11. One cold day

This anecdote is dated November 1, 2000.

The recent drop in temperatures has recalled to memory one day on which Jamie was particularly troublesome.

He started bright an early, rising before anyone on the block (we lived on the same street, he and I), and crept throughout the neighborhood pouring salt into all the sugar bowls and baby powder into the salt shakers.

The night before, he had cut out several offensive pictures from pornographic magazines, and these he slid in between the pages of my most important school books.

While I was in class, finding rude surprises embedded within Worringer's "Abstraction and Empathy," Jamie put a box of popsicles in my bed. When I came home, my sheets were blue, green, red and sticky. I've heard he did this to a few other people, as well, and that his particularly brutal culinary treatment of 1005 High Street led to a nasty roach infestation.

Some people say, "Forgive and forget." Other people say, "Turn the other cheek." Well, I believe, "Jamie Bourdon should rot in Hell."


P.S. Okay, so here's a more true story about Jamie Bourdon. Once, I came home drunk from a party with one of Jamie's room mates and he was eating soup straight out of the pan. Then, his room mate and I took a can of lighter fluid outside and tried to light the snow on fire and Jamie yelled at us for being immature. I think we also got yelled at for hitting glass bottles and full soda cans off the roof with golf clubs, but maybe that was a different night. Man, what a p-a-r-t-y p-o-o-p-e-r.

Let's take a break from the hate.












This weekend has been a serious study in WTF?

10. A Bit of History

Recently, a lot of people have been asking me, "Who is Jamie Bourdon?" It's a valid question deserving of an answer. So, for the last few days, I've been working non-stop on this in-depth and well-rounded profile of Jamie Bourdon.

Profile of Jamie Bourdon, by Jenni Wu.

There is only one way to describe Jamie Bourdon, which is: an uncivilized, disgusting, amoral, repulsive, dishonest, immature, ridiculous, freakish, unsanitary, black-hearted, free-loading robot. He was created as a social experiment back in the 1980's, when six coked-out graduate students at New York University set out to electronically embody evil.

"Irony hadn't yet reached epidemic proportions back then," said social scientist Corinne Weible, "And since Jamie-bot v. 1.0 destroyed all of his creators, we'll never know if he was intended as a joke."

"Joke or not, I fucking hate that jerk," said Jenni Wu, who is currently earning her Masters of Science degree at Columbia University. "As a scientist, I cannot understand why he is allowed to exist."

For many years, Jamie-bot v. 1.0 hid himself in an empty warehouse in rural Virginia. He amused himself by zapping rodents with his laser eyes and teaching himself to sing out of key. The invention of the internet in 1999 drew him out of his seclusion, and he ventured into society after seeing photos of Jennifer Lopez on MTV.com. Ms. Lopez could not be reached for comment.

"I'm really disturbed by Jamie's infatution with J-Lo," said cultural scholar Kei Hotoda. "It's known that robots can't feel love, so logically one can conclude that his intentions are impure and probably bad."

Stopping mid-country for a quick chip replacement, Jamie was lured into the gated community of Grinnell, Iowa, where he learned to drink alcohol, play online poker, and say nasty things to nice people. Though his micro-processor should have allowed him to master an infinite number of subjects effortlessly, Jamie-bot v. 2.0 spent most of his time reading Dungeons and Dragons manuals and being condescending. "I'm the nicest person in the world, which pretty much explains why I'm friends with Jamie," said room mate Matt Schiltz. "Nobody else likes him."

"Because he sucks," added Ms. Wu. She paused before saying, "And I heard he sniffs glue."

In 2003, Jamie graduated with a degree in Philosophy and spent the summer boring his friends with his thesis linking Nietzsche to Bright Eyes. "No one even liked Bright Eyes at that point," said KDIC 88.5 FM Station Manager, Spencer Volkmer-Jones. "It just shows how inhuman and out of touch with humans Jamie Bourdon was."

In 2006, Jamie moved to Chicago, where he currently drinks ketchup straight out of the bottle and composes spam email messages. Sometimes, he drinks whiskey. "Why am I alive?" he wrote in a recent journal entry, which drips with faux pathos and cloying pleas for sympathy. "011101011 10101010101111 101011101000 1010101010001 1010101011110 0001011001011 101010 1101011110101 101010101011 01011 0101 110101 0101010101 001011000010111 11110001111000."

