I specifically remember when Tim told me about how he landed his 93 Corvette in a lake of water. I remember when Tim told me about his father buying him a new dirt bike. And I'd always remember how Tim knew how to code so well, and you can see that under "Spouse" in his employee page.

Many people were totally oblivious that Tim actually was supposed to be an employee of The Warzone. Well, on April 28, he became one. He was a memorial for all of the employees, and in August, I put him in the Employee section under the "Untouchables," what I consider the most prestige TW employees. Tim deserves an even higher status than that, because he was such a great guy, and he would never do anything to harm anyone.

Immediately, I began making flyers for Tim's shirt. I called Gorilla and spoke with John and briefly told him the situation. He heard about Tim's accident already. He told me that if I charged $9 a shirt, I would probably break even and not make any profit. I used that $9 for the shirt price on the flyers, knowing that was easy for anyone to afford.

I began sending the flyers to people for them to print out so we could get them to as many people possible.

And with all this happening, the next four days of class would be so dreadful: We had TAKS. And that made it all more worse.

The Busiest Week

I began school Tuesday by passing out as much flyers as possible. Immediately, I began getting a huge response from the shirts. Many people were interested, and they began remembering the $9 price.

The day was pretty progressive. I showed the flyers to as many people as I could, and all of them loved the idea. All of Tim's friends suggested that the shirt be orange, in memory of Tim's favorite color, and his ambition to go to the University of Texas @ Austin.

After a long day, I went home to check out the hits for The Warzone, as I usually do after school every day. I almost fell on the floor. On April 28, 2003, The Warzone hit the biggest one day total it has ever had - over 4,000 hits. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to say. The site stood the same, with the column about Tim being the spotlight of the memorial. The Go Digital page of Tim was the highest hit page out of any page I had on the web site.

Although Tim never did get newsboard access or contribute to the website in any way except by buying a Hot Babe shirt, he contributed something he never thought he would - the most hits any employee has ever brought to the website. It was so sad to see that Tim's page was on top, because it shouldn't have been. The memorial shouldn't have existed, because Tim should still be here today. And I hated the fact that I couldn't sit next to my good friend every day in Theatre.

On Wednesday, I was completely bombarded by hundreds of people who were coming up to me asking for Tim shirts. People began paying me immediately, and I started writing down names on scratch paper. During a fire drill, I wrote down maybe about 10 names. Representatives I picked out were giving me their own pieces of scratch paper and money with people they talked to who wanted shirts.

Since it was Wednesday, a Mastication was scheduled to take place. I decided that the tragedy shouldn't postpone the Mastication, but I also decided that it would be in memory of Tim Stuart.

And if Tim was our guardian angel, the Mastication ended up being absolutely incredible. Apple Pie, the most popular Mastication of all time, was absolutely insane. We went to McDonalds to buy apple pie, and then we went to Kroger to buy more apple pie. We were sampling different kinds. For 45 minutes, I was totally concentrated on the event, and for the first 45 minutes since the call I recieved on Sunday, I almost forgot what happened.

After about an hour and fifteen minutes of Masticating and eating the pie, my mom called me and told me about Josh Ivey's phone call. Josh, Tim's best friend, called during the day to tell me that Tim's parents wanted to meet me, and that they wanted to buy Tim shirts! I was completely shocked and I couldn't believe anything like this would happen. I was so scared to walk to Tim's house because I didn't know how to even begin to face his parents. I wasn't afraid that I wrote something offensive at all, I was afraid to see how they were feeling.

Instead of feeling completely out of place, I felt right at home meeting the Stuart's and speaking with them about their son. Family members gathered in the kitchen and they all began to thank me for my extremely kind words that I wrote about their son, and thanked me for creating a t-shirt in Tim's memory. I couldn't even begin to tell them how welcome I was - I told them that I'd do anything for Tim and his family. They were so appreciative. Almost all the people at Tim's house ordered a Tim shirt. The Stuart family alone bought fifteen. I didn't know how to feel. I felt as if it were my mission to let everyone who wanted to show Tim up in the sky that we loved him by wearing his color and sporting his name.

By Friday, over 120 people ordered Tim shirts. I was so busy working on spreadsheets and getting the sizes correct that I almost couldn't take it anymore. Many people going to Tim's wake, which was to be held on Friday, still wanted shirts. I accepted money at Tim's own wake, which I thought was more than weird, and I included them on the spreadsheet to give to Gorilla.

