“Motivational Support” from our esteemed colleagues comes in many forms.

Pat “the eYe” Bridges—never one to shy away from “telling it like it is”—offered up the quote above earlier last week, via telephone, from the bronzed beaches of San Juan Capistrano, in the ever-contracting ass end of Orange County, Southern California.

He cited many things. Babies, dog talk and a general “niceness” that is kind of new around here.

He couldn’t be more right.

01. We like babies. I don’t know what it is. They are cute. They have big heads. They are soft. They are innocent. Little hands. Little fingernails. Fontanelles. More and more, I find myself interested in the “procreationist arts” and find myself in awe of all the little miracles my friends have been squeezin’ out in the last couple years.

Like last Thurday my friend Stacey brought her little man “Milo” over. Pure joy. Pure youth. Curls. A big face and an even bigger laugh. The little man livened the place up. 19 months old, and on the go.

When I go home, I see little babies. Friends are starting little families and shit, and hell if it doesn’t just sorta warm up a cold, hard heart.

02. We’re learning to be “dog people.” Fuck the big dogs and their big tongues and bigger turds and big, happy, predictable demeanors. I like the smallness, uh, the “cuteness,” and the feisty quality of Gary, and all his little uh, “challenges” he poses hourly on the DDC Factory Floor. In fact, I almost killed the little fucker last night after a certain Armageddon-like outburst at Ben & Jerry’s. There’s nothing “nice” about that. (And to all you cat people out there, well, we have this much to say, “Gary ain’t a cat.” So there.)

03. We’re hard at work to be nicer. It ain’t easy runnin’ the sorts of mean streets Gary and I run. You gotta be tough. You gotta be mean. You gotta be ugly. You gotta set the air conditioning each morning and “be the talker” and “not the listener” on the phone with the clients. We’re doing our best to be postive in tough ass times. We got a monkey for a president, the world hates us and shit, Gary still can’t figure out how to tell me he’s gotta visit the outhouse.

So Pat, and any others who want to challenge the content on this site can kiss my ass, then, lay right down on the cold cement of the DDC factory floor to kiss Gary’s.