"00000111 11101010101 000101011 01011010000 01010 000010101 10110011111 0101 10001010011 0100001010111 0101010101110000 101010101 010101010100 00000010 01010010111 1101011 11010 101 01010101 010010101010111111001111011 010111. Evrybdy h8s me and I don' gt itt."

A single blue tear ran down his plastic cheek. "I just don't get it."

The End

As a public service, this blog will continue to chronicle the misdeeds of Jamie Bourdon.

9. It's a Curse

This anecdote is dated October 13, 2006.

Yesterday was Friday the 13th, and I was right in my expectation that something awful would happen. Coming home from a long day of school, I wanted nothing less than to see Jamie Bourdon's evil little face staring at me in real time on my very own computer screen. And yet there it was, his beady black eyes glaring from some nether region of the interweb, rectangularly framed in his messy apartment, a half-empty bottle of ketchup placed haphazardly in the foreground.

Jamie looks the same as he did when I last saw him in 2004.

Can't you afford any facial upgrades? Do the world a favor and get better looking, Jamie!

And keep your devil magic off my computer! I use it to write papers and stuff.

I'll be in church all day, drinking holy water and praying, if anyone needs to reach me.

Second Sidenote to Jamie Bourdon,

Dear Jamie,

Your ridiculously slow response rate is stifling the necessary growth of my blog. Hurry the F up. Aren't you interested in defending your good name...or rather, aren't you interested in entertaining Kei? As I've said before, I KNOW YOU DON'T HAVE A JOB.

As Always,
Jenni

8. No class

This anecdote is dated April 3, 2003.

Once, Jamie and I took a class together. Two weeks before the final exam, he stole my notebook and stayed up all night using white out and a glitter gel pen to alter my notes. For example, where I had written, "Genius is the inborn predisposition of the mind (ingenium) through which nature gives the rule to art" (186), Jamie wrote, "Jamie is the inbred pedophiliac of the mind (indigestion) through which naturally grows the role-playing parts" (666).

Another example? I wrote:

"Taste, like the power of judgment in general, is the discipline (or corrective) of genius, clipping its wings and making it well behaved or polished; but at the same time it gives genius guidance as to where and how far it should extend itself if it is to remain purposive; and by introducing clarity and order into the abundance of thoughts it makes the ideas tenable, capable of an enduring and universal approval, of enjoying a posterity among others and in an ever progressing culture" (197).

Jamie first wrote, taking great pains to imitate my handwriting:

"Waste, like orange juice and jungles, is the opportunism (or coercive) of Jamie, giving his good name and making it difficult for others to use the bathroom in the morning; but in due time it gives Jamie guidance as to what and how much he should expand his appetites if he is to remain pooposive; and by inducing clarity and reward into the abundance of thoughts it makes the idea stomachable, capable of an enduring and universal approval, of enjoying a pot at the expense of others and ever expressing fecal culture" (198).

Then he crossed it all out and wrote:

"Jenni, you will never be a Kantian genius. You lack both talent and insight. I'm not sure why you were born."

I cried all night.

But I still got an "A" on my final and graduated with honors...which is more than Jamie can say.

7. How Matthew Barney Saved My Life

My hero!

Preface to Jamie Bourdon:

Well, Jamie, you must have forgotten how to read because I've given you ample time to respond to my previous post. Either that or you're finally, albeit passively, admitting that there's no point in fighting the truth. It's too bad, in a way, because I was really looking forward to Kei's comments on your comments. Anyway, with or without you, the mission continues. What the F are you doing, anyway? I know you don't have a job!

Ahem.

This anecdote is dated July 17, 2007.

I have this premonition that Jamie is going to do something really and truly awful on July 17, 2007. My brain, recently warped by hours upon hours of Matthew Barney videos, has probably acquired the ability to predict the future, so you can trust me on this one. On July 17, 2007, Jamie Bourdon will do the following things: wake up (or should I say "power on"), get out of bed, pretend to shower and use the toilet, make small talk with Matt, pretend to ingest food, leave the house, steal a car, drive to New York at 10 mph over the speed limit, buy a kitchen knife, discard said knife in favor of a more technologically advanced weapon, find my apartment and attempt to kill me. Fortunately, by then I'll have a Master's of Science degree, courtesy of Columbia. That's right, Jamie, SCIENCE. I'm going to use your own black magic technology against you!

Jamie was in the Dungeons and Dragons club at Grinnell, which means that 1) he wasn't very cool, 2) no girls liked him, and 3) he has to respect the fact that my Ivy League science spells will destroy his lameass 1981 Apple Macintosh techno-spells.