With ranges of shirts going from youth medium to Adult XXL, from the ages of 5 to 65, with every race and every social group chiming together, the Tim shirt orders were delivered to Gorilla. When I left the business and I counted the money at home, I realized something staggering: I had $210 of Tim Shirt money that I didn't use. Because there was so many shirts, John at Gorilla knocked down the price with every interval of 12 we bought. Therefore, the shirt actually cost less than originally thought of.

I'll get to where the $210 went in a minute, but let me go in chronicological order.

My first wake

I didn't know what to expect. I couldn't believe I was going to see Tim for the first time in a week. Except this time I'd see him, he'd be in his finest suit, and he'd be lifeless - something many of us couldn't comprehend. Many people were crying during the wake. The line to see Tim was so incredibly long that it extended out of the chapel and into the lobby of Navarre Funeral Home out near Country Club. I spoke with many people, and I spoke with the family of Tim's.

Seeing Tim was unreal. I felt so painfully numb looking at him. He looked so beautiful in the open casket. He looked so real. He looked like he was in a deep sleep. I just hope that whatever you're doing Tim, you're seeing lots of naked girls. Cause that's what I'd want to do when I'm not alive.

At the wake, I told Tim Senior about the extra money I recieved from the Tim shirt orders. I told him that I decided the money should go to the family. He told me that he wouldn't accept it and that I should put it in for a better cause, like the Sterling Library. He told me they accept any type of donation given to them. I didn't like the idea because I wished he would just accept the money, but I didn't argue. It was his decision, and anything he would like me to do, I would serve him. I felt like a servant of the people - only to give Tim everything that he rightfully deserved.

In return, Tim blessed TW with the most hits we've ever recieved in a week. The site was skyrocketing with new visitors. Every day, it was more and more of a shock to see how many people would view his memorial. I didn't know how to feel about the situation. I knew that if Tim hadn't passed away, nothing like this would have ever happened. I felt as if TW stole these hits in a wrongful way, but then I encouraged myself that all the visitors were there to see Tim, and that's exactly what my mission was, for as many people to see pictures of him as possible.

The Mastication on Wednesday also brought in thousands of more hits, hits that I didn't know where the fuck they came from. It ironically turns out that all my current class of 2007 friends knew Tim, and some of them had been going to The Warzone months before I even met them. The surge were from people all around - Tim's family, friends of Tim from other schools, and visitors that usually read The Warzone daily.

I wasn't prepared for the funeral. It would be my first. And it would be the most incredible thing I would ever see in Baytown, Texas.

The Funeral

Hundreds of people missed Tim's funeral, and for a reason that would piss anyone off: The SAT's, a fucking terrible test that shouldn't be used to judge anyone's logical thinking. Glynis, Chad, and others had to miss the ceremony because they pledged their allegiance to make it into a good college.

I, on the other hand, was extremely lucky to get rid of my SAT's in April. I was even contemplating taking the May test, but I didn't. Thank the lord.

Dottie and Steve picked me up in the morning. Steve's brother, John was there as well. Tim Brockman was with me as well. The day before, Dottie and Steve witnessed me chasing Lady with christmas rolling paper and with a rope. I obviously cannot rope any fucking cattle because I'm from the North. They laughed a whole lot, being what the day was, and that was the topic of conversation. At least we didn't feel uncomfortable.

But as soon as we got to the church, that all changed. First Presbyterian near Lee High School was jammed packed, so jammed that at first I thought I had to stand, but the thing was, PEOPLE WERE STANDING. There were so many people there that there was no room to sit. A sea of high school kids were crying. I sat next to Tim and just watched and listened silently to the preacher tell stories about Tim.

What surprised me was the mentioning of the Hot Babe Shirt. The preacher said that Tim took the shirt from Megan Cambern, his cousin, and wore it to school one day as a joke. He was dead wrong in every way, but still everyone laughed. It was as if we were listening to this man speak of Tim's life, and it was a joyous ceremony because it was uplifting and very humorous. When the bagpipes played though, it was all business. I began getting teary-eyed, and we walked out of the church. I saw Mr. Shaw and other noteable figures from school. The bagpipes set a mood unlike any other. The feeling of helplessness set in.

What was to happen next is still probably the most magnificant thing I have ever seen in my entire life. I can't even begin to comprehend or fathom the incident because it was just so insane.

From Market Street, a line of cars began following the police towards the cemetary closest to 146 past Alexander right off Ferry Road near the HL&P Plant and Cedar Bayou Methodist Church. This line wasn't a small line. That's why this is so insane. 146, from Market Street to Ferry Road, had a line of cars. If you don't think that's a lot, travel the distance. The entire road was filled with cars from the funeral. There was so many cars that you couldn't see the end if you were in the middle. And I couldn't, because I was in the middle. With an average speed of 20 mph, we got to the cemetary in about 20 minutes.

