Peggy Currid wrote:
> Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
Rest in peace, old soldier.
VB(II)
Veni Vidi Venom
"Yet is every man his greatest enemy, and, as it were,
his own executioner."
-- Thomas Browne, 'Religio Medici'
--
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/blaques-dungeon
In article <blaque-2410012021330001@dialup-166.90.70.38.dial1.chicago1.level3.net>,
Jonathan "Nature Boy" Blaque <blaque@creepshow.com> wrote:
>Peggy Currid wrote:
>> Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>Rest in peace, old soldier.
What he said.
Glub's blessing upon you, Vinnie.
Adam
--
adam@princeton.edu
"My eyes say their prayers to her / Sailors ring her bell / Like a
moth
mistakes a light bulb / For the moon and goes to hell." -- Tom
Waits
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Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
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"Adam J. Thornton" wrote:
>
> In article <blaque-2410012021330001@dialup-166.90.70.38.dial1.chicago1.level3.net>,
> Jonathan "Nature Boy" Blaque <blaque@creepshow.com> wrote:
> >Peggy Currid wrote:
> >> Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
> >Rest in peace, old soldier.
>
> What he said.
>
> Glub's blessing upon you, Vinnie.
He was before my time, but I looked upon him like jews look upon Moses.
If there's an afterlife, fat chance, he and Uncle Brian are having
a bloody good drunk, and roaring over the pains of the flesh.
Time for me to get a head start on that..
ObT: I hate getting all maudlin. When my Uncle George died, I
saluted him outta nowhere. But when I Fall Off the Perch (Unc), I just
want everyone to get as knee-walking shit-wasted as possible.. let that
be my curse-blessing to them.
No, didn't do anything to Uncle George. He never hurt me. But I took
a shit on somebody elses' grave, they earned it.. that's a tale for another
time. Got to get drunk.
--
Rev. Syd Midnight - Remove TREET from TREETsyd@TREETnls.net
"We all hope that care and medication will lead to whatever improvements
are
possible."
From: "Alraune" <alraune@ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
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"Jonathan "Nature Boy" Blaque" <blaque@creepshow.com> wrote in message
news:blaque-2410012021330001@dialup-166.90.70.38.dial1.chicago1.level3.net..
.
> Peggy Currid wrote:
>
> > Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>
> Rest in peace, old soldier.
>
Well, Vinnie always said "your mileage may vary." I hope he's got a
rebate coming.
Alraune
Lo, Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
Poe
From: Nurz Rachet <thenurzNOFREAKINGSPAM@ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
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Jonathan Nature Boy Blaque wrote:
> Peggy Currid wrote:
>
> > Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>
> Rest in peace, old soldier.
Same here.
Vinnie wrote me some of the most hilarious e-mail. He sure had a way with words.
Nurzy
Life is short. Unfortunately, so is my dick.
V.J. in e-mail, 1998
From: enoid801@omit.home.com (Citizen Ted)
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
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On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid) wrote:
>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>
>My good friend died this afternoon at 1:45 pm PST.
Here I am, a two-term Mr. Alt.tasteless, whose life is, in fact, quite mundane despite the title. I feel much like Bill Clinton, delivering a eulogy in memory of our very own Richard Nixon. I am but a pretender, whereas my predecessor was the Real Thing.
That said, allow me to stray from the protocols of State and say that Vinnie Jordan walked the fuckin' walk. I didn't know him personally, but through the lens of this forum that for some time sponsored his words, I do believe I got an inkling of what kind of man Vinnie was.
Vinnie wasn't attracted to AT because of some voyeuristic fan-boy desire to join a l33T |<R3W. Instead, he read some of the toxic prose contained within, and decided that he - not just his words - belonged here.
Vinnie's real life adventures read like some of the more twisted fictional accounts posted here. Bloody, drunken, cruel, vomit-strewn accounts of a life lived large.
