American Renaissance (Blog Format)

Pass the torch, little bitch.

Ah, the Olympics. What a chance for the world to prove to itself that humanity is real, that the human heart is alive and well. What a joke!

The new job has arrived, da-DING! Excellence.

What can I say after 2 months off the shit job, under the radar? Not much, to tell the truth.

And for some serious commentary…

Hillary has been exposed, and I stand corrected for my support for the feminazi wench. Now I must choose between an incognito Muslim and a crazy white boy! This one will be tough…

And as for the Stoneys, ouch what a sorry crew. What a pathetic excuse for camaraderie, what a tired effort in solidarity.

Keep up the good faith, ye uninformed jumble. Do not forget about the times when we almost had 1000 page views in one day, a number spurned higher and higher only by the sick twisted social machination of Roughtonius, who would fool a peasant schoolgirl into believing in the mythical Pegasus, if only to stroke his gay Irish ego. Pfffft.

And there you have it, the Great Blog Revival continues. I wanted to write more, but I am tired after stuffing envelopes all day. Where’s the beef?

politics, religion, et cetera… . .. . … .. …. .. …. .. . .

(those periods are for you, stonesylvania.) 

i have been delinquent lately and didn’t know about either of stoney’s  guys’ debauchery.  i wish i had, but politics is boring — even when it deals with blowww and hookers.  i won’t vote for this guy any more now than i would have before i knew about the drugs and sex.  until i meet a politician who will look you in the eye and say he’s never made a mistake and he never plans to make one,  i’ll be fairly convinced i could do a better job governing myself than any of them could.  i mean, jiuliani (or “orange” [in honor of his boy’s huge nose candy purchase] julius as i will call him from this day forward) doesn’t even know me.  how the shit is he supposed to know what decisions are in my best interest?  in the old days, way on back in the days of grunting, beards and hunter/gatherers, people would form a society to protect themselves from other societies (not to mention the ravenous sabre-tooth tigers, mastadons, etc.).  i’m sure at the beginning of society, some guy was laying out, chilling in the cut, maybe reading a playboy and minding his own bidness, and the tribe leader said to him, “glork, you better get that firewood.  the rest of us are counting on your lazy ass.”  and glork was thinking, “damn, it was so much better when i could do whatever the hell i wanted to do without all these dicks bossing me all the time.”  but you know what glork did?  he collected the wood.  because he needed the protection that could only be afforded by the society.  nowadays, people don’t think like that, in my opinion.  nowadays, people simply accept the fact that they were born into a society, and so that must be the best place for them to be.  i stand that this is simply no longer the case.  man has tamed the shit out of nature.  we don’t have anything to worry about except snake bites and the occasional shark attack.  furthermore, no human cares enough about me to attack me.  what the shit would they even do that for?  waste of a bullet.  i won’t attack them either.  i can grow shit in my back yard and eat dogs and cats and squirrels and shit if it really comes right down to it.  no reason for me to mess with anyone.  my point?  glad you asked.  society is no longer the same shizzazzle it was back in the day.  individuals don’t really need to protection of a huge gov’t.  besides, when people did need such protection — take hurricane katrina, for instance — where the fuck was our great society?  thumb up the ass, watching the weather channel and drinking beer, wondering where the hell they’d move mardi gras to… and that was george w.  that proves (for me anyways) that society can no longer perform its primary function — protection of its members.  that’s the main reason why i haven’t, don’t and won’t vote.  you be asking yourself, “well then suit, why don’t you just LEAVE and do your own thing if you don’t like the american way?”  well, this is a good point.  i wonder this about myself sometimes, too.  i think it comes down to this.  i gotta get mine.  if i left right now, i’d be broke before i got to a place where i could really do my own thing for real.  you gotta have money to make a real move.  hence, the master plan — participate in society to as minimal a degree as is practicable until i save up some real green.  then, peace out.  merc on to someplace where i can do my own thing without worrying about what anybody says.  part of this minimal participation is making it a priority to not vote.  voting would lock me in.  i would start to follow this shitstem and never be able to break out. 

