White Lips

In a conversation yesterday between stoney and i while we were both supposed to be working, we had laughed about the lockjaw incident and i jibed stoney about his own oral malfunctions.  He did not find the remark too funny, so in the tradition of assholedness and shittalking, i will relate his story.  Our dear stoney can sometimes get so excited by something he may be prone to drooling at the mouth as he snarles in excitement.  This however, is no malicious snarl like a rabid beast, nonetheless, it is a snarl of wild excitement where he loses control of his saliva and forgets to swallow.  This will usually be accompanied with snorting and mouth-breathing.

 Above this minor, occasional loss of control sits the grand pubah of oral malfunctions.  Stoney will often be so parched with excited dialogue and excessive smoking that his lips will be covered in a dry white substance that is not the storied mystery cream of another episode.  Now i know, everyone’s mouth has been so dried out that they might get a white film in the corner of the mouth, but this is by no exageration a veritable caking of dried saliva that covers the entire lips like cream lipstick.  This could be construed as an isolated episode, but i assure ye readers with full confidence in my truth-telling that it is a perenial event. 

One episode stands out beyond all the rest.  Sitting in a frat room with some friends and some fiends, we were extremely overcrowded as many had seen that the people with the weed had showed up.  Stoney, Suit, and I being the carriers of the sacred nuggets, and at this point, Stoney emptying his bank account after mine had dried out from the Fall and being the true carrier, we proceeded to smoke weed per usual.  Well, the crowded ridiculousness and gayness of the group soon, as it always did, got to us, but none more than stoney.  Looking over at stoney i see he had proverbially just taken a bite out of a piece of wedding cake too big for his face.  well, as i discreetly let him know, he was already noticing a huge bump on his arm.  In my not so discreet way, everyone looked at stoney and hence the bump on his arm.  As a room full of questions pummeled stoney his bumps multiplied with every ‘oh, my god’ and ‘what’s wrong with you’.  In front of everyone, his hives as we came to understand just kept going until he was forced to leave.  Of course, i had the bag cause i was the only one who can roll and suit and I continued to smoke stoney’s bag until we met with him shortly after. 

On completing this story, i have realized that it is poorly written and extremely unfunny.  I hope though at least the stonies will have a smile at the memory of a suffering white lipped leper. 

 With that said, i’d like to move on to another topic.  If anyone is looking to get paid to do nothing at all, i have two recommendations for you.  Temp or substitute teach in northern virginia.  it seems that the employers are as worthless as the citizens of this forsaken land.  or, maybe i’m just as worthless, but that is besides the point.  i have sat at this job all week and have yet to be explained my responsibilites.  though i’ve only made 13 dollars an hour, i still have not done any work.  that’s about 500 bucks to do jack shit.  Stoney can sympathize as we’ve both done nothing and gotten paid.  I ask you, our readers, are you as lazy and worthless as us?  i know the other stonies are just as worthless, but they’ve prolly been busy.  however, i’ve been too busy watching tv on my computer to talk to them. 

Bitches…Based Upon a True Story

You are all a bunch of bitches. ‘boo hoo, i hold down the blog all on my own–sniffle, sniffle, nobody helps me out’. Now, no one is producing shit except for twitch’s brainless miney mo of football picks. the grand introduction you were afforded was quite undue. Stoney was apparently wrong in his fear of unleashing the savage that must have been. I was expecting more ridiculous puttering buttholes and second grade male teacher fantasies, but i guess the life of a savage cannot include the blog, though true savagery also does not recognize the 70 down genital coddling that is football. Yes, i love football and sports, and many unsavage things, but i do not and have never claimed to be a savage. Far from it, i am more a pinkie flipped, tea drinking, legs crossing, former weed smoker who has done everything in his power to reject savage lawless behavior for the groovy rewarding of responsibility (sarcasm).

twitch, i’m sorry for the blatant attack, but your work is limited to picking, often accurately, the upcoming weekend’s games. you offer no commentary and hardly any shittalking. i was expecting you to be ripping and stoney claimed to be anxiously anticipating the coming shittalking brought with football.