I invite you to visit the various AT archive sites or do a Google search of his works if you want to peer into the soul of this lovable fiend. Throughout the years, he's garnered my respect as being one of those rare souls who could squeeze every last drop of blood from the soft neck of American society, then describe in clever detail the halting memories of the debauch and the consequent hangover the next day.
Yea, indeed, it was alcohol that did him in. If this were some inexplicable rarity, I'd wax sanctimonious. But history shows us that mania and addiction often accompany genius. We shake our heads and just can't understand why Van Gough, Hendrix and Hemingway were so fucked up. Of course, *we* know why they were fucked up. They were fucked up because they realized they were great men swimming in a sea of weakness. The only thing that bars people like Vinnie Jordan from the history books while canonizing Hemingway is the influence of their respective patrons.
Well, that's about all I can say for now, not having known Vinnie personally. But since he preferred to tell true stories of his life, let me tell you one of my own...
Just yesterday, I was driving home from work, heading west on an avenue caked in fallen leaves, all glittering gold by the light of a dying autumn sun. As I followed a lazy curve in the road, I spied an adult seagull stepping off the sidewalk, heading directly into the street.
My mind made a quick prediction: the bird will see my car, and fly off at the last minute, playing a mortal game with time, eye, brain and wing. I was wrong.
The seagull marched forth, paying no heed to me.
My instant reaction was one of mercy: I should swerve around the damn bird. My second reaction was murderous glee: kill it! My third reaction was caution: it'll spatter all over my chrome.
As the moment approached, my final reaction was simple resignation. I hit the seagull squarely, its head bashing into my rain-dappled bumper with a light thud. The gull was swiftly wrenched underneath my huge Thunderbird, and I saw it emerge behind me in the rearview mirror, its lifeless body rolling dully to the side of the road.
I'd hit plenty of birds with my car, but all them with my windshield. I had never seen a bird of any type simply march forward to greet my two-ton behemoth of steel and chrome.
I gave an obligatory, empty "YES!" motion with my right arm, then turned right toward the grocery store.
My mind harkened back, as it always does when faced with death, to my days as a gravedigger. Back then, I mused almost pathologically about death, particularly my own mortality.
How could that damn bird do that? It was an adult! It should know better! Why the fuck did it just walk in front of my car?
I'll tell you why:
Because that bird *owned the fuckin' road*.
That's why.
- TR
"Buy low, sell high
You get rich and you still
die."
- John Gorka
On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 05:36:41 GMT, in
alt.tasteless,enoid801@omit.home.com (Citizen Ted) wrote:
>On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid)
>wrote:
>
>>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>>
>>My good friend died this afternoon at 1:45 pm PST.
I didn't get the origonal post, here, so I'll just jump on the back of Ted's post. Having seen Ted's posts for some time, I don't think he will mind ... and, if he does, that would be a Good Thing (tm), too.
Having first met Vinnie when he and some of the other peevers started cross-posting to a local newsgroup I frequent (the infamous DeanWarz) I was initially convinced that Vinnie was a monster. (I was something of a virgin to reality, then)
Then I met Vin.
Ke-ripes! Talk about opening the curtain! The damned guy
turned
out to be an absolute gentleman, in person.
I started watching his posts and was blown away.
At about the same time, I was seeing stuff from Geoff. Also incredibly impressive stuff ... but different. While Geoff is intellectual and quite thought-provoking, Vinnie was simply raw and real. But his rawness was hardly a turnoff, as is the case with the skool-kid mentality that we see so often on usenet.
Vinnie had a way of grabbing the reader by the balls, twisting and making the reader want to come back for more.
His posts included some of the finest prose that I have read, anywhere. I told him, on more than one occasion, that if he died before he wrote a book, I dig up his carcus nad kick his butt.
I just found out that there will be no funeral (the way that he *might* prefer ... except for the heavy drinking that might accompany such an event) and that his remains will be cremated.
