Alright so I wake up this morning and look out the window. What do I see? Well better question is what do I "not" see. The SUN! The fucking sun is hidden behind some gray bullshit the weather man calls a "storm coverage." Fuck him I say. What the fuck am I paying $3.39 a gallon a gas for if I don't get the FUCKING SUN all the FUCKING time? Bullshit that's what I say.
Then it doesn't even have the sack to fully rain. It just drizzles all fucking day. You know how they say a good heavy rain washes everying and makes everything look/smell clean and new. Well take notice that they don't say any fucking thing about a good drizzle. Why; you ask yourselves would they give such praise to a "rain" yet nothing about a good "drizzle?" They're both parcipitation, and in the world of political correctness rain and drizzle should be equals. I can tell you that it's because there is no such thing as a good drizzle. A drizzle in Los Angeles does a couple things. First it cleans nothing, it just smears all the filth around. Drizzle does not clean filth off, it just sort of seperates the filth from whatever its covering and moves it a quarter inch. So your car looks dirtier, your house looks dirtier and the city looks like a burned out Vietnamese village in a Kubric film. Secondly it makes the asshole drivers in LA do two things. So we're going into a sub-catagory here folks. Fist sub- It makes pussy drivers creep along at a pace that would make old people fucking, look like coupled up enigizer bunnies. Second sub- it makes douche bag drivers think their SUV's and their Bemmers with ATRAC, rack and pinion...whatever drive like complete and total two bit assface cum chugglers*(not that there's anything wrong with that). Third thing a half-assed drizzle does to LA is make the street people smell worse than they already do. Seriously its not enough wetness to drive them into shelters, under birdges, or into Paris Hiltons jeans but it is damp enough to make their multi-layered Z Cavariccis and "Frankie Says" t shirts smell like the crotch of a menstrating yak in the foothills of Mongolia. Dude that smells bad. I don't know personally what the crotch of a menstrating yak in the foothills of Mongolia smells like, I just had a wacky scratch-n-sniff book when I was little. My grandparents went on trip to Asia minor in the sixties...never mind I digress. Anyway so now the city looks dirtier(that's not a word), its unsafe to F'in drive, and the bums smell un-Godly. This is what I had to deal with in Hell-A(see what I did there with the whole "LA" thing?)
Rant over. My next blog will be cheery I swear.
* Please note I have nothing against anyones sexual practices. Hell I practice all the time. Guzzle whatever you want I don't care.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Hollyhood
So there have been some wierd things happen in my hood. I live in Hollywood CA not the capitol of the entertainment business like most think. That would be Burbank or Culver City not Hollywood. However, we do have some crazy motherfuckers in my hood which I think distiguishes it from other hoods in LA. Take this example from this morning.
At 5am this morning, a "drunken naked guy" used a sock full of rocks to shatter the glass on the front door, and stormed inside to eat "all the pastries". Police responded and found the guy running around the store, resisting arrest. He had feathers in his hair and an American flag... although it wasn't explained to me if this was a large or small flag, or where it was placed (or, perhaps, raised). The cops had to use rubber bullets and a beanbag shotgun to subdue him.
That's normal around here. Well the American flag thing isn't. A similar thing happened many years ago that was also featured on the show COPS where this crazier than a shithouse rat guy got naked and attacked the roof of a Burger King. No flag that time. Those of you who live off Fountain will know the guy with tits that walks Fountain every night. He seems harmless just a bit old and with tits. Par for the course here. The female hookers have moved on and have been replace by the tranny hookers. For those of you in Mid-America "tranny hooker" dosn't mean a connecting bolt on the drivetrain of your Ford. Its a dude/chick working the streets for nickles and dimes. My friends and I used to get hammered and run down the shity part of Sunset high-five-ing hookers on our way to the various after hour entertainment. The hookers didn't get the social commentary of the spectical. What can you do they're hookers?