stoney, you’re gay. bucs suck, ‘your’ steelers are winning, and i can undoubtedly bet my entire net worth of -200 dollars that you have yet to watch a single play. well, maybe if i lose then me paying negative 200 dollars would actually mean i get paid 200 dollars!?! shit, why didn’t i think about that before? i think i might have a good case for wachode and chase you down a dark alley and beat you with a proverbial debt bat credit cards.

suit, simply said, thanks for the sushi dinner and getting me into academia where i certainly do not belong.

on to me, i still can’t make any money with no bills to pay and working all the time. i’m a piece of shit who fights with his girlfriend all the time and watches sports rather than do anything else. i literally have to think about, no, draw up a spreadsheet of pros and cons whether to buy an iced tea for my smoldering ashtray asshole mouth. on a lighter note, i am happy to inform you all that i have been successfully mining green gold from the deepest caverns of the Upper Dank Nasal River, wiping them on and flicking them toward all unsuspecting victims. Be careful where you reach or grap for balance when leaning to pick up that damn elusive runaway pencil. there may be a boogie man lurking in the shadows–one of my minions of ectoslime.

roughty, well you a bitch ass nancy who can’t handle liquor. i guess this is as good a time as any to relate my recent visit to the confederate capitol in which nancy reagan, roughty-as he is first lady, resides. I arrived in his spacious 13 bedroom apartment to remember the all to familiar later 1420 A smell. yes, quite noxious. however, if you have not been depraved enough to cross the river of burnt matchsticks, pay the toll man, Mikey, and sneak past the snarling starving beasts willing to tear your flesh for its first meal since a woman had visited (rarely and never prolonged), to find the beasts’ litter box, then you can hardly imagine roughty’s. overflowing like a bloated pot of chili, the smell sticks to your skin and dampens your hair and cannot be removed by the sticky shower and mildewed-bottom of the pile towel you will be lent. after given the grand tour of his apartment modeled after a bunker in Fallujah and seriously debating wearing my flip flops in the shower, I air-dried for fear of putting the towel on my head, and then roughty and i set out to watch the mets inevitably blow it and hopefully find college football game on a nearby tv at the bar.

as everyone know the mets blew it, but not without a shimmer of hope for those unfortunate enough to confuse the ny mets for the recently swept phillies with a 13-1 shallacking on that day. well, we sat and drank beer and i ate a hockey puck with bacon and cheese, roughty in nothing out of the ordinary, drinking 1-2 more beers at the bar. This will come in to play soon, but everyone should know that roughty drinking 1-2 more beers with his typical diet versus mine would be no excuse for the ultimate shamery to come. we split the tab and went down stairs where i decisively defeated roughty in the first victory of the night-ping pong. when exiting the bar i wisely asked roughty if he had paid the second tab as he had lost the wager, moronically trusting the word of a drunken irishman. he walked out on that one and we moved to his sister’s boyfriend’s house where he exploded the tonic everywhere and left the floor adhesive. roughty made the drinks, one per person, and after thoroughly wearing out our welcome, we proceeded to dinner. both of us sitting slumped waiting for our respective lasagna and sub, i began to feel the stupor of Diana and Bacchus’s love union and looked across the table at the waning, leaning tower of a slurring man. Immediately upon finishing Roughty stood up and implored me to “get out of here” claiming we were done. Being the naive sentimentalist, I asked, ‘don’t we have to wait for the waitress? No? We can pay up front?’ this was the second, but failed attempt to walk out on a tab. He ended up begrudgingly paying the unfair tarif for both of us, saying, “you ive me sa money layter” i forgot.

well, we walked the few blocks home sandwich in tow knowing the state of affairs of any autonomous stonies’ kitchen. We arrived home and shortly after, i snapped this picture:

**will not upload-does not meet security guidelines**

i guess the material is too sensitive. a picture of roughty passed out at 8:30 p.m. would surely explode the head of any with knowledge of him.

so, he passed out and was eventually roused with threats of exposing his nanciness. in another failure of the night, roughty,quite out of character,did not shag the fly puerto rican girl that wanted his nutsack. instead, quite in character, he was content to be defeated in video games while she watched.

