Archive for October, 2007



peezy is gay and as usual wrong in his predictions.   i expect him to be donning a red sox hat in the coming months.  no, do not listen to his wiley scheme of falsity.  if he is ever seen wearing a red sox cap, which he might only do in private, he will surely make an excuse of some ridiculous nature, claiming to welcome sox fan into his clutches so he can rip on them.  anyone aware of stoney’s track record will no doubt agree that the incredible urge is rising in him to now turn and root for the champions.  that’s right–champions.  again.  for all the shit talkers on this blog and foolish sports ‘pundits’, i would just like to say that yes, you were wrong, you knew nothing about baseball, and are too gay to celebrate such an achievement in the shadow of such pathetic defeat by your respective ball handlers. 

The Red Sox are the champions and will be until April when they begin another championship run.  Denying their championshipnocity is a futile fool’s effort sure to be joined by this blog’s numerous fools. 


shhh, don’t cry.

So, you showed your penis to the man in the greeting card company…

I meant on your face, Bret. On your face…

Do you smoke grass out in space, Bowie? Or do you smoke Astroturf?


Thank you God for sending me the external, anonymous validation that I am so desperately seeking.


You like me! You really like me!




I’m doing resumes and shit. My goal was to hit 10 today, with an emphasis on specifics and shit to make it look like I want to work for that specific company.

Scale of 1-10

Morale Level: 6

Morality Level: 7

Mortality Level: 10 (fucking dead)

Resume Level: 6 (of 10)

Bullshitter Level: 3, but rising with each blog word typed

Pissed Off Level: 3, not bad, right?

Stoney Level: 0. Out of weed, worst!

Parental Communications Level: 3, talked to dad yesterday, still AWOL on ma-dukes

Red Sox are Fucking Gay Level: 10 (at least they’re consistent, right?)

Overall, I feel motivated to get out of my job. I will have a new job, and soon. Fuck this gay shit. Blogs will be light until it’s all good in the hood. Fuck the Stonies, you all dropped the ball big time.

If the Stonies were a car in grand theft auto vice city, they would all be Faggios, each and every one.


End Transmissions

Friday is usually the fuck off day for me on the blog piece, but I will try to come real with some short and sweet.

First of all, I feel weird about writing on my bleezy at all right now, because of how pissed my parents got at me about what I said. As more time passes, I feel calm and confident that I said what I believed, but also pissed and sad at the reaction. Basically, I just keep wondering if I am really “excommunicated” from the family. I really don’t want to be excommunicated, but I mean…really?

There’s a few aspects to the whole thing that led to such a reaction. First of all, I’m a fuck up under their criteria, because I waste my talent on booze and laziness. In 24 years, there have been plenty of blowups and “I’m through helping you,” because I always procrastinate and dick around. It’s never been a forced estrangement, though, which is supposedly what’s going on.

In addition to being a career jerk-off, I then judged my parents on their parenting style, which I characterized as controlling. They both took it as a huge slap in the face, and proof that I resent my childhood and upbringing. In my mind, I see it as a classic case of a difference between intent and interpretation, not a declaration of war.

Now for the kicker, not only did I “criticize” my parents, I did it in public, here on this blog, a den of slackerhood and bullshittery. Showboating for my friends by ripping on the parents? Hardly. Was this the perfect atmosphere for starting a philosophical discussion about how I was raised? Maybe not. In the end, though, I feel justified in using my personal forum to bring up issues I feel are important about me. If I can’t be upfront about the way I feel, that doesn’t seem right. It’s all about me, as usual.

Is my excommunication a sealed deal? I don’t know. Sunday is my weekly “call the house” day, so I will see what’s up then.

One half of me thinks I should just stop talking about it, leave the entire subject alone, and go try to make amends to the parents. Then, the other half thinks that the whole excommunication is another extension of their influence. Personally, I cannot visualize not having a relationship with mom and dad, it’s kind of like asking myself what does it feel like to float around in space without a space suit on. It doesn’t feel relevant. But in the end is it justified? Maybe, I guess. The thing is, I think I have done things 100% times worse than calling my parents out on being controlling. For example, I used to wear my excessive druggage on my sleeve, and I would tell my mom whatever stupid shit I had done recently when I felt like it, like doing blow in the bathroom during the family vacation.