I guess that this only leaves me the option of kicking his ash.
Or alternatively, I could do a line or two of it ... assuming I could be assured that it was anthrax-free.
In about two days, we will be moving up to the Sacramento area. I'll have to get a new ISP, there. The first thing that I intend to do is to go into Goggle and make it a point to gather up some of the best of his stuff.
Now, I'm not sure exactly why.
There is some sort of sick and twisted idea of perhaps compiling a book that would be made up of some of his posts.
Then it would make some sense to put that book in a large container of some good booze to preserve it.
What is interesting to me about Vinnie is that he posted best when he had been drinking. But he wasn't a sloppy drunk (on usenet). Like so many of our better writters, he seemed to work best when under the influence.
I wish that it could have been the same for him in real life.
From what we saw, he cared a great deal about Ginnie ... but, unfortunately, she had her limits (and I can find no fault with her on this account). She just couldn't stand watching him continue to ruin his health. She finally had to call an end to their relationship to save her own sanity.
My wife (Kathy) and I both tried to help him. We listened to him and tried to most gently suggest that he get the help that he so badly needed. But Vinnie was Vinnie. He was insistent that he was going to do it his way.
And, in the end, I am glad that he did. I wouldn't have, honestly, wanted it any differently.
Glen "Dust Farter" Appleby
"Who we are and who we become depends, in part, on who we love."
-- "A General Theory Of Love" Thanks, Mom
______________________________________________________________
Glen Appleby glena@armory.com <HTTP://www.armory.com/~glena/>
On Sat, 27 Oct 2001 01:34:37 GMT, worley@dworley.ne.mediaone.net
(Acetylcholinesterase Inhibitor) wrote:
>glena@cruzio.com (Glen Appleby) writes:
>> I just found out that there will be no funeral (the way that he
>> *might* prefer ... except for the heavy drinking that might
>> accompany such an event)
>
>What you're looking for is a "wake", a real Irish wake, where everyone
>comes in sympathy and piety and leaves so tanked they don't remember
>the singing, fistfights, swearing, and gropings.
That would be totally fitting. Perhaps it should be part of the next Squickfest.
I haven't said anything before because I just couldn't think of anything that made sense.
I'm going to miss his posts, too. It sucks that he's dead.
A.Lizard
>Dale
************************************************************************
The horse is dead. Fuck it or walk away, but stop beating it.
Juan Rico
Personal Web site http://www.ecis.com/~alizard
backup address (if ALL else fails) alizard@[spam]onebox.com
PGP 6.5.8 key available by request,keyserver,or on my Web site
Get PGPfone for secure voice conferencing, W9x,NT,Mac) at
http://www.pgpi.org/products/nai/pgpfone/
Littleton school killings:
http://www.ecis.com/~alizard/littleto.html
************************************************************************
enoid801@omit.home.com (Citizen Ted) wrote in message news:<3bd795f3.9891613@news>...
> On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid)
> wrote:
>
> >Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
> >
> >My good friend died this afternoon at 1:45 pm PST.
>
> Here I am, a two-term Mr. Alt.tasteless,
whose life is, in
> fact, quite mundane despite the title. I feel much like Bill Clinton,
> delivering a eulogy in memory of our very own Richard Nixon. I am
but
> a pretender, whereas my predecessor was the Real Thing.
>
Hear hear!! I can't possibly put my thoughts down in any fashion
that would be more than the echo of a tiny dry fart compared to this marvelous
eulogy.
Vinnie, I'll miss ya. I'm sorry I never got to see you in Real Life.
Robert
--
From the messy desk of Robnorth - TSS Headquarters
- 1313 Manson
...their whole line of thought is based on doing evil so that good
may
come, which in my opinion implies that causes do not have effects.
- George Orwell, on Communists
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
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enoid801@omit.home.com (Citizen Ted) writes:
>>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
> Here I am, a two-term Mr. Alt.tasteless, whose
life is, in
>fact, quite mundane despite the title.
