My Profile

Copyright © 1996–2012. What does that mean to you, the viewer and eye-poking enthusiast? Basically it means that all images, words, sounds, ideas, eyeballs, fingers, donuts, virtual rabbit's feet, wires with lint on them, spinning heads, soda cans, HTML, PHP, Javascript, varicose veins, 14th century Italian sculptures, battleships, thermonuclear devices, dark matter, wormholes, kittens, interdimensional rifts, temporal anomalies, and/or lost galaxies are protected under federal law. What's that? Oh, which federal law? Um... number 8. The one about not stealing stuff from my about me page. I think they passed it in Congress back in like... 1942 or something. Yeah, it says something about being chained up in prison and beaten by very large people with leather masks for 200 years. Um... fine, you got us. We have no idea what federal laws are actually governing web content. We would've actually had a real lawyer come up with this tag, but man are they expensive. Like waaaay more money than anybody involved with this website could possibly ever afford. We're poor people, despite having what might called "successful" careers in the information technology arena. Do you have any idea how much student loan payments can actually cost a person? Two words come to mind: "Poverty" and "Turkey sandwich." Hmm... come to think of it, a turkey sandwich doesn't really have anything to do with paying school loans, but I'm still pretty hungry. Oh! I found this fantastic deli downtown, that just got put in on the corner of Garden and West. You know, where the old alligator repair shop used to be? Yeah, that place went out of business. Surprisingly, it wasn't because of a lack of customers. I hear the owner, Mr. Phlegm, was involved in some sort of international conspiracy that had something to do with all those Russian exchange students that were arrested last month. So he got taken off to jail or something and they tore down the alligator repair shop, which kind of irks me because my alligator was still in there. It was giving me problems, so I gave it to Mr. Phlegm, and he told me it was nothing serious, like a couple of loose belts and maybe a rusted sparkplug or two. Well, he had to order the parts and stuff so he told me it wouldn't be ready until Tuesday, and then all of a sudden guys from the CIA are asking him to go with them to Washington. At least, I think they were with the CIA. My friends tell me that everybody in the CIA wears a black ski mask. One of the guys had pantyhose on his head, so I guess he was probably with the FBI. I'm pretty sure everybody in the FBI carries a flamethrower, and I know for a fact that they always set fire to people when they arrest them. I guess it was pretty important that they knew who I was, because they asked for my wallet to make sure I had proper identification. I don't want anybody from the CIA thinking I'm some sort of conspirator, so I handed it right over and the nice guy from the FBI hit me in the stomach with a tire iron. At that point I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed with a really bad headache and my legs in traction. That's when I met the wonderful person who changed my life... a beautiful nurse that would be my ray of sunshine in my darkest days. I'll never forget that nurse's name: Stewart. She was about three feet tall, with a full red beard and a creamy nougat center. I didn't mind that she had seven extra knuckles on her left pointer finger, I'm willing to put aside petty differences if it means true love. Stewart and I eventually moved to the new apartment complex on Elmwood Drive where we rent a smashing two bedroom bungalow with satellite dishwasher access and a remote control shower. Now I can finally get all my favorite Afghanistanian soap operas, like "Akhmed Miller's Wacky Camel-Painting and Soup-Pinching Hour." I've got almost every episode on tape but I'm really excited about the DVD collection that's coming out. They tell me there's extra footage from the episode where Mrs. Hershberger eats thirty-eight airplane tires and a whole Big Mac. Boy, I'd sure hate to be the plumber at that house! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Gee, I've really sidetracked. What was I talking about? Oh right, English monarchs. Did you know Henry V died of dysentery? He was in power from 1413 to 1422, and was going to be heir to the French throne. He also had a very silly haircut and a particularly bad driver's license photo. Yep. So.... what's going on? I've been going on and on about nothing in particular and you haven't said a word. By the way, I must commend you for your dedication if you've read this far. Oh! We must warn you... the creators of Poke Alex in the Eye: The Game in no way condone or promote actually poking people in the eye. What you do in free time behind closed doors is your business, but we can't have people going around stabbing each other's eyeballs out and them blaming it on us. How bad would we look if there was a sudden epidemic of head lice and everybody claimed to have caught it from our website? Actually, that's not really relevant. Why do you keep changing the subject? I hate when people can't stay on one topic for more than five seconds. Like this one guy I know. His name is Jennifer and he has the biggest set of outboard motor cords I've ever seen. "Old Jennifer Outboard Motor Cord," we used to call him. Of course, that was back in the day when a bottle of orange juice only cost three cents. They couldn't get rid of oranges fast enough that year, what with the war on. Down with General Zanzibar and his army of Undead Mutant Swordfish! So you see what I'm trying to say here. This website is a lot of fun if you know how to treat it right. All characters in Poke Alex in the Eye: The Game are entirely fictional, and any similarity to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Except for Ace!