That public acknowledgement of my past deeds, is the core of the issue. On one hand, it’s a painful memory, to know that I flagrantly violated the basic trust of my parents on a family vacation, and was getting jacked up on the DL and also drinking heavily, knowing full well my family’s position on drugs. So there it was, I was a huge asshole about some things, that is only 1 instance. The Stoney crew knows full well about my history of moral and philosophical violations. I’ve never beat any body up, but it’s a known fact that I can be a dick about stuff. I’m embarrassed about the way I used to roll, but really, I can’t fucking change the past, and I don’t hate myself, so what do I have to be embarrassed about? Mostly, it comes down to me feeling bad about certain things I’ve done, and not apologized before or acknowledged, and trying to work it out.

For years I’ve thought my parents were controlling, and influenced me more than I saw my friends’ parents influencing them. One time, my mom called me in college busting my balls about this or that, and I got off the phone, and I was just sitting there bummed the fuck out, and Suit was like, “Dude, let it go, you shouldn’t be so hung up on what your parents want you to do.” That was like 5 years ago, when I was a sophomore in college. I can remember feeling the same way about what I was doing as recently as a few months ago, if not last month. Bummed the fucking fuck out, sitting there staring at the floor, knowing full well that I was not doing what I was “supposed to be doing.” My posts about finding out what the Real World really is, is an extension of that internal dialogue, of me coming to grips with what I was supposed to be doing and what I was really doing.

In the end, was it wrong for me to talk about the way I felt, even though I knew it was a sensitive subject? No, it’s not wrong. Maybe I did it in the wrong place, and should have just made a call or wrote a letter, but really, I can never see myself doing that. I have huge communication problems, as my special lady T can attest to, and my other special lady Dank can back up as well. If I didn’t tell them the way I felt, I’d just be being a little bitch, and not sticking up for who I am.

Anyway, I’m going to try to avoid any and all parental talk as of today, this post. I love my parents very much, and I hope I am not excommunicated from the family I grew up with and care about. I have been trying my hardest lately to not rush into things emotionally and rashly, and am trying to approach this situation the same way. Peace out, everybody.

3 Videos

Wanna go to a club where people wee on each other?

More animal sex, with cats this time.

Bret’s Angry Dance


Leaving work in a little

 Free at last…maybe.


Doesn’t Roughty look like a pervert?


Radioactive fallout from speaking my mind

Well, well, it seems like some people do read the blog after all. The parentals, to be more specific, pulled a flip-out on me, because of what I wrote yesterday about my future, and about how they controlled me.

Hear ye, hear ye, the point I was trying to make, was that my parents brought me up a certain way, and it strengthened me in certain areas, while weakening me in others.

The phrase “ultra-controlled sterile environment” seemed to strike the deepest nerve with the rents, and while that might be exaggerating, it’s also not exaggerating. As a slack-ass student of the financial markets, the main lesson I have learned is that extreme conditions lead to a snap-back. If a stock shoots up parabolically, odds are that stock will fall parabolically, and vice-versa. Similarly, as a 16 year old, I wasn’t allowed to go out past 11 PM, which basically translates into I wasn’t allowed to go to parties. Upon my arrival at college, I became a full-fledged party animal. Sterile might have been a little harsh, and implied that I was stuck in a bubble studying algebra, which isn’t exactly true. However, I consider it an undeniable fact that I was brought up differently than most rich whities, and I have acquired a certain ideological slant based upon my position in the word. Do I want to be like everyone else, hell no. I’m proud of my individuality, and know it’s based on how I was brought up, but that doesn’t mean that I am not allowed to question, to point out the way I feel.

What is that slant, what do I feel, who the fuck knows, certainly not me. I think what I was trying to do, and I’m still trying to do, is figure out who I am, and why I am who I am. That’s really what this blog is for, for me to just write and write about what I feel, and hopefully come up with something meaningful, even if it’s just a notebook of my thoughts. My dad told me that I should keep a private journal, just for myself, but I think by flashing the world my insecurity, doubts, questions and rants, that I have to bring more to the table. Yes, of course this is an ego trip, but in the end, it’s still only a diary that I’ve opened up for other people. Or at least that what it’s become after Roughty’s egregious abandonment.