1st Victory- Ping Pong

2nd Victory- Drinking

3rd Victory- Madden (Roughty quit before half, I forced him to finish the half at least)

4th Victory- MVP 2005 (Red Sox defeat Mets at Shea-3-1. Big Papi eventual game winning homer in top 8th. )

5th Victory- Madden (again)

Roughty would only chalk his days losses to 0-4, but i assure you he was spent on drinking as i mixed up another gin. The next day i awoke to roughty going to work where i was going for a stoney style free brunch (remember the trellis? sweet) when my lady cracked the whip and was bitching, so i had to go home.

It was a very enjoyable trip. I only shit talk now because i have the god given right to make my friends feel bad for putting me up and paying for a dinner he wanted to walk out on. i only got slapped in the face once, which by anyone’s standards is another victory. i had a good time and a lesson in hopeless savagery. Now it’s time to get in my mom’s car and go eat McDonald’s and relay my exact gps coordinates to the wife.

signing off:

Hark Upon the Gale

PBK inductee

Did you know ‘gullible’ is not in the dictionary?

***video edited PEACE OUT

my new plug of the day: regina spektor’s begin to hope. Nick Valensi plays guit on the album and it’s savage. This is actually music, unlike whiny whinensteinish hipsters and dead burnt lesbians.

Fear Not

Fear not ye who stare in dumbblankfacerificatio.  This blasphemous affront from he with the royal nose and created royal lineage will be met with brutally harsh impunity.  He will be crushed with my iron gauntlet as I mold his flacid will like a piece of wet clay. 

The King’s claim to royal lineage is false and ridiculous.  My children, King Stoney was once a young grasshopper in my School of Debaucherous Edification.  This State sponsored program reluctantly admitted the Prince to imbue the naive Prince with the necessary rejection of extravagant material objects and extravagant g.p.a.’s .  What the young Prince did not realize is that this propagandalistic program of debaucherous inundation and and murdering of reason was to weaken the privileged for our worker’s revolution.  My arduous work of the last few months, day in and out, working into the wee hours of the night, was for the building of my barnesian army. 

I am a man of the people.  My father, a poor dirt farmer who struck oil through his rural education, rose through the ranks of the privileged like the early Blogres lineage that King Stoney claims.  Abandoning me in his quest for the tainted coin,  I was raised in the hardened industrial center of our land.  I am a worker that will crush the priviliged and distribute their wealth to the people.  Rise against your attacking tyrannical despot who rules with wild passion and uncontrolled partiality.  Join the ranks of the industrialized worker.  Sign up at your local Volkswagen dealer.  

In my brilliant plan of genius, I paved the way to revolution through my puppet P.M. Sunburner.  He is a weak man of the senses swayed toward the passion.  He is a weakened by his addiction to the witch’s brew squeezed of the rotten teat.  His ludicrous claim of peak conditioning and corpus care are being revealed by the pictures provided by Morel the Destoryer, a man of truth.     

Taken after his royal decree last night

Suppressing the Truth

Destroyed by his Extravagance–Poisoned by Morel the Truthsayer

 Let this be a lesson to all who oppose the strengthening of the Bloggerland.  Sunburner is an example of any who stand in the way of our glorious revolution of the people.  Treacherous lechery will be Punished!

-Chancellor Ovaltine

P.M. Demonstrates his Iron Handocity

In a predictable unexpected turn of events, P.M. Sunburner has disposed of his newly befriended assassin.  In his ruthless ruthnicity, the P.M. beguiled the attacker into a partnership of death.  No, not the scythe to his iron hand, the attacker became the victim of his glorious impunity.  The colossal hand that now makes Blogres strong and empowered to meet the agression of any would-be agressors has come down on any who oppose it. 