We have crime as well. Although most of the bodies are dumped in Castaic Lake norht of LA, the Russian mafia kills folks in my hood on a fairly regular basis. They run a couple brothels there as well but no one bothers them. We even had a car jacking in our driveway. Seems a guy was running from the cops off Sunset Blvd. and ran down to our street. He saw us in my roommates car and jumped in the running, with driver side door open Chevy Avalanche. I beat him down pretty well until he decided to get out of the car and steal another one. The cops caught him down my the Yukon Mining Company(speaking of Trannies) and Trader Joes parking lot. I beat him pretty bad but the cops really kicked the shit out him. Then there's this young hispanic kid that steals anything that isn't bolted down. Not sure how he stays out of jail. That's probably a better story.
Its a crazy hood but I love it. Its got excitement, character, good bars/eaterys, you can find good music, and there's more filth than you can shake a stick at.
At 5am this morning, a "drunken naked guy" used a sock full of rocks to shatter the glass on the front door, and stormed inside to eat "all the pastries". Police responded and found the guy running around the store, resisting arrest. He had feathers in his hair and an American flag... although it wasn't explained to me if this was a large or small flag, or where it was placed (or, perhaps, raised). The cops had to use rubber bullets and a beanbag shotgun to subdue him.
That's normal around here. Well the American flag thing isn't. A similar thing happened many years ago that was also featured on the show COPS where this crazier than a shithouse rat guy got naked and attacked the roof of a Burger King. No flag that time. Those of you who live off Fountain will know the guy with tits that walks Fountain every night. He seems harmless just a bit old and with tits. Par for the course here. The female hookers have moved on and have been replace by the tranny hookers. For those of you in Mid-America "tranny hooker" dosn't mean a connecting bolt on the drivetrain of your Ford. Its a dude/chick working the streets for nickles and dimes. My friends and I used to get hammered and run down the shity part of Sunset high-five-ing hookers on our way to the various after hour entertainment. The hookers didn't get the social commentary of the spectical. What can you do they're hookers?
We have crime as well. Although most of the bodies are dumped in Castaic Lake norht of LA, the Russian mafia kills folks in my hood on a fairly regular basis. They run a couple brothels there as well but no one bothers them. We even had a car jacking in our driveway. Seems a guy was running from the cops off Sunset Blvd. and ran down to our street. He saw us in my roommates car and jumped in the running, with driver side door open Chevy Avalanche. I beat him down pretty well until he decided to get out of the car and steal another one. The cops caught him down my the Yukon Mining Company(speaking of Trannies) and Trader Joes parking lot. I beat him pretty bad but the cops really kicked the shit out him. Then there's this young hispanic kid that steals anything that isn't bolted down. Not sure how he stays out of jail. That's probably a better story.
Its a crazy hood but I love it. Its got excitement, character, good bars/eaterys, you can find good music, and there's more filth than you can shake a stick at.
Mammoth Mountain DJ
I have to put a few things out on the table before I go on here. First I love skiing with a passion whithout it I would die a painful agony of a death right after slipping from a marginally lucid existance to a sleepy, depressed, drooling, cheeto eating downward spiral. Second I like to shake my ass on the dance floor occasionally. It happens after a few drinks and a music mix of selections slightly harder than Zeplin and slight more dirty than Nine Inch Nails. (Hip hop in a pinch but I feel really fucking bad the next day) As it turns out I really don't want to see what you're workin' wit'.(Those in the know with be laughing here). Thirdly I'm drunk as shit right now at about 7,000 feet above sea level so please take that into concideration while reading.
After a day of ball busting, awe inspiring, peace in the middle east kind of skiing, I had the burden of going to a bar in the mountain village. Its a "hawain" themed bar named "laka nooki." Do you get it? "Laka Nookie"...."lack of nookie"...man that's good! Right! I'll pause here so everone reading can catch their breath from the humoristic blast to the senses you get when you understand the slight semantical difference between "lack of nookie" with the witty "laka nooki" I mean its like your saying, "lack of nookie" when you say the name. Oh man!...(end sarcasim here) I should have turned around once I looked at the name of the place. I mean the idea of pine apple flavored martinis, Kowabunga burgers, and lanai fries should have spun me on my heels back to the condo. But no, it was too damn cold out and I didn't bring a coat. Plus the group of folks I was with were fun and interesting. I had to enter.