> That said, allow me to stray from the protocols
of State and
>say that Vinnie Jordan walked the fuckin' walk. I didn't know him
>personally, but through the lens of this forum that for some time
>sponsored his words, I do believe I got an inkling of what kind of
man
>Vinnie was.
> Vinnie wasn't attracted to AT because of some
voyeuristic
>fan-boy desire to join a l33T |<R3W. Instead, he read some
of the
>toxic prose contained within, and decided that he - not just his words
>- belonged here.
Ted, you say you didn't know Vinnie personally. Let me tell you about him.
Vinnie was an extremely self-destructive man. However, he did not consider these qualities worthy of admiration and did not encourage them in others. The love of his life, Ginny, was (like Peggy, for that matter) a prudent, sensible, down- to-earth woman. Unlike mad Victor, Vinnie knew better than to lose his head for a woman who led the same life he did.
Vinnie used drugs, but he tried to keep his friends from using them.
Vinnie had a store of barely-repressed anger, and he expressed this anger in his posts. However, he also had an enormous store of natural affection. Vinnie was no sap, to claim he loved everyone. However, he was usually nice to people who were nice to him. He was nice to uneducated, unglamorous, uncool people -- the sort of folks who you, Ted, would mock to us after you repaired their boob tubes.
Vinnie was nice to _me_. For many years, he was my true friend, as much as he was capable of it. Part of this was that he made friends easily, but part was that he, from a completely dif- ferent world, knew something of who I was and where I was coming from. And liked it.
Vinnie was not well-read, but at his best, he knew his immediate surroundings.
Vinnie was a self-destructive literary genius, but he was no Jim Goad, to bite every hand that fed him; no Lord Byron, to make every step of his own slow suicide a theatrical pose. No, he was like Charlie Parker, listening to country music on the jukebox; Janis Joplin, letting a half-blind man sit in her dressing room. And most of all, like Faulkner in Stockholm, saying, "I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail."
Vinnie Jordan was tasteless, yes, and peevish. But there was more to him than that.
Goodbye, Vinnie.
I'm sorry you didn't get a Nobel Prize. But I'm glad, on the other hand, that no one's selling Vinnie Jordan collector plates.
Lenore Levine
--
"I did have a dream that some protesters were protesting sunshine,
citing
melanoma statistics." -- squicker
On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid) wrote:
>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
Fuck tradition, it's time to TG.
On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 21:36:40 GMT, rorschak@mail1.stofanet.dk (Jesper
Lauridsen) wrote:
>On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid)
wrote:
>
>>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>
>Fuck tradition, it's time to TG.
^^^^
"Profanity is the crutch of inarticulate motherfuckers"
Vinny - from some time or other.
So, Vinny
The devil called you back home
You always said he would
One day
"Fuck 'em all"
That's what you used to say
I hope
You're doing that right now
(With apologies to A. J. Thribb)
--
Dan Drake
In article <slrn9tepal.eqk.currid@staff2.cso.uiuc.edu>,
Peggy Currid <currid@staff.uiuc.edu> wrote:
>Vinnie Jordan
I liked Vinnie.
"...sad memories that I can't recall..." as the song goes.
Here's to him, then...
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Tim Mefford
| "Awake, ye drunkards, and weep; and howl,
tvm@aracnet.com |
all ye drinkers of wine...." JOEL 1:5
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From: p-stickney@worldnet.att.net (Peter Stickney)
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
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In article <slrn9tepal.eqk.currid@staff2.cso.uiuc.edu>,
currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy
Currid) writes:
> Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
Fuck.
Vinnie, I has hoping to meet you one day.
(I've tried about 8 million followups, but thay all sound like wet dogshit.)
