Jeremy G. Pippin

I’ve recently been working on a project that allows for third-party plug-in development.  I’ve become very interested in plug-in systems (though they’re a pain in the ass to script) because they’re the perfect situation:  it allows for other developers with nifty ideas to improve your product without any work from you.  The laziness is neat, [...]

Dear Roosevelt Avenue Subway Announcer, Mwi mwood mwnnk tnhh thanhk yrrrh frmhm th bnnntmmm mf mh hrrrt. Yrhhh dlly annnmmmnnts rrr extrmmmmlhhh yrrrsfhhhl. Love, Pip

Wow.  Hope that title got everybody’s attention. Actually, I’m just going to war on the spam comments.  I left this site alone for too long and the spambots have taken over.  It used to be funny, but now over 3000 comments is not.  So I’m going to take a couple of days to clear this [...]

Okay, big move to New York, and now I’m back. This one’s a very brief, political rant, to be largely ignored by all. Look, nutjobs. This isn’t a Christian country. This isn’t an English-speaking country. Yes, a majority of Americans dub themselves as Christians (many of those, by the way, seem to think it’s a [...]

Hey, hey, HEY… What the hell you think you doin’? You can’t just pick me up and start squeezin’ me all over your turkey sammich! Jeez. I’m mustard, not ketchup, ya dumb f*ck. Oh, you think ’cause I’m not that fancy Deli shit you can treat me like a Jersey chick? C’mon. Have a little [...]

This poem was commissioned by smivey in honor of the movie Stripes. In fitting homage to he who fed me, it sucks.

So, I’m moving to New York, land of hotdog vendors, sidewalk hippies, Wall Street sharks, and enough starving artists to fill Rhode Island. Now, since I switched blogs, nobody reads this one, but I’ll still shout out for commentary from the imaginary hordes of New York readers out there to send me some comments giving [...]

David C. Pippin, 1939 – 2006. It seems rather… I don’t know, cheap? to blog about the loss of my father. But this is my outlet, neglected though it may be, and I need outlets right now. My father passed away on April 24, 2006 at 7:06 p.m. He waited for me.

Am I the only one that remembers the early ’90s band PC Quest? It was two guys, one girl, and… I’m not sure about the little one. They produced that song “After the Summer’s Gone” in which a 12-year-old kid sings about the soul-shattering tragedy of star-crossed love:

For reasons far too dull to go into, I need to write a play. Two, actually. And they need to be good. I’ve written plays before, but these were absolute garbage, and this play has to be… well… not garbage. The problem? I don’t have a plot in mind. Back when I was writing garbage [...]