So the first several cunks of time were great; filled with conversation of skiing and work, a vodka soda, more conversation, a vodka soda, more conversation smattered with some really decent people watching, a vodka soda, a vodka soda, a vodka soda. Hey I'm on vacation and I forgot that I was paying for my own booze. It was the altitiude damn it. Anyway, The place is packed with every kind of person you can image well let me be more persice(sp?), every kind of person you can imagine that would either live in Mammoth Lakes California or spend money to ski at Mammoth Mountain. This should clue you into the types of people we had on hand. We had the drunk touristas, the drunk locals with chips on their broad yet stupid shoulders, the wealthy douche bag males with their comb overs and regular sized condoms, the too old to wear that low cut top and tight jeans, "but my book club lady friends said it makes my tits look great" devorced mothers of 2.5 kids, and my favorit of all people to deal with; the (909) snow boarding, cage match watching, tattoo posing, dumb fucks, and fianally the wildly intellegent and socially responsible yet very poor spellers of a group of which I was a member. Let's just say I'm in heaven.
There was an area cleared of tables chairs and stools to be made into a dance floor. Its a respcetable size space and people are ready to begin the scene. The DJ (Douche bag Just out of county) on the other hand teases us with some quality NIN and some old Sisters of Mercy...but just a tease. He then lowers the boom on the unsuspecting crowd, that's right old school Michael Jackson. Hell you have have to dance to that right. I mean you have to shake your ass a little. Everyone can be seen boppin just a little if not out right breaking it down to the pedophiles beat. Hey the beat comes from before we knew so its OK. Some find it more appropiate(sp?) to bust into some saphoric bumping and grinding with some titty flashing to add flavor. Which is the one good thing that comes from the (909) I think we will all agree. So the night is looking up.
Then the "Muther Fucka"(not my words) behind the turn tables proceeds to bust out every reputable dance record released in the last 10 to 20 years. The only problem is he doesn't play the track we know and love to shake our collective drunk asses too. No. He ends up playing the track next to "The Track." Its like he was have to pay royalies or something. I'm not kidding when I say everyone on the dance floor would look at each other and say, "what the fuck ?" "Why is he playing this song?" Then he would tease us with a smash up of that crappy ass song and the song we all thought he was going to play. Only to be blasted by the sound of the needle being droped from height onto the open side of the turn tables. The concusion was something to behold. Was this guy really that bad? Yup he was that bad. I wish I was more versed in the annals of shitty music so I could run down the play list for my readers. But I don't even think Ryan Seacrest or Kassy Kassum have heard music this shitty. Kaytell records could not have put together a shitty-er collection on a 2 disc set or 1 cassette tape. The dance floor actually stopped bobbing four times at four consecutive music changes. I mean when you queit a room and make the two hammered chicks stop making out, look up and ask what is that guy doing, you know you have accomplished something special.
All I can say is thank God or Budha or whomever for Vodka soda.
Thankfully I can ski again tomorrow and cleans my audiotory pallet with an adventurous sorbet.(wow that sounds gay)
Dead guy in my appartment
So there's a dead guy in my apartment. Well not technically "IN" my apartment but in the building. He apparently passed several days ago in his upstairs apartment. His HOT upstairs apartment. The heat has caused some "advanced decomposer" and degradation of the body. That's coroner terms for he's rotting. Rotting to the point the crime scene guys asked a neighbor if my dead fair skinned white haired Anglo neighbor was a black man because he couldn't tell his race due to the skin discoloring. Which is also why I say there's a dead guy in my apartment because you can smell the body. Now I'm not one to make light of the loss of a human being as my father passed away recently and I would still gut the man who said a disparaging word against him,...but the smell.
I don't think I can handle it. I can accept a certain amount of physical pain, plenty of psychological pain, insults and oppression however; I'm really sensitive to smell. Smells bring me to my knees, that and dentist drills but that's another story. I'm not even sure I like the idea of a dead body in my building. There's just something about restless spirits and ghosts and what not that makes me a bit uneasy; not flat out scared just uneasy. I don't like anything that I can't fight back against if the need arose. I guess that's being paranoid but fuck it. Someone once said, "being paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you." I'm just saying.