--
Pete Stickney
A strong conviction that something must be done is the parent
of many
bad measures. -- Daniel Webster
Peter Stickney wrote:
>
> In article <slrn9tepal.eqk.currid@staff2.cso.uiuc.edu>,
> currid@staff.uiuc.edu
(Peggy Currid) writes:
> > Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>
> Fuck.
> Vinnie, I has hoping to meet you one day.
>
> (I've tried about 8 million followups, but thay all sound like wet
> dogshit.)
I know it's wierd, but to me that's almost a good summary.
I think I know what you mean by "sound like wet dogshit" and it's the antithesis of the way Vinnie wrote. And without him, the whole world is going to sound just a little bit more that way.
A little less raw, a little less rough-edged-real, a little less _lived_
in.
Bob
--
Life makes SO much less sense when you're sane.
Bob O`Bob wrote:
>Peter Stickney wrote:
>>
>> Vinnie, I has hoping to meet you one day.
>> (I've tried about 8 million followups, but thay all sound like wet
>> dogshit.)
>
>I think I know what you mean by "sound like wet dogshit" and it's
>the antithesis of the way Vinnie wrote. And without him, the
whole
>world is going to sound just a little bit more that way.
Speaking of Vinnie and dogs, a blast from the past:
"It's 4:30 in the morning. I got a jackhammer headache from a night
of too much drinking. My head is pounding, and my liver and kidneys are
floating in a pool of partially digested cheap vodka, my old
lady is out of town visiting her mom, and the only sound in the house
is that of the dog slurping on his nuts. It's usually a soothing
sound, a sound like.....home." -- Vinnie Jordan
Jim
--
"This place blows." -- David Letterman
jimhill@swcp.com (Jim Hill) wrote in message news:<9rck5t$mal$1@sloth.swcp.com>...
> "It's 4:30 in the morning. I got a jackhammer headache from a night
> of too much drinking. My head is pounding, and my liver and kidneys
> are floating in a pool of partially digested cheap vodka, my old
> lady is out of town visiting her mom, and the only sound in the house
> is that of the dog slurping on his nuts. It's usually
a soothing
> sound, a sound like.....home." -- Vinnie Jordan
I was somewhat shocked to hear of Vinnie's dying. I was about to ask exactly what killed him, but reading the above it seems rather a pointless question.
It's a pity he is going to be cremated: his decaying corpse would make a fine study for us all, a wonderful counterpart of decay in death mirroring his decay in life.
One of Darwin's own, to be sure.
From: viking@svtv.com (Natural Born Cereal Killer)
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
Date: Sat, 27 Oct 2001 06:34:27 +0000 (UTC)
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p-stickney@worldnet.att.net (Peter Stickney) writes:
>(I've tried about 8 million followups, but thay all sound like wet
>dogshit.)
I'm thinking a moment of
silence and some quiet comtemplation as I work on this drink are the best
words I can come up with.
--
* Dan Sorenson DoD #1066 ASSHOLE #35 BOTY 1997
viking@svtv.com *
* Vikings? There ain't no vikings here. Just us honest
farmers. *
* The town was burning, the villagers were dead. They didn't
need *
* those sheep anyway. That's our story and we're sticking to
it. *
So he's dead, huh.
We exchanged email on occasion when I used to post regularly on AT. He told people in plain, direct words, *exactly* what about them annoyed the fuck outta him. Made it funny as hell, too. The more plain his words were, the truer they sounded, the smarter he sounded, the more like a gibbering monkey the other was made to look.
He liked to swear a lot. I liked that.
I knew he was a drunk a long time ago and that he was going to stay that way. I1m sure a lot of other people knew it as well. It1s a type. I1m a bit surprised that he lived for this long.
Ah well. I1ve picked up many a drunk, and I always end up picking them up again sometime later - unless they die - which always seems to happen later than you think it will. They always outlive your estimates - *especially* if you got money on it - that1s for sure. They hold on a bit longer just to spite you - make you work on them just once more. So they can recover, croak out whatever fucking promises they make to themselves or anyone who1s listening who gives half a rat1s ass that this time1s the turnaround.