Anyway, back to what I was talking about, with the parental control, another issue that keeps coming up is the fact that they don’t have to physically tell me what to do. In my 24 years, I have come to learn what I should be doing in their mind, given a set of choices. In other words, if I have the choice to smoke weed or study for my CFA exam, I can hear my mom/dad telling me why I should be studying, what opportunities are there, etc. And in the end, it all points to a positive existence, a good thing. In the end, if I did follow my parent’s advice, did what they thought was right, then I would probably lead a happy, healthy life. It’s no question to me that my parents are both successful, happy people. Married for 25 years with 2 grown kids, and they are still a team and help each other, they are my models for positive adult behavior.

Should my behavior, and thoughts about my upbringing, be considered a slap in the face to the parents though? I really don’t think it should be. I know for a fact that my own dad, a Virginian savage, snapped in his own way and went off the deep end. A son of hardcore Pentacostal Christians, he was a drunkard hell raiser, and without ever hearing about, I can only imagine the throwdowns between my dad and my dead grandparents, who I never had a relationship with.

Little kids, it’s just a human fact of life that each generation cannot escape its elders. My dad, in his heyday, was running as fast as he could away from the place he was born. Here I am, living thousands away from my hometown, for no other reason than some ridiculous primal urge that I cannot explain or understand.

While I’m talking about the grandparents, it’s interesting to me how far removed I am from my roots, ideologically and stuff. So many people talk about “their roots” and stuff, and their culture, and I feel like I am missing that part of my life. Just two generations ago, at least on my dad’s side, what I know of my family paints a picture of hardworking, Depression-age Christians living in Virginia. My grandfather was a preacher, while I question all faiths on the basis of underlying human error and wrongness. I do feel like I have a relationship with god, but it’s just for me, not for anybody else, surely not for a room full of people. Surely, what I feel inside myself about god and why we are here should not be judged by another human. It’s just not right, talk about the blind leading the blind.

But what would happen if I could tell my grandfather about how I felt about god? Would he disown me? Would he never talk to me? Would he pray for my soul? I’ll never know, I never knew him. Personally, I can’t remember one single time when my dad ever ever talked about God or Jesus or whatever, not one single time. Now to me, an amateur thinker and psychologist, that points to some deep conflicts between the beliefs of father and son. Which also brings me back to what is the original point, which is why my mom and dad flipped out so hard about me judging them for being too controlling. I can see why they think I judge them, but it’s really no judgment it all. It’s just me, trying to figure out who I am and where I came from. To deny that my parents controlled me is to deny one of the basic tenets of my childhood.

Quite the opposite of being a shitty thing, by guiding me through childhood, my parents set me up with a library of tools and skills to do what I need to do. I can do anything I want, with my education and personal background.

What pissed them off the most was that I hinted at they were trying to control me now, while I’m in California. I’ll be the first one to say that I cannot be controlled by nearly anyone, that I will do what I want when I want. But, I will also say that because of the way I was raised, and because of the close relationship I have with my parents, that what they say and suggest to me does in fact severely effect the way I think. Severely severely. So when they tell me that I’m fucking up, or that I need to get my shit together, then I really feel something inside of me motivating me to get to work. If you don’t want to call that “control,” then maybe we can call it “remote control antennae in my brain directly connected to the proverbial mothership.” Whether or not they are actively pressing that button doesn’t matter, because that link will never be severed.

Like a phantom limb, the rents will itch my brain until the day I die. I love you both a lot.

The Boston Red Sox Are Gay

After the 3rd time through In Rainbows for the day, I have to call it quits. Holy fuck that CD is ridiculous.

Choice songs, by my ear, would be Nude, Arpeggi and Reckoner.

I placenta-dump on you faggots for one reason, and one reason alone. To piss on the gayest team in baseball, the Boston Red Sox. The Red Sox are hands down the weakest, gayest piece of shit ball-licking group of homos to walk the earth since Dank’s JV soccer team in highschool.

Living proof that Boston Red Sox will always be the weakest team ever.