At the cemetary, there was a similar service, but this was just for the burial. Friends said their last goodbye to Tim through the casket. As the hours started trickling, people began to leave. I left moderately close to the end with Steve, Dottie, and John.

For the rest of the weekend, I thought about the funeral. It was so insane how fast everything happened. In less than a week, all of this happened to everyone at once - and all of a sudden everyone's life was full of ways to dedicate it to Tim.

And the days go on

The second I walked into school on May 5, I went straight to the library to donate the $210. The librarians were shocked. They were so thankful for the donation. On the donation papers, I wrote that "The Warzone & Friends" donated to the cause, because, in a way, we did. All the money given to the library was extra money we didn't need because the shirts were cheaper. And, since almost everyone could be the one that donated, everyone was recognized. Later in 2003, I found out the book titles donated to Tim. Sports and comedy reigned in the choices.

I later told the librarians that a copy of Farhenheit 451 should be used in the donation, and I gave them a great explanation: Tim probably loved to burn books and / or see them burn to the ground.

The week was even busier. As Juniors, we began experiencing the insane "AP Testing" at Sterling. Friends from Lee would come to school to take tests in the oh-so-cold 2nd floor gym near Strubbe's room. Some of us were lucky to get credit, some of us weren't, like myself.

Because of all this, I had to take my Music Theory test during the week. It conflicted with my Mastication schedule. I got out on Wednesday at 6:00, steaming. I couldn't believe it took so long to get over with the Music Theory testing.

By the time I got home, Jeff decided to begin the Mastication without me because he couldn't get a hold of me. I blew up, and when Jeff came over, I cursed my way into almost ruining a friendship because of how ignorant I am. I was so fucking pissed that I wasn't in the Mastication and it went on without me, but the thing was, I shouldn't have been. Jeff took pictures, and they had a good time. That's all that really mattered. At the time, I didn't see it that way. I just went fucking ballistic. I blamed it all on my Music Theory test, and truthfully, that's the whole cause of the incident, so in theory, this is all Mr. Clem's fault that I was in the class anyway. Fucking bitch.

One day later after Jeff and I make up, John from Gorilla calls me to tell me that the shirt orders are in. It was Thursday, and I realized that I could make all the deliveries on Friday.

That was probably one of the worst decisions I ever made. I walked in to school carrying three HUGE boxes of shirts, with spreadsheets of everyone's name and size. I sorted the shirts with representatives, and I handed the representatives stacks of shirts to hand out to the people on their list. Incredibly, I was only left with 10 shirts, and every other shirt was given to their rightful owner. I have no fucking clue how I managed to do this without fucking anything up. One girl got her shirt late and bitched, but honestly, she should shut her fucking mouth because she has no place to even begin talking after all the work I did to make the shirts and how much time it took to pass them out.

I was in and out of class all day finding people to give shirts too. In 7th period, Candy Kovalcik helped me in the Junior office, giving me the classrooms the shirt buyers were currently attending. Runners went to the classrooms and handed them their shirts like it was a school function. I stood in the office working on getting rid of all of them. And like I said, I was only left with 10, and those were all passed out the following week.

On Sunday, I went to the Stuart's house and gave them their shirts. After a brief conversation, I left, and my job was done. I created 135 Tim Shirts for the community of people who loved Tim Stuart, and loved him enough to bare his name on their body on Monday.

The Bullshit T-Shirt Controversy

The following I'm going to write about is something almost none of you have heard about. Some of you have, and some of you might even be involved. Honestly, this is all my personal opinion, and people might disagree with me, but this is my website so I can say whatever the fuck I want, so get over it.

On Monday, when people were wearing the t-shirts, I got some weird message from several people that Justin Holt, Glynis's ex-boyfriend, and Clair McPherson's current boyfriend, decided that he was going to take matters in to his own hands: He put opaque tape across The Warzone's website link, and he began campaigning that I only made the Tim shirts for my own personal benefit for the website to recieve hits.

I almost blew the fuck up. I was so pissed off that I was tearing down shit in the Drama hall. I couldn't even fathom anyone ever thinking I'd so such a terrible thing. Tim was one of my GOOD FRIENDS - these people were making it seem like I was trying to recieve some glory from making these t-shirts. I would do anything I possibly can for Tim, and lots of people knew that.

But the few stupid fucks didn't. These very small amount of people campaigned amongst themselves about what a terrible person I was. Meghan Heintschel, Glynis's best friend, was totally against what I did, telling Glynis that it was so fucked up. Glynis was immediately defending me, because she knew that their assumptions weren't true at all.