Being a drunk masks shitloads of other medical problems. They are some of the hardest to manage - much less talk to - cause most of them are lying bastards who will say or do anything to get the hell out and start drinking again. Piss yourself while standing up, then slip and fall and split your head wide open? Don1t blame the friggin drunk, he doesn1t know any better - he1s fucking soused. He *will*, however, come back to sue your cheap five-figure salary ass for all it1s worth. You1ll be driving that Civic forever.
If I never pick up another fucker who falls and splits his head wide open and sits in the bathroom and smears the blood all over himself and waits just long enough before dialing 911 that the whole apartment gets that tangy, coppery, bad raw steak smell, and the blood congeals into little puddles on the floor and attains this slippery-yet-sticky feel when wearing latex gloves ...
And for fuck1s sake - why do you assholes always end up in the crapper - the smallest goddamn room in the house? And why do you feel the need to try and grab the whitest, brightest piece of my uniform with your bloody, sticky goddamn hands?
Ain1t my fault that you had to get an ice-water lavage of your stomach for the past hour to shrink the fragile, enlarged esophageal varices that broke open and caused you to projectile-vomit streams of blood on the walls and floor. But, for some reason, you til I get closer to spit a pink globber my way.
Oh, and let1s not forget the piles of foul black, tarry, liquidy shit that even with the best of care, I1ll end up stepping into with nearly brand new boots. If I1m lucky, I1ll slip and fall into the goo as well and provide a little yuk yuk for the hosemonkeys. Yum.
Had to have that drink, huh? Even though you knew it would kill you, or make you want to die if you didn1t.
Philosophers and logicians have no stronger claim to the phrase vicious circularity1 when compared to drunks.
Fire in the belly, firewater in the belly, bleeding into the belly.
That about sums it up.
Shit, Vin.
Why couldn1t it have been Pe?
- Tae
"Inter caecus luscus regnat."
We'll never know if it was joy, fear or insanity that caused Tae Hyong Kim to say:
> Shit, Vin.
>
> Why couldn't it have been Pe?
Hear, fucking, hear. Truer words were never spoken.
What Tae has pointed out is but further proof that there is no fucking
ghod, because a ghod wouldn't let injustices like this happen.
Your Humble Correspondent,
Jeff Justin
--
All correspondence answered promptly
All flames cheerfully ignored
Visit www.jeffjustintime.com
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From: sandman@speakHEADeasy.org (Wes Payne)
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
Organization: Kemmler Institute of Electrical Engineering
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Date: 27 Oct 2001 04:12:28 +0100
On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid)
wrote:
YOU ARE TOO LATE
>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
I've been rewriting this followup for twenty minutes and all I can come up with is:
FUCK.
I don't consider if self-aggrandizingly deep or eloquent, but I can't find a better way to summarize what's going on in my head right now. I saw my own death in the way he lived, and now that he's gone I don't feel the least bit relieved.
ObT: Dinner. Pre-packaged cheese tortellini with all the sauce and veggies. It's prepared in a skillet. You just heat it until it thaws and melts.
Never eaten pasta with scorch marks on it before. It's intrinsically wrong and entirely uncomforting. Like visiting someone else's house and finding that the bathroom sink has a garbage disposal.
ObQuote: "Every man is a spark in the darkness. By the time he is perceived, he is gone: a fading retinal after-image obscured by newer and brighter lights."
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From: jsn@concentric.net (John S. Novak, III)
Newsgroups: alt.peeves
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
Date: 28 Oct 2001 04:25:51 GMT
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On Thu, 25 Oct 2001 01:03:34 GMT, currid@staff.uiuc.edu (Peggy Currid) wrote:
>Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>My good friend died this afternoon at 1:45 pm PST.
Ah, hell.
I remember something from many years ago.