(ps — when you register to vote, you also have to fill out a draft card.  i knew this was a shitty idea when i was in high school, and so i didn’t fill out the shit.  therefore, i am registered for neither voting nor slaughtering brown people.) ((pps — the gov’t teacher in 12th grade tried to fail me for for not filling out the form, but i aced all her tests, so she didn’t have a leg to stand on.))

as far as breeding terrorism, i’m either too stupid or too smart to question the fact that all politicians have spin doctors (and i don’t mean the “2 princes” spin doctors).  to reference a simile i made earlier, discussing politics is like going all in on a blind hand of poker.  doesn’t make any sense because you know neither what you have nor what your opponents have in their hands.  all i know is this:  the golden rule is faulty.  “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  if we hurt the arabs, then we deserve to get sliced a bit, right?  it’s the golden rule, after all.  if arabs did bad things to us, they deserve to get bombed, too, right?  it is in the golden rule.  but then what?  people all know the golden rule, yet bad stuff keeps happening.  if people keep “doing unto others” based on what has been “done unto [them]”, we’ll all be fucking DEAD!  this is not what i consider a good time.  the golden rule doesn’t work.  it just breeds recursive murder wars.  neither the victor nor the loser is ever happy.  everyone’s still got a bone to pick, and the killing continues.  here’s what i propose.  throw out the golden rule.  adopt another rule.  how about the one jesus came up with?  how about “turn the other cheek”? how about “love thine enemy”?  i mean, america is a judeo-christian nation, right?  it says so right on the money.  that means we all believe in heaven, right?  that means that what we do down here makes no difference in the big picture, right?  sure.  because heaven is eternal, but life on earth is “but a blink of the eye.”  that means, if some asshole wants to shoot us, who cares?  they’ll go to hell, and we’ll be laughing our balls off, playing hop-scotch with john lennon in heaven.  fuck this killing.  for real.  i am over it all for real.  a guy from my high school just got killed.  i was a total ass to him (roids, teenage hormones, popularity… you know), and now i will never be able apologize or slap him a high five and come back on the flip side.  it’s fucked up for real.  and the worst part — he thought he was doing right by his country!  sad sad scene.

so, any of you who have made it through this post are all stupider for having read it.  i award you no points, and may god have mercy on your souls. 

now, go slaughter some people whose skin is darker than your own!!  before they do it to you first.

and don’t forget to vote.  in fact, vote three times.  keep on voting and voting until you cast a fat, brown ballot in your pants.

heading west…

…is a frightening prospect.  pretty worried over here.  what if the moviestars like the oompa loompa are too sophisticated for me?  shit, what am i saying?  more sophisticated than ME?!  ME?!!  i know.  you’re all saying to yourselves, “suit, why are you worried?  you are the classiest mutherfucker since don johnson.”  well, i know.  i know.  i mean, it is my divine providence after all.  i’m like lewis and clark.  except more like clark, cuz i’m not going to shoot myself after i get back home. 

all the same, i’m a little worried.  they might be on a different level of consciousness, and maybe i won’t even be able to communicate with them.  worse yet, i might wreck the rental car or get my wallet jacked at lax.  shit, they might blow up my damn plane  — atlanta to lax.  sounds like a lot of fuel in that boeing. 

no good stressing out, though.  that’s why, with this post, i’ll chronicle some of the main reasons why i’m looking forward to l.a.

1.  crossing the mighty mississippi — never done it yet and am looking forward to it, big time.  a big milestone for a waterman like me.

2.  going to another mlb ballpark — dodgers stadium should be fun.  as long as they sell beer and caps, i’ll be all good.  a mets’ loss (or, better yet, a terrible injury to beltran) would just be icing on the cake.

3.  seeing my ole pal roughtonious — live 2 hours down the road from him and have to go to l.a. just to touch bases with a guy i used to see 5 times every day.  p.s. roughty, i apologize for stealing all those subway station sandwiches from you.  i always blamed in on stoney, but it was really me sometimes.  also, while i’m apologizing, sorry for laughing at you for the sj punch to the grill.  you did have it coming, though…  pffft.

4.  feeling comfortable in another city — when you’re a homeboy like me, you really get confident when you go someplace else and can function like a reasonable human.  not sure if this will happen, but i’m thinking positive.

5.  not leaving my wallet in the bar — stoney will remind me this time after the “off the wagon” incident in greenwich vill.  if not, he’ll have a new permanent roommate.

6.  going to the actual locations where some of my favorite movies were shot — training day, friday, don’t be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in the hood.

7.  going to all my favorite places from 90210 — the beach where brenda met dylan, west beverly high, the radio station where david silver learned about speeeeed.

8.  meeting lady t. — after all the hype, i’m ready to meet the genuine article.  if she can make our boy take nudie pics off the blog, she must be a wonderful person.  —editorial sidebar — yes, i’m kissing ass, boys.  this is what you do before you go and share a teeny living space with somebody you never met before.—

9.  the pacific ocean — another one of those things i never saw before.  should be suhweet, gnarly, bodacious and that hang ten sign you do by sticking out your thumb and pinky finger and jiggling your hand around.  maybe i’ll finally get to see the monster swells like on point break.  i’m paddling out, bra!