It seems that shortly after the Toast of Sunburnable Brotherhood the P.M. threw the attacker off of the Royal Balcony where he plummeted to the marble floor, falling to his death.  The P.M.’s delight in destroying all those who oppose the Bloggerland will assure the people of his pledge to protect the people from the royal despotism with brutal force.  “I will destroy all those who oppose my shepherding of the followers of the Book of Savagery”, said the P.M., “But, I will usher in a newer, stronger Iron-age in which our land is impervious to the flacid assaults of limp troglodytes.”

 The P.M.’s promise of a stronger land rising from the ashes of the former King’s debaucherous disregard for public affairs was compounded by a State exposition of strength, physical prowess, and the P.M.’s superior body type.  “Not only through genes, but arduously hard repetition, can you too approach my chiseled greatness.  I take care of my body, I am believe in preserving the sanctimonious temple which is the human body.  I am outlawing all manufacturing, sale, distribution, consumption, and even speaking of substances harmful to the realization of your goal to approach the human specimen that is me.  Any caught consuming drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, or polska kielbasa will immediately be executed.  Do not fear my children–I will liquidate the threats to our ever-lasting security.  Everything Must Go!”   

–Morel the Destoyer–

Brought to you by our friends at Costco–Destroying Small Businesses One Zip Code at a Time

Exactly the type of citizens his gloriousness wants.  Both the violent teens and the complacent videographers.  Don’t forget to check out our new thirteen year old punani section.  Now in boxes of a dozen– baker’s dozen that is. –Costco 😉

Venice Beach: The Freakshow

As i have visited californ-i-a twice now and long to join me fellow scallywags in their pirate adventures in la la land, i feel a tribute to their base is in order.  well, i have been to many parts of the city including the four parts jp has seen in his two years there. 

dodger stadium is sweet, but roasts in the desert mountains.  roughty, make sure you bring your spf 75 and slob it on with every pitching change, which will most likely be every inning as both clubs will sorely mistaken their inadequate rotations and bullpens with fatigue, weather, or some other ludicrous excuse. 

East L.A. and the DR:

Sweet as well.  I feel suit will find a home in the drawing room and the relative diversity in relation to the rest of la in the former paradise that stoney called home.  you must absolutely show the former kingdom in all its glory and cold showers.  this was the first place i found in my visits to la with true, unsuperficial culture.  remember my 4:00 am walkabout in search of a sip of any liquid in my half drunken, half hungover stupor as stoney had neither drink nor refrigeration.  i walked at least 7 blocks to be dissapointed by powered down vending machines that i had to beg the grocery store owner to turn on to get an orange soda that t and i shared (what up, t) .  on my ramble i encountered at least two hookers with one clearly disguising a dick.  my day consisted of walking around east la and eating gut bombs for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  i was happy to escape my previous experiences of yuppiness disguised in kewlness. 

hollywierd:

weird and extemely superficial with a bunch of douches disguised as hipsters and guns and roses impersonators. 

venice:

i was accurately described by lady t the wonderous freak show that is venice beach.  of course we were all fucked up and noided out, so we sat at the public bathroom and gazed out upon the circus.  there was definitely a small degree of reality here in their rejection of superficiality, but their conscious objection seemed superficial in itself.  of course i am superficial as hell, especially then and enjoyed pretending to be normal for a minute, despite my schizoid drug induced psychotic personality disorder’s ‘outside looking in’ perspective.  there is culture there that is not completely obsessed with the image driven falsity of the rest of la. 

the rest of la:

gay and expensive, but worth seeing for the experience

stoney’s debaucherous court of self-destruction:

 one of a kind as always and enjoyable beyond any measure.   

a lonely wish:

where’s waldo? hint, short bags that were still a deal

Sweet

***editor removal of flagrant picture*****

Well, i started this post looking for a funny cycling picture to add some humor to my rather bland story of an incident related to an earlier post. Of course, in finding this i was compelled to share this golden nugget with my brethren of the blog. this one’s for you guys. stoney, no stall ones up in the heezy.