Matt the old man who died was a loony bastard, and I mean that in the best sense. He walked around the building in a nightgown or a short robe with nothing on underneath sometimes he would get the mail wearing nothing. He would occasionally wig out and yell and pound on doors. There were delusional threats sporadically through the years but no physical attempts on anyone. Which is about all you can ask for in this day and age. I had spoken to him briefly a couple times, once I was working on my Low-rider and he mentioned how he would really enjoy riding a bike like that and how beautiful my bike was. So I had nothing against the guy. Of course he never came to my door kicking and screaming holding a knife either. I would have shoved it straight up his ass and I think he knew it. He saved the dramatics for the single women in the building. I guess he wasn't that crazy now was he?
So the cops are still doing the investigation to find out what happened and the windows are all open for venting. Not much more to say other than Vaya con Dios and pass the Fabreeze.
I don't think I can handle it. I can accept a certain amount of physical pain, plenty of psychological pain, insults and oppression however; I'm really sensitive to smell. Smells bring me to my knees, that and dentist drills but that's another story. I'm not even sure I like the idea of a dead body in my building. There's just something about restless spirits and ghosts and what not that makes me a bit uneasy; not flat out scared just uneasy. I don't like anything that I can't fight back against if the need arose. I guess that's being paranoid but fuck it. Someone once said, "being paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you." I'm just saying.
Matt the old man who died was a loony bastard, and I mean that in the best sense. He walked around the building in a nightgown or a short robe with nothing on underneath sometimes he would get the mail wearing nothing. He would occasionally wig out and yell and pound on doors. There were delusional threats sporadically through the years but no physical attempts on anyone. Which is about all you can ask for in this day and age. I had spoken to him briefly a couple times, once I was working on my Low-rider and he mentioned how he would really enjoy riding a bike like that and how beautiful my bike was. So I had nothing against the guy. Of course he never came to my door kicking and screaming holding a knife either. I would have shoved it straight up his ass and I think he knew it. He saved the dramatics for the single women in the building. I guess he wasn't that crazy now was he?
So the cops are still doing the investigation to find out what happened and the windows are all open for venting. Not much more to say other than Vaya con Dios and pass the Fabreeze.
FU LA(wrote this around Christmas time)
This evening I was convinced to go to a local mall by my girl. Normally getting me in a mall between Thanksgiving and Christmas would take an act of God or a sopeana, in this case it was promise of a good steak. Every man has his price. Little did I know I would be plunged deep into the most revolting display of LA "culture" anyone had ever experienced. On the main floor of the mall this time of year they fill the area with a snowy scene of Santa's North Pole village. Nervous children waiting, not so patiently, in line with protective mothers and fathers for a short usually terrifying visit with Santa himself. These lines typically wind through manmade cotton snow and giant Styrofoam painted candy canes. The old Christmas standards seem to linger in the air while you catch yourself singing along. Marketing at its finest. Marketing or not, this is the American Christmas Norman Rockwell would have painted if he were alive today. I picture this: an overly enthusiastic teen dressed as an elfin photographer capturing a screaming child being lifted off Santa's noticeably wet lap by an eye rolling Santa's "helper" while overheated frustrated parents scold rascally cued kids. Done in Rockwell's realistic style and tone. It's the closet thing to a common tradition we have in our fast paced, consumer driven, self-absorbed society.
At this mall in the heart of Los Angeles they have a Santa's Village. They have the giant candy canes and the elfin photographer but they also have something no other mall in the fucking world would have. Let me paint the picture for you. First you hear the loud "hip" Christmas type music. It sounds like a re-mix version of Manhiem Steamroller and The Crystal Method. That's the best I can do to describe it. The DJ; that's right Santa's village has a douche bag DJ, is dancing around as if it's after hours at Avalon and the passing shoppers are a mob of tweaking club kids. Then I notice the five whores-a-leaping. Watching five scantily clad women, billed as "The Candy Cane Dancers" grinding each other to I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause in front of a line full of drop jawed kids was staggering. At this point I wasn't sure I was pissed about this scene or if I was about to laugh my ass off and start breaking of dollar bills, either way the looks on the faces of the mothers was priceless. So Santa's strippers are bumping and grinding to hallowed iconic music, well the acid house version anyway, while the "Hunky Santa" bobs his head and claps his hands like he's a Garth Brooks dance academy graduate. However, he is tall, dark, and very tan so the mothers have now changed their expression and pulling out the compacts to make sure they look good for "Hunky Santa." We all have our price don't we. They Candy Cane dancers and Hunky Santa do their little Bob Fosse Christmas Special while the whole mall stops to watch the spectacle. Looking up I see heads lining the railing peering over from all three levels of the upper floors some smiling, some laughing, others in just as much disbelief as myself. I have to assume the latter are from out of town or Culver City. The house remix ends and the dancers finish in a wild tangled crumpled heap of red, white and boobs. Which is a great name for a Bill Clinton biography. Anyway the Ghost of Christmas past was shitting himself at the sight of this I'm sure.