Several people were finding out about what happened, and pretty soon, tons of people were coming up to me, supporting me, and telling me that they knew I wasn't some fucking piece of shit who would ever disgrace a good friend of mine. Here's the craziest fucking thing: All these people against me weren't ANYWHERE AS CLOSE as I was to Tim Stuart. They didn't even have the fucking right to speak up about anything involving Tim.

The web site link was put up on the t-shirt because I wanted people to know that till the day the site shut down, and even after that, it will always be a place that will be dedicated to Tim and it would always bare his photos and the column I wrote about him.

Another fucked up thing about the whole situation was their total theory on me recieving more hits from the shirts. On the contrary, the most hits The Warzone recieved was during the week of his car accident, death, wake, and funeral. After that, the hits went down, definitely not back to normal, but they went down significantly enough. There was never a spike of hits the day the shirts went up, but an average level. I never expected the t-shirts to generate any extra hits for the website, because, I'm not a fucking asshole and I loved Tim, and I would never use him for my own personal benefit.

Then more stories started coming to me. Three or four people at lunch in a certain section would write stories about how fucked up I was, how I was a tyrant, and how I was human slime. All the bombardment was so insane. I couldn't even begin to fucking believe that any of this was happening. Ryan Settle later told me that several people were planning on making t-shirts about how I was a tyrant and about how fucked up I was.

Immediately, people started siding on my cause, realizing that these people were complete fucking morons. The chickens also never made the shirt because they're fucking pussies and would never do it for fear of what would probably happen to them if they did: I would have fucking bashed them for all their worth.

It didn't matter though. All of the people in this clique to ruin my life supposedly were all people that were disliked. They didn't know that - they thought they were the coolest people in the entire world. They thought everything they did, everything they thought was absolutely correct, and anything against it was totally wrong. I mean, people have morals, such as in politics, but I'm not going to bash a Republican because I believe fighting in Iraq sucks, he's entitled to his own opinion, I'll just personally keep my comments to myself and then debate about how my morals and ideas should be put instead. These people didn't debate. They would just attack behind everyone's back, and very few people even knew about the t-shirt incident. But, I found out.

All of the people involved in the incident are honestly all shabby people, except for one. Justin Holt, who I'm aquaintances now, was wrongly mislead by his girlfriend and other friends, and he actually apologized indirectly to me for his actions. Tommy set him straight when I told him the situation.

Jeremy Garrett says that only the most heartless man in the world would try to make personal benefit over one's death. And, as almost everyone knew, I wasn't heartless at all. If anybody had any opinion on me, it'd probably be the opposite.

All this tension forced me to be on edge for the next week. I sought advice from dozens of people, all of them giving me the same answer: What I did was not fucked up, because I didn't do it for that reason. I made that t-shirt for Tim, Tim was an employee, the website has a memorial of Tim, and I wanted people to be able to remember that for as long as they have the shirt. I don't give a shit if they don't remember me, but as long as they know that they can access Tim's pictures whenever they want to, then my mission is completed.

If anybody involved is reading this, I have a message for you: You lost. You lost everything you were fighting for in your "Anti-Matt Campaign." I know people do dislike me. They probably have a fucked up reason because they're assholes, but I understand that not everyone can like everyone. But these people involved are some of the most fucked up people I have ever met, and hundreds of people agree that they should be excommunicated from this town immediately.

And all of them won't be remembered. Because although I wrote their names down, no one cares what their names are. The only person's name that matters in this whole situation is Tim. And I did everything I possibly could to dedicate as much as I could to my great, late friend.

The reason why I bring up this story is because so many people never said one word about the site link being on the t-shirts. And after all their campaigning, almost no one joined their cause because they knew why the website link was on there.

This is to the fuckfaces in the campaign: I can get my own fucking hits without using my late friend. And that will be so proven in the next section to come.

The End of A Fucking Crazy Junior Year

The Masticators continued their legacy on The Warzone. Every Wednesday, people would tune in to the website to view the pictures of the week. People would sometimes cuss at me to hurry up and update the site just for the new Mastication.

For a while, I felt like we were a sitcom family. It was Jeff, Tommy, me, Tim, Blake Moyer, and KK Adams. Together, we were a comedic team unbeatable to any other Wednesday show on TV. Fuck what anyone else says, we did a great job entertaining the viewers of The Warzone. On May 14, we made fajitas at Jeff's house. The funny part was Jeff undercooking them.

Sure enough, May had some crazy events to overcome. It wasn't over yet. Right in the middle of the month was the Matrix Reloaded. It wasn't as good as I said it was when I first watched it, because now looking back at it, it kinda sucked for a Matrix movie. But still, I enjoyed it.

