We're now at Day 3 of Jacottgate, and I have no news to report. No lawsuits, no middle of the night visits from Carlos's enforcers, and certainly no blubbery apology from the man himself. I briefly considered replacing the snippy note currently found at CarlosJacott.com with an image of me handing Carlos a box of chocolates, with the caption, "Why don't we just agree to disagree?" While that would be the greatest thing in the history of the internet, I am going to refrain from doing that until Carlos antagonizes me some more, or I get really bored.
Now that CarlosJacott.com has essentially been sent to the taxidermist, I am wondering what I should start working on. Don't get me wrong; Sweet Lady Goulash always treats me mighty fine. My muse demands more venues, that's all. From a hysterically emotional standpoint, I am tempted to register IHateCarlosJacott.com and let my bruised feelings run wild. If the man thinks I'm insulting him when I'm trying to do something complimentary, wait until he sees my actual negative material. That could get a little complicated though, since IHateCarlosJacott.com would most likely result in me fleeing the country to evade a swarm of lawsuits. While the people of Honduras are quite personable, I don't think they're ready to accomodate the fast-paced lifestyle of one Cody Wayne Maxwell Powell.
All I can say is, I'm glad that I'll be in Mexico in a few days, where it's 80 degrees and no one has ever heard of the Internet. And if Carlos wants to hunt me down there, he's going to have to deal with the one eyed bartender whose servant I'll be once my wallet is tapped and the American embassy refuses to return my calls. Indentured servitude has its priviledges.
Posted by Cody at February 18, 2004 6:03 PM