10.  smoking west coast rocks — i heard they’ll make you grit your teeth until they fall out.  i already packed up my tire pressure guages and steel wool.  yall know how we do.

most of all, though, there’s number 11. scratching the shit out of my pal stoney’s cd collection — i’m sitting here listening to let it be, and wouldn’t you know it, the shit is scratched right to hell — right in the middle of the long and winding road, no less.  why don’t i take it out and put in something else like the love below?  oh.  that is scratched to shit as well.  oh.  what about all your sublime cds?  you guessed it.  looks like someone ran them over.  bob dylan discs?  fuuuucked up.  broke a cd player with one of them just last week – seriously.  why are all my cds scratched?  i’ll tell you.  it’s this blog’s fearless leader — mr stoney.  it’s almost as though he destructulated my shit on purpose.  oh well, iain’tmadatcha.  all i’m saying is you better hide your shit, holmes.  for real.  i’m bringing some rusty nails and broken glass for the whole collection.

all jokes aside, i can’t wait to see my friends again.  the only thing that would make it better is if dankkkkk could come.  what am i saying?  i know he could come if he really wanted to.  (peer-pressure’s a bitch, muthafuckah.) 

So, you didn’t like…

… built to spill? 

that’s aight. 

you’ll grow some hair on them balls eventually and then you’ll start listening to music whose words your parents can actually understand.  until then, enjoy your dj jazzy jeff and the fresh prince. 

 

or was the video too savage for you pansies?  either way, let me know when you’re ready for some real culture.  until then, say hi to n k o t b for me.

 alright, enough rubbing salt into your wounds.

i want to publicly thank sir roughtonious for posting those pictures.  when i saw those pics, i didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or shit my pants.  stoney was a fucking wreck even back then, ladies.  don’t believe the stories of rock stardom and chizzzzzzled abs.

next, the braves blew hard last night.  but that was only the second worst blow-out i’ve seen in the past 24 hours.  my cousin’s team won their championship softball game by a score of…

yup.  that says 37 – 1.  i’m not making this shit up.  i honestly felt bad for the other team.  then, my father says, “they need to learn how to lose just like everybody else.”  this sounds awfully cynical.  is it right for some little 12-year-old girls to have to suffer such a crushing defeat?  what about the “kill” or “skunk” rule?  well, this was the championship, and the skunk rule didn’t apply.  i am not sure.  it seems like 10-1 or even 20-1 would have taught them “how to lose” pretty well.  37 – 1 is just an embarrassment.  i wouldn’t be surprised if those little girls went home and did themselves in.

rather, my cousin said that most of them just wanted to get ice cream after the game.  they don’t care whether they win or lose.  wait a minute…  37 – 1, and they want some ice cream?!  hell no.  you’ll get nothing and like it you non-softball-playing wastes of space.  what does this look like?  price is right? 

 

you don’t get no lovely parting gifts.  if you lose, you lose. 

that’s one of the biggest problems with our society — getting rewarded for doing nothing.

1.  Perfect Attendance Award — give me a fucking break.  you couldn’t con your mom into thinking you had the runny shits, so you actually had to do what you’re supposed to do.  no perfect attendance award.  you might as well give the kid a fucking trophy for finishing his milk at lunch.  trivial bullshit — all for the sake of the little son of a bitch’s self-esteem.

2.  Most Improved Player — whuuh?  let’s rename this one the “you’re not as shitty as you used to be award.”  come on.  this is ridiculous.  if i batted .000 and then batted .100 the next year, i might be most improved, but i am still terrible.  i don’t need a trophy.  i need a career change.

3.  Parole — “yo, dog, i’m back.  they lemme out on good buhhaviuh.”  yeah, good behavior.  if you had good behavior, they wouldn’t have locked you up in the first place, you damn crack selling car thief.  why don’t you run along and rob a liquor store now.  what ever happened to “you do the crime, you do the time!”?

the society is swarming with this bullshit.  the way i figure it, those little girls should have just stayed at the park after their 37 – 1 loss and started running laps.  after three hours or so, i’d have given out a trophy

to their coach

for coach of the year. 

in other news, i’m going to the land of fruits

and nuts

that’s right — l.a., california.  in about a month, i’ll be there.  i’m a busy guy, so i need to start packing.  i figure i’ll need some rubbers, a bullet-proof vest and some thick thick glasses to convince the local pork that i have horrible glaucoma.  after the trip, i may not be coming back, so if i never post on the blog after july, just assume that either

1.  i’ve become a famous movie star like george clooney or peewee herman, or

2.  i’ve defected to mexico, or

3.  i’m hooked on crys.meth. and am never coming home.

(crossing my fingers for number 3).     out.

Monday Tease

I can’t stand to see this bullshit with a headline still from Friday.