As the music faded away the dancers picked themselves up and a sporadic seemingly confused round of applause arose from the crowd. Hunky Santa seemed very please with himself in his big sleeveless red and white robe. Oh did I forget to describe the sleeveless robe "Santa was sporting over his shirt, oh wait no I'm sorry he wasn't wearing a shirt. Just and open sleeveless red white fur lined robe. This kind of throws a wrench in the traditional rendering that is our collective Santa. This low carb single digit body fat version is certain to screw up some little kids notion of Santa. Now imagine this kid finds out there really is no Santa in a year or two after coming to grips with the discrepancy of body and spirit, in about three years we will need to start watching the tops of clock towers here in Beverly Hills. Only in a Los Angeles mall would we have a Santa on the Atkins Diet. Only in Los Angeles would Santa's helpers be strippers dressed like the third shift at Crazy Horse. Only in Los Angeles would a mall manager think this would be an acceptable way to express and honor the Christmas tradition of Santa Clause. Of course at the same time in this day and age of political correctness, to green light a show like that takes some balls.
Once the show was over everyone slowly moved back to the hustle and bustle of urban mall Christmas shopping. The lack of politeness and lack of awareness for other gained hold of the crowd and I knew all was back to normal.
This place sucks.
Merry fat as hell Christmas everyone.
At this mall in the heart of Los Angeles they have a Santa's Village. They have the giant candy canes and the elfin photographer but they also have something no other mall in the fucking world would have. Let me paint the picture for you. First you hear the loud "hip" Christmas type music. It sounds like a re-mix version of Manhiem Steamroller and The Crystal Method. That's the best I can do to describe it. The DJ; that's right Santa's village has a douche bag DJ, is dancing around as if it's after hours at Avalon and the passing shoppers are a mob of tweaking club kids. Then I notice the five whores-a-leaping. Watching five scantily clad women, billed as "The Candy Cane Dancers" grinding each other to I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause in front of a line full of drop jawed kids was staggering. At this point I wasn't sure I was pissed about this scene or if I was about to laugh my ass off and start breaking of dollar bills, either way the looks on the faces of the mothers was priceless. So Santa's strippers are bumping and grinding to hallowed iconic music, well the acid house version anyway, while the "Hunky Santa" bobs his head and claps his hands like he's a Garth Brooks dance academy graduate. However, he is tall, dark, and very tan so the mothers have now changed their expression and pulling out the compacts to make sure they look good for "Hunky Santa." We all have our price don't we. They Candy Cane dancers and Hunky Santa do their little Bob Fosse Christmas Special while the whole mall stops to watch the spectacle. Looking up I see heads lining the railing peering over from all three levels of the upper floors some smiling, some laughing, others in just as much disbelief as myself. I have to assume the latter are from out of town or Culver City. The house remix ends and the dancers finish in a wild tangled crumpled heap of red, white and boobs. Which is a great name for a Bill Clinton biography. Anyway the Ghost of Christmas past was shitting himself at the sight of this I'm sure.
As the music faded away the dancers picked themselves up and a sporadic seemingly confused round of applause arose from the crowd. Hunky Santa seemed very please with himself in his big sleeveless red and white robe. Oh did I forget to describe the sleeveless robe "Santa was sporting over his shirt, oh wait no I'm sorry he wasn't wearing a shirt. Just and open sleeveless red white fur lined robe. This kind of throws a wrench in the traditional rendering that is our collective Santa. This low carb single digit body fat version is certain to screw up some little kids notion of Santa. Now imagine this kid finds out there really is no Santa in a year or two after coming to grips with the discrepancy of body and spirit, in about three years we will need to start watching the tops of clock towers here in Beverly Hills. Only in a Los Angeles mall would we have a Santa on the Atkins Diet. Only in Los Angeles would Santa's helpers be strippers dressed like the third shift at Crazy Horse. Only in Los Angeles would a mall manager think this would be an acceptable way to express and honor the Christmas tradition of Santa Clause. Of course at the same time in this day and age of political correctness, to green light a show like that takes some balls.