unrelated to this post’s purpose i wanted to relate my cyclist story. so, i’m flying around town as everyone knows i do, (especially suit– i know how you hate me in the driver’s seat when i’m not stoney baloney) and i see a cyclist coming onto the busy mountain road i’m cruising up. i anticipated his upcoming disregard for traffic law because of the previous story about dumbass cyclists. he runs the stop sign turning in front of me to maintain his speed to get up the hill. now, of course i was all but prepared by my defensive agressive new jersey fuck you driving skills (my only weaknesses being looking out the window and looking at the people i’m talking to) and i yelled “that’s a stop sign” out the window at 45 in a 35. when reached the top of the hill i decided it prudent to pull over and try and reason with this american flag jersied cyclist. hoping to fulfill my duties as a good american, objectors note t. j. our great hypocritical alumnus’ quote, “dissent is the highest form of patriotism, i waited for him.

tj: oh yeah, he liked pure chocolate. he bought as much as he could

surprisingly he reached me fairly quickly and pulled right to the side of my car, hand on my roof. he looks at me and i say, “you know there was a stop sign back there, right? you could have gotten killed out here.” in a wanker english accent, defiling our constitution by wearing the flag as a garment, he responded, “you’re right.” well, as i was about to say something to the effect of “it’s a little different in the states” or something selectively patriotic to the tune of love it or leave it, he interupted with a rude good bye. well, that was the end of the encounter, i almost got a flat pulling to the side of the road to wait for him, but i thought of the irony of the situation in checking the wheels. obviously a good cyclist judging on the speed he took the hill, you would figure he would first, know the rules, second, enjoy the hill climb, and third and finally, not be so gay. i guess i think it’s nice he is representing lady liberty, but nonetheless it’s pretty gay. if he truly analyzed the importance of old glory and the time it was made, as well as refined, he would know that his motherland represents everything we fought against. however, rather ironically, it now represents that which americans fought so hard to rebel against. i guess it all comes down to how gay the age of the nation state has become and always was. if we want to be realistic about it, it all comes down man as beast (ahh, my favorite topic)

while visiting the extremely gay d.c. infected nova, i found a first year secondary school paper documenting a school required event that was possibly sponsored nationally. it was called random acts of kindness week. now, far superior to tv turn-off week, i found great joy in reminiscing as well as disgust in the requiring of such week. while waiting to pick up my buddyon his last day i began talking about high school life at my school with some lady and a beautiful dog panting in his huge coat not made for any climate like ours. She put it clearly in saying, “it’s so different here from virginia. it’s like the cool kids are mean. if you’re nice you’re weird”. in the land of the almighty dollar and the bottom line, as opposed to the equally bad image obsessed west coast, their is no time for southern hospitality because you interfere with making another buck. ever notice when you ask, “how ya doin’ “, people don’t know what to say. they have so long heard it used as a statement rather than a question that it shocks them, stuttering out a response after you wait seconds for one. anyway, this post did not go in any direction i intended, but i am resolved to invite my fellow brothers of the cough to participate in random acts of kindness. in now way am i suggesting you do not already act in kindness , but i hope you will join me in spreading love at your most busy and difficult time.

if you don’t well, that’s your bag baby, but i hope you will join me in search of self-improvement.

on another totally unrelated side note, stoney, i was reminiscing with roughty about blasting the curveball you tried to sneak by me at the monticello fields. what a cowinky dink– monticello–sweet.

and, i’m slumping in the drunken firemen’s softball league of champions at a dissapointing .667, but i’ve been shagging plenty out in the cornfields and ripped my first inside the park homerun of the year though it’s in question by my harshest critic– good ol’ i me mine. i would mark it as excellent base-running and terrible rag arms though it’s in the book as a giddyup.

that’s for you, suit. that’s my boy, a buffalo soldier. though he plays nothing like me, i enjoy his love of the game and hatred for the business. that’s why he takes as much money as he knows they’ll give him and jogs to first base. all while working on his hitting more than any player in the majors. plus, you know he smokes the pot. sweet.

Editors note: an act of kindness could be removing the objectifying pic at the top, but in the passage of time (seems 70’s-80’s) this violated lady might revel in her beauty and youth. in addition, anonymity is on her side. the backside, oh snap!