First of all….where the fuck is the Stoney crew? Captain Stoney clearly remains the most savage, most prolific poster, in addition to being the best-looking, as usual. Roughty…where the fuck are you at? Suit….I know you don’t have a real job, what the fuck are you doing? Dank….I don’t even think I need to say anything to your worthless bullshit.

Shit I’m thinking about, because I know you all care.

Cocaine Dealers– by definition, not your friend, unless you don’t do cocaine. Situation is in play right now, in which I met a guy who was a new schweezy, backyard boogie hookup, “accidentally” put a bag of the devil in my green goodness….I said no thank you, he tried it one more time, and now I don’t have a shweezy hookup anymore. That’s some fucking bullshit, if you ask me. I know you could make a shitload more money off my monkey ass if I got back on the train, but give me a fucking break up in this bitch. Please.

PS- A side joke…What’s 100$ and white and green? An onion of shwizzle and a G of  fucking FIRE flake….yikes!!! At least in VA, the shit was real expensive and made your nose hurt. Not so on this side, not so.

Losers at Fratellis– last time I checked, rock concerts were for youngsters looking to cut up and fucking wreck some shit. In our post-modern, pre-pubescent indie world, I guess that isn’t so. What a bunch of fucking p-knockers at that show. What a bunch of bitches. Fratellis= 2 thumbs up. People who go to Fratellis shows= 2 middle fingers up.

Jobby Job- that’s right, bitches. Interview on Tuesday means laundry night tonight. Zing!

Alright, it’s official…

… i am not allowed to drink coffee anymore at all. 

ok, let me start out by telling everyone who doesn’t know that i am a recoving/-ed blow-fiend.  (just now i was looking for pics to post right here but decided against it.  such pics are a bad idea.  ganga pics are one thing, but straws, razor blades…  i don’t think so.)  anyway, about my addiction — it wasn’t a long one — really just about 2 years, that’s it.  not that long at all.  but it was bad.  i don’t know if i believe the hype about “addictive personalities” or any of that, but i really liked the chizzzowder for serious. 

here’s a short sidebar.  ok, so i just came downstairs in 1420 a, and i’m trying to keep it together.  everything’s fine, and then all of a sudden, i start tasting this awful (at least it was awful at the time) drip going down the back of my throat.  i was all like, “dude, i think this shit is fucked up.  i’m getting this bad taste down my throat.”  sir stoney of stonesylvania starts busting out laughing and, between his already clenched teeth says, “you’ll learn to love it.”  and i did.

 so that’s the sidebar.  i liked it alright.  spent lots of money, 80 bucks at a time, til i had none left.  anyway, it’s been about a year and change, and i’m clean as a whistle.  all that shit is behind me except for the guilty feeling i get anytime i’m still awake when the birds are already chirping.  anyway, it’s done now.

so… back to the story… i’m about to switch jobs and i was at a meeting this morning with this guy who wants to give me some money to write this big paper.  so he says, “you want a cup of coffee?”  i said, “no thanks, it makes me a little nervous.”  he said, “come on, i just got this new kind.  you’ll like it.”  so what am i going to do?  offend this guy who wants to give me green green money by turning down his delicious coffee?!  no.  that’s not me.  i don’t make waves like that on purpose.  so i says, “sure, i’ll have a small cup.” 

so i’m chilling on it, sipping and blowing.  it was actually alright.  then, about half-way down the cup it starts. 

my teeth start to clench.  immediately i recognize the sensation.  it’s the same ole blow feeling.  and i start thinking… worst!  then, right on cue, comes the motor mouth.  my achilles heel.  i don’t know dick about this damn project the guy’s talking about, but right then i was a motherfucking expert.  i knew more about this shit than anything in the world, and i was going to talk about it.  (in retrospect, i don’t think this bothered anyone.  in fact, i think they were impressed with my caffeine-induced confidence.)  so, this is where it begins to get really strange.  the whole time, i knew what was going on.  the coffee had gotten into my system, and i was getting the placebo effects of a fat-ass rail up my schnoz.  just the same, right after i started talking, i started sniffling.  you’ve all been there.  it happens — but not with coffee!  anyway, i’m sitting there in a pretty important meeting with clenched teeth, sweating, hunched back, talking a mile a minute, sniffling like david crosby.  i am ashamed of this, bigtime, and because of that, i am never drinking coffee again.  i am not allowed.  ever.

this is my message to you little boys and girls out there.  never do drugs, because you’ll never be able to drink coffee again at all.

or maybe that’s just me.

moral of the story — drug users can get good jobs.  i got the job this afternoon, even though i was a skiiiiiid up wreck at my “interview.”

unrelated final thought.  braves are poised to burn past the mets.  roughty, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye!  🙂