During this time, Mrs. May exposed us to Casablanca, the movie, which I hate with all my fucking life, second to My Fair Lady. Musicals SUCK FUCKING COCK, I DON'T CARE WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE. THEY SUCK. PERIOD.

With the final exams coming up, I knew I couldn't fuck too many things up. I decided to keep my time occupied by working on the website, hanging out with new friends, and creating a sexy idea for a banquet.

During this time, many of you might actually be EXTREMELY SURPRISED by this, I was a HUGE "The Broken" fan. I wasn't all into that emo bullshit, but I supposed all of these great guys because I knew that they were talented. And I enjoyed their music, and I enjoyed hanging out with them, especially.

Hanging out with those guys also made me hang out with Tim Brockman even more than usual. Tim was right in the middle of a move, and he helped me come up with a new idea that I had.

I really, really wanted to throw a party for TW. So, I decided to throw the first ever TW Banquet, a nice food, nice gathering fest at my house. I realized that I didn't really have the most proper accomodations, but I didn't care at the time.

It wasn't until Tim told me that we could probably have the banquet at his house that I knew it was going to be very successful. Boasting a swimming pool and large deck in the backyard, I figured that the blast would be incredible.

Dottie and I worked together making cheesecake while my father helped make Baked Ziti and Sausage with Onions. Everything turned out fantastic.

The banquet was very fun. Everyone was very rowdy and having a great time. Even Jeremy thought the party was fun. The cops busted us around 10:30 because the music was too loud, so then I came all over the neighbor's fence. It was an accident in a way, but I didn't care. Fuck the police, and fuck nosy ass neighbors.

"On that topic, I want to say anyone who calls the cops for anything they could handle themselves are fucking cock roach pussy eating bastards. Yes, COCK-ROACH PUSSY. I remember distinictivly one night, my father had the music really loud, and he was even pounding on the fence outside, trying to get some nails in it because it was badly damaged. My next door neighbor came by and asked very politely if we could lower the music and stop the banging because his wife had a headache. Nice. Simple. My father didn't have a problem with it.

"These days, if anyone is speaking louder than the sound of a pin-drop, the cops are called in and everyone dies. Actually, its only in conservative rich prep areas where people don't have the balls to come over and ask politely to turn the music down, which we would of. Why waste the damn policeman's time (even though he was probably jerkin himself off in the car while driving around Baytown, wasting tax payers money on gas) and make them come to a house where innocent kids doing nothing wrong, WHO DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE MUSIC LOUD IN THE FIRST PLACE TO WHERE IT BOTHERED PEOPLE, when you can come and be a man yourself and do that? Yeah, sons of bitches." - May 26 WOMM

Finals and the Lan Parties

On Monday, I began realizing that I had this incredibly terrible pain in my toe. Turns out, my toe was infected, and I cried on my bed for 10 minutes in absolute agony because it felt like my toe was being sliced off for about 4 hours straight, and I couldn't walk for the life of me. After iodine solution and some medication, I was set straight. The next day, I was prepared to host a LAN Party at my house, involving many of my good friends.

On this LAN Party list was Bryan Windemiller, nickname Windy, Lincoln Donaldson, nickname Linc, Harrison Fama, nickname Hurr, Tommy McMahon, nickname T-Bone Steak, Herbie Jaime, nickname "The Penis Mightier" and Tim Brockman, nickname Big Dick McGee.

It might seem weird to you that I hung out with these kiddos on a daily basis, but I did. After final exams, I went with Harry to his house to play more games. Everyone was so into the whole LAN idea that all summer, that's all Harry, Linc, and Mark Roosa would do. I would join them every now and then, and it was always great to hang around such positive people all the time.

Somehow, I managed to pass my final exams. Through cheating from Glynis's test, I managed to pass Physics. I didn't pass Pre-Cal, but I passed the semester. The Pre-Cal test was so much bullshit that I began writing down Cartman quotes as I went. I turned in the test so early that everyone laughed because they knew I totally flunked. But I didn't give a rat's fucking pussy. I was ready to get the FUCK out of Pre-Cal forever, and never take a course like that in my life again.

After my test, I was extremely happy that this school year was over. I never thought in my life that I would be in such a rollercoaster ride. It was fucking insane. At some points, it was even intense. My feelings were rocketed everywhere, and The Warzone represented all of that, with various spurts of energy every now and then.

What I thought, plain and simple, was that my rollercoaster feeling problem would be over forever after this school year.

What I didn't realize was something so terrible that I never even saw coming.

Freshmen girls.

TW.