.

The POINT to all of this is that now there's a really teriffic girl who actually makes me HAPPY, so it's time to clear out some of the flirty messages in my cult inbox. Woot.

Subject: um.

k. so i wanna be a groupie. im obsessed with you. i want to paint your toenails bright blu and kiss them. i want to sit behind you naked and groom you like a chimpanzee.


first i saw yer [yatta] flash when i followed some freaks link off his website...i laughed till i couldnt breathe, butt i have to admit i was in an altered state of mind......blah blah blah.

anyways. i had no idea you were so sexy till i found you here. i think i will print out all your pictures and hang them up around my desk at work and tell people you are my boyfriend....is that ok?

for real though. i think you are groovah. you should email me back. cause i am just the right amount of pshychotic for you to be interested, right?

if not, i take back all the creepy things i said above, and replace them with normal non-threatening, complimentary banter.

somegirl somewhere

See? The Poisson distribution hard at work. Of course, this reads as a non-serious letter, except that it has to mention painting my toenails bright "blu" and kissing them, which is a mean thing to say to a guy with a semi-foot-fetish dealy. The problem is that it's hard to reply to this kind of message without either being flirty or an asshole. I didn't want to do either, so I didn't reply. Until now.

And I'm a sensation with couples as well!


Hey wanna make out
- Brit and Liz

With a couple? That's sort of bisexual, isn't it? Here's someone who cuts to the chase even faster:

Subject: whats up?

hey i'm always on your site and would like to know if your gay. or if at some point can i see you without clothes. YOUR SEXXXY.

Hey, thanks. Okay, two questions here, might as well answer them on the record.

  1. No, I am not gay.
  2. Probably so. I've been caught naked a few times before on here, and it's not like I hide from the cameras when I change in the morning. So good luck!

Not everyone thinks I'm gay, though, which is nice:

Subject: asleep?

Why Veloso sleeps so much -- boobies


One other thing. This group Robot Clean did a song with the visuals from Irrational Exuberance playing in the background. They got the audience to chant. It is the single most flattering response to my animations that I've ever seen, and I've seen a few:


This is an mp3, finally, of Robot Clean's smash "Sex and Baseball" performed live in Manchester, CT on 12/20/01, with "GIEEF lives" chant throughout. Enjoy.

Sp. Centroix.


That's it for the letter page, except for a note to CKPooky, who said his message didn't have a single witticism and therefore I shouldn't post it: I agree.


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Thanks to terra for the pyokoriffic überhosting.

I can be reached at veloso@verylowsodium.com.

Contents copyright 2006 Greg Falcon.

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