Once the show was over everyone slowly moved back to the hustle and bustle of urban mall Christmas shopping. The lack of politeness and lack of awareness for other gained hold of the crowd and I knew all was back to normal.
This place sucks.
Merry fat as hell Christmas everyone.
Shoot Chuck Faucett in the Face.
Found this blog written by Brady Doty.(http://www.doty.nu/wordpress/) We were in 6th grade together about 25 years ago. I was the shooter.
"bb
in my old neighborhood in springfield we used to have a lot of bb gun fights..
we all had bb guns and after a while we figured out cans and army men and other little targets were just far too hard to hit..
we found it easier to shoot each other..
most of the guns we had would not break the skin from more than about 10 feet so it wasn't really as dangerous as it sounds..
at least that's what we thought until someone shot chuck faucett in the eye..
i don't remember who shot him - i remember he was up in a tree shooting down at some of us and before i could even raise my gun he was yelling something about getting shot in the eye.. it was kind of like one of those battle scenes from a bad vietnam movie where everything slows down and you hear a slow, growling, guttural voice bellowing "ahhhhhmmm hiiiiiiiiiiit.. aaaaaahhhhhmmm hiiiiiiit"..
this is where you'd expect to hear me issue a public service announcement about how chuck lost his eye that day and we should all remind our children to be more careful with firearms of any caliber and blah blah blah..
well.. he didn't lose an eye.. he gained a bb..
the shot just missed his eyeball and sunk in deep behind it.. and it's still there..
they told him it would be too dangerous to try to take it out and it wouldn't hurt anything to leave it.. so there it sits..
so the real lesson for the kids is this..
if you're going to shoot your friends in the face with a bb gun, aim for the bridge of the nose..
that way, when you miss a little, there's a chance your shot will slip nicely in behind the eyeball, providing your friend a lovely reminder of your time together.."
"bb
in my old neighborhood in springfield we used to have a lot of bb gun fights..
we all had bb guns and after a while we figured out cans and army men and other little targets were just far too hard to hit..
we found it easier to shoot each other..
most of the guns we had would not break the skin from more than about 10 feet so it wasn't really as dangerous as it sounds..
at least that's what we thought until someone shot chuck faucett in the eye..
i don't remember who shot him - i remember he was up in a tree shooting down at some of us and before i could even raise my gun he was yelling something about getting shot in the eye.. it was kind of like one of those battle scenes from a bad vietnam movie where everything slows down and you hear a slow, growling, guttural voice bellowing "ahhhhhmmm hiiiiiiiiiiit.. aaaaaahhhhhmmm hiiiiiiit"..
this is where you'd expect to hear me issue a public service announcement about how chuck lost his eye that day and we should all remind our children to be more careful with firearms of any caliber and blah blah blah..
well.. he didn't lose an eye.. he gained a bb..
the shot just missed his eyeball and sunk in deep behind it.. and it's still there..
they told him it would be too dangerous to try to take it out and it wouldn't hurt anything to leave it.. so there it sits..
so the real lesson for the kids is this..
if you're going to shoot your friends in the face with a bb gun, aim for the bridge of the nose..
that way, when you miss a little, there's a chance your shot will slip nicely in behind the eyeball, providing your friend a lovely reminder of your time together.."
What I've learned
Women don’t want you to fix their problems. They just want you to sit, listen quietly, nod your head and say, "I love you, you are very special to me, and/or that’s so unfair."
Women don’t want you to fix their problems unless their problem is a flat tire
Contracts with employers aren’t for you. They are for your employer. If you don’t agree try refusing to sign the contract.
I don’t care what anyone says after a certain age you feel like shit after exercise.
People from other cultures know how to relax and they can do it at the drop of a hat.