2nd Editors note: (other driving weaknesses include, but are not limited too: lighting cigs, talking on the phone, rolling blunts, rolling joints, bouncing a tennis ball against the windshield when bored, searching through my ipod, the combination of up to three of these at a time, improper maintenance as evidenced by the baloney skin i’ve been driving around on for months, and hands at 12 and deez.

Tales from Venice

It is Sunday, around 1 PM, and the beach is crowded outside. On Sundays in Venice, it is very unwise to move your car, or to generally go outside, because of the high ratio of fuckheaded idiots to normal people. The beach is the prime location in any fine city, and Venice is no different, attracting thousands of people on the weekends, clogging the streets, taking my parking spots, and being generally fucking annoying as shit. Having only been here for about 9 months, I am already a tourist-sickened local, although some old heads might want to dispute my authenticity.

I prefer the locals, because the locals keep it real.

Check out my homie Bear. Bear is a savage bum of Venice Beach. He has a family and kids somewhere, or remnants of them in different places, but he prefers the balmy clime of the outdoors and the sanctuary of the public restrooms to any self help manual or regular jobby job.

Bear, post 5-0 interview

Bear sometimes drinks a little too much. One day, I saw some cops talking to him, because he was so fucking drunk, right outside my apartment. His pants were down, but the cops just let him go, because he is a known Gentle Savage bum, not a threat to normal tax-paying citizens.

Bear, on the move down the alley behind the house, about 10 minutes after the first picture was taken

He is not a grubby panhandler, begging outside the liquor store or the ATM for some $$…. but Bear would never turn down the delights of a 40 oz malt beverage, which I have provided him on a number of occasions.

Chompy Tripping Acid

A couple hours before this picture was taken, I gave Chompy 3 hits of acid, and a double-stack E-roll. She came up pretty fast, on account of the extra acid, but I think once she peaked and started to chill, that her inner mellowness helped to calm her down, and let her experience her trip in a calm state of mind. The E-roll helped to put her in an open, understanding mood, and she made a lot of progress in accepting Turbo Dinosaur. Eventually, Turbo was giving Chompy a full-body rub, and Chompy was straight digging it. I would be too if I was tripping balls and rolling my face off. I would too.

Chompy View of Turbo, straight tripping balls

At the end of the day, Chompy and Turbo create one of the most dynamic tag-team dog squads that have walked the earth. First, their names, both extreme and in the Dinosaur family, create an unreal symphony of universal, metaphysical proportions. Chompy Dino and Turbo Dino on the attack squad? Please bitches, prepare to die.

Chompy used to be a bum dog. She loves bums, and it is very obvious that the dumpster used to be her main source of income and sustenance. Once, after Thanksgiving, we were walking down the alley behind my house, when she tried to swallow the breast of a turkey that was under a newspaper, which was about the size of her face. When I got it away from her, after she took a huge bit and had swallowed it, the turkey was blue and had excessive mold on it. She might have thrown up on the bed that night, but one thing is clear: Chompy does not give a fuck.

Turbo used to be a kennel dog, used solely for breeding. I think she bred pit bull fighting dogs, because she is a small dog, which the fighters are, and she was mistreated very much so, which makes me think the people were raising fighting dogs. In LA, if you have a backyard, you can never really leave your dogs out in your yard, because people will come steal your dog to use as a practice kill for young fighting pits. I shit you not. When she got out of surgery, clean from a bath, I looked at her pads, and they were totally see-through, with no calluses or anything, which makes me think she never ever got to go outside, just had to sit in her kennel and wait for the next dog to come fuck her so she would pop out kids of her then-normal V, so her fuckhead owners would make 200$ a pop on her puppies.

In the end, the grace of God and universe protect my domain, and I proclaim unwise any person who would cross these dogs, or be so foolish as to come into my house unannounced and uninvited. To all crackheads in need of a TV, or fuckheads who are out to fuck people up, I dare you to come inside. I dare you.

Sitting for a portrait

Me taking a shit, while tripping on acid