It was the first time that I got word of someone's death through the
bizarre quasi-personal medium of a mailing list, and I peeved about it.
Vinnie mailed me back expressing condolences and allowing as to how death and death notices gave him the creeps, too. Now I get word of Vinnie's death, through a mailing list.
I always wanted to meet the little bastard, too.
Here's hoping he's busy fucking all the divine virgins that the Taliban think they're gonna get.
--
John S. Novak, III
jsn@cegt201.bradley.edu
The Humblest Man on the Net
In article <9rg1ce$t6dsr$1@ID-100778.news.dfncis.de>,
John S. Novak, III <jsn@concentric.net> wrote:
>
>Here's hoping he's busy fucking all the divine virgins that the
>Taliban think they're gonna get.
>
I've met Vinnie. He's probably buying them a round of drinks first.
He was always a gentleman.
ER
Stoned koala bears drooled eucalyptus spittle in awe
as <jsn@concentric.net> declared:
> I always wanted to meet the little bastard, too.
I knew Vinnie for about ten, eleven years.
Never met 'im face to face, though. We came within half an hour, once, when I was in Santa Cruz on business, but never _quite_ got it together.
Damn.
-- Charlie
From: Red Menace <tickle@mytaint.com>
Newsgroups: alt.peeves,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DTG: VJ
Date: Tue, 06 Nov 2001 21:04:06 -0800
Organization: Afghani Fundamentalist Bowel Movement
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Jonathan Nature Boy Blaque wrote:
> Peggy Currid wrote:
>
> > Vinnie Jordan, 1955-2001
>
> Rest in peace, old soldier.
First-Welcome back Tae, Jimbo, and other A.T relics.
After reading the musings regarding Vinny's recent demise, it becomes crystal clear...
This was a *very* important man to a.t .
As most of us now in here, I was not familiar with VJ on a personal basis, but admired from afar. His passing has brought out the "A List" of a.t, and mindful of the stoicism and cries of pain and frustration, the sum of the thread is that Vinny will be sorely missed.
The one and only time we communicated was to take a potential flame war to e-mail, and that resulted in complete disarmament of the both of us in a matter of 1 or 2 letters. Based on that (solely) I came to the conclusion that this respected member of our cesspool was sorely in need of the Betty Ford clinic, a straightjacket, or both.
He was eloquent, arrogant, deviant, evil, intelligent (when sober-ish), and no frills.
He was also no bullshit.
I will not mourn his passing, but celebrate his existence, for men like he are diamonds in the rough. You may not agree with him, you may not like him, you might even hate him, but you damned sure respected his honesty and sabre sharp street level wisdom. Most importantly, you didn't have to worry about him stabbing you in the back. He would assault you from the front, in broad daylight if he felt the need.
You knew where you stood with him from day one.
IMHFO, Vinny belongs in the AT "Gallery of Rogues", alongside Queen Pee and Unc if for no other reason than keeping them on their toes (or stubs as the case may be)
Rest in peace, VJ.
Finally.
RedMenace
From: kgb@rawbw.com (Cubicle Morlock)
Newsgroups: alt.tasteless.jokes,alt.tasteless
Subject: Re: DAISY CUTTERS ARE US
Date: Fri, 09 Nov 2001 01:43:22 -0000
Organization: Raw Bandwidth Communications +1 650 964 1785
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[...]
ObLateOdeToVinnieJordan: As boring and isolated as my life is, I'm stunned that after living for over 16 years in Santa Cruz I can't recall ever meeting Vinnie. If anything its a final warning that I have to get out more. Even had we met, Vinnie would have probably sized me up with a glance, asked if I was buying the next round, and regardless of my answer promptly forgot who the hell I was. And thats probably how it should have been. Some of us timidly scurry from rock to rock, while others wildly swing from the branches and fling dung on those below. Glub speed to that great whore house in the sky, Vinnie. I'll be thinking about you the next time I toss one back.