They say money can’t buy happiness well I would like to give it a try. I have a few ideas that might just work.
Motorcycles are the cheapest and safest recreational drug on the market today. The V-Twin is some good shit man.
People expose their lack of intellect by using imbecilic examples to support their stance.
Republican and Democrats are both wrong. Independents and Libertarians are also wrong. If we can find a logical mix of all four we would really have something.
Bill Clinton was the best Republican Presidents ever.
When the word "racist" is used as a political tool it becomes worse than its original abomination.
The morning of September 11, 2001 fear over took sex as the most overwhelming driving forces in our society. Look at the news, our national foreign policy, and Bush’s second term.
Who Would Jesus Bomb? Best bumper sticker ever.
Bill Maher is an asshole he may be correct on many topics but he’s still an asshole.
Tell your father you love him while he’s still alive. You can tell him once he’s gone but it will not feel as good.
Bugs hurt at 80 mph
When your Grandmother says, "You don’t know what you’re doing." She’s right.
Rich, powerful, A-type personality men will cheat on you ladies. As often as possible. Its not you, its them and no amount of plastic surgery with stop it.
Kids learn from what they see in the home. Robin Williams’ father must have been a crazy fucker.
Mother Nature teaches you two lessons, 1) Mother Nature always wins. 2) Winning isn’t always the point.
Women don’t want you to fix their problems unless their problem is a flat tire
Contracts with employers aren’t for you. They are for your employer. If you don’t agree try refusing to sign the contract.
I don’t care what anyone says after a certain age you feel like shit after exercise.
People from other cultures know how to relax and they can do it at the drop of a hat.
They say money can’t buy happiness well I would like to give it a try. I have a few ideas that might just work.
Motorcycles are the cheapest and safest recreational drug on the market today. The V-Twin is some good shit man.
People expose their lack of intellect by using imbecilic examples to support their stance.
Republican and Democrats are both wrong. Independents and Libertarians are also wrong. If we can find a logical mix of all four we would really have something.
Bill Clinton was the best Republican Presidents ever.
When the word "racist" is used as a political tool it becomes worse than its original abomination.
The morning of September 11, 2001 fear over took sex as the most overwhelming driving forces in our society. Look at the news, our national foreign policy, and Bush’s second term.
Who Would Jesus Bomb? Best bumper sticker ever.
Bill Maher is an asshole he may be correct on many topics but he’s still an asshole.
Tell your father you love him while he’s still alive. You can tell him once he’s gone but it will not feel as good.
Bugs hurt at 80 mph
When your Grandmother says, "You don’t know what you’re doing." She’s right.
Rich, powerful, A-type personality men will cheat on you ladies. As often as possible. Its not you, its them and no amount of plastic surgery with stop it.
Kids learn from what they see in the home. Robin Williams’ father must have been a crazy fucker.
Mother Nature teaches you two lessons, 1) Mother Nature always wins. 2) Winning isn’t always the point.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Game 7 Penguins to be Victorious
Tonight is game seven of the NHL finals between "the team that shall not be named" and Pittsburgh Penguins. The Pens must pull off the victory as "the team that shall not be named" are a bunch of smug pricks that need disappointment and sorrow more than any other group of men I have ever seen with the exception of every single terrorist in the world. That's right I compared them to terrorists. They are that evil, and I know there are people out there that think sinking this low and comparing terrorists to "the team that shall not be named" is ridiculous and disgusting and I should never compare a group of hard working professional dedicated men to scumbag, amoral, foreign self righteous fuck tard hockey players. Its and insult to most terrorists. F' them.
I'm not a big fan of the Pens but I will back any team fielded against "the team that shall not be named." My team is the Colorado Avalanche. I will back my team through thick and thin as a good fan should do year after year. This year being a perfect example of the "thin." They will come back to the glory days just as "the team that shall not be named" will fall from its height.
Go Pens.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The inaugural post of this blog should summarize what I want this blog to be and what I want to express via the world wide web. Basically what I hope to do is just convey my thoughts on current topics, expose the things I think are cool, and vent my frustration with a world that seems to be spiralling out of control. Its my first crack at the whole blog thing so cut me some slack and FTW.
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