Archive for the 'drunkeness' Category

Happy Birthday Roughty

a little waste of time…i’m sure your ending would be a little different to the night, but not by much.

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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:

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**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:

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Got milk?

Mmmmm, milk.  It’s delicious.  I used to think everyone drank milk at the rate me and my family did, however it turns out a lot of people either do not like it, or cannot handle it.  Both these groups of people are non-savages.  Milk is delicious bovine nectar, here to quench my thirst, kill my hangovers, and ease my mind.

We all remember the, “Got Milk?” ads, and all the puns that were made on them in the mid-90s.  Yeah, they might have been stupid, but the message was real.  If your bow-legged ass had drank some whole milk between the ages of 3-5, maybe you would be a couple inches taller and be able to reach the steering wheel.  Its true, milk does a body good…

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There are kids who claim they don’t care about anything, and only their music, or their poetry can cure their ills.  WRONG!  Fucking retards.  These are the kids who mommy and daddy have to drag to the dentist every other day because junior wont brush his teeth.  Or little Jimmy has to go to the dermatologist again because he won’t shampoo his hair and the psoriasis is starting to bother other children.  If parents start these kids lives with proper milk consumption…

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…they can be saved from turning into this…

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Milk really can cure all of society’s ills, just give it a chance.  Fuck peace Lennon, it got its chance.

However, it seems like Japan needs a crash course in milk, quick.  Japanese arcades have recalled arm wrestling games. 

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Do you have what it takes to not shatter your arm?  Only 5,000 yen per play!

How weak do you have to be to break your own arm against an arcade game?  Isn’t this the country that spawned martial arts?  You’re slipping Japan.  Send in the reinforcements…

Bring on the milk!  That’s a full gallon!

This arcade game style punishment reminds me of my last trip to a video arcade; the site of the, “unpleasantness”.  I was wrecking, “Time Cop” and may have gotten a little carried away when the helicopter bombed my ass.  “Honestly officer, the next thing I remember is seeing red, waking up with police tape all around me, and Chuck E. Cheese lying in a pool of his own blood.”  I was lucky to get off, because if I have learned anything from Law & Order, it’s that insanity defenses rarely work, Jack “Attack” McCoy is surprisingly dapper in a real life courtroom, oh and bringing fake ballistics reports to the interrogation will get even the most hardened criminal to fold.  

I really hope they do not keep these games out of Japanese arcades for long.   The Japanese have already taken down Godzilla, yet how are their kids supposed to train for a Sylvester Stallone rampage?  See how you like it Japan, when Sly rolls in on his big rig, and snaps everyones arms because they don’t drink milk, and this game was taken out of circulation.  Trust me, it will happen.  Will you be prepared?

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Mets fans are lethal

Well, last night snapped the Mets’ four-game winning streak as they lost to the Dodgers, 6-2.  Furthermore, as this was a nationally televised game, the sting was that much more biting.  It’s baseball though, one out of 162 games, no big deal right?  Yeah, in some respects, I suppose. 

Yet, as a die hard Mets fan each loss tortures me a little.  I had just enough booze in my system, and the right mixture of douchebags in the vicinity to morph from my mild-mannered alter ego, into “Roughty”.  “Roughty” will embarass you in front of your girlfriend by ripping your popped collar, yanking out your gelled hair, peeing in your daquiri, then taking her home.  It’s been done before. 

“Roughty” was always the person who was arrested all those times, and lately I have been able to control his presence because I don’t want to go to a Richmond jail a lot more than I like your girlfriend at closing time.  So naturally, I kept him at bay, had a shot, paid my tab, and walked home; all the while cursing under my breath the verbal beratement I was sure to receive from Stoney becuase of his fickle and convenient love of the Dodgers.

But one Queens resident takes Mets losses to heart.  Read.  That is right.  The title is, “Losin’ Mets made me kill my mom”. 

Michael Anthony, 26, was frustrated with the Mets’ 6-5 loss to the Washington Nationals in the second game of Saturday night’s doubleheader when he started arguing with his father, according to a statement he gave police.”

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(File photo of a Mets fan getting ready for a little, ultraviolence)

Ok, I can understand his anger.  I mean, who doesn’t get pissed when their team loses to the Nationals.  They are even worse than the Expos were.  While the Anthony household sounds like a replica of Mayberry, I would venture to guess that Michael and his old man were boozing quite heavily.

We started fighting and my mother jumped in,” he said, adding that she took a knife from the kitchen of the Fresh Meadows home. “I took the knife from her and it got stuck in her head.”

Once again, seems reasonable.  The Mets just lost to a garbage team, the old man is on his case, and now mom comes leaping in with a goddamn butcher knife.  In my experience, there is no family disagreement that cannot be resolved by brandishing a weapon.  Unfortunately, mom had to ruin the fun and put her head in the way of Michael’s stabbing motion.

Fischman then fled to the bedroom, where Anthony said he thought she was going for a weapon in a dresser drawer. “I grabbed a weight from the top of the dresser, swung it, hit her and she fell to the floor,” Anthony said.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa.  The bitch ran into the bedroom after getting a knife stuck in her head?  I know the mothers of Mets fans are known for spewing out superior sons – Spartan mothers come to mind here – but, holy shit.  If I get a knife stuck in my head, I’m cashing in my chips and waiting for my direct flight to Hell.  I will lose the will to fight.  But not this woman.  Unfortunately, her mad dash alarmed her son, who then clobbered the woman (with a knife stuck in her head mind you) to death with his heaviest barbel.

Now, this barbel could not have been more than 5 pounds.  He must not be doing any serious lifting if he feels threatened by his elderly mother, who again, has a fucking knife stuck in her head.  I am a huge Mets fan, but this Michael Anthony is my new hero.  (Bonus points for having two first names).  My only wish is that the AP does a follow up in depth look at how Michael reacts to a Mets loss while watching it at Rikers Island.  I smell a Pulitzer.

METS UPDATE / BRAVES DEMISE

NL East standings as of 8/27/07

NY Mets (73-56): 1st place

Philadelphia Phillies (67-62): 6 games behind

Atlanta Braves (67-64): 7 games behind

THE BRAVES ARE TOAST.

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CHIPPER JONES UPDATE:

Hey Suit, you know how you love that ass grabbing jerk-off, Chipper Jones so much?  Well guess what he named his son?  Shea.  That’s right, Shea.  As in Shea Stadium, home of the Mets.  Seems like he wishes he was playing somewhere else.  But fuck him, we don’t want his bullshit. 

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There there, Suit.  I know it’s sickening.

Pegasus, Dank, L.A. and other reflections.

I feel like it is some time for reflection. I have just returned home with beer in hand from the corner store, just narrowly missing a vicious storm blowing through Richmond. This is the long awaited L.A. post, however I will begin with a few thoughts about the course this blog is going.

As Stoney has alluded to many times in the previous weeks, my Pegasus post is kicking ass on searches and page views. It’s cool that people are coming to the site, but Stoney and I have come under fire from the other Stonies for whoring out for page views. This cannot be further from the truth. This blog was started as a venue for Stoney and I to bullshit with, but shortly turned into a way for the four of us to have fun and keep in touch when we cannot see each other everyday like old times.

That is all well and good, but we have abandoned that principle, and somewhere along the line the bickering started, like it did so many times during school. We always got over it before, and I have no doubt we will do it again. Let’s get this straight, WE ARE ALL TO BLAME. I’m tired of the bickering.

Furthermore, we have been ganging up on Dank lately, and I will be the first to extend the olive branch. The Stonies all know of the phone conversation I had with Dank last week, and let’s be honest, Dank needed a kick in the ass. I said it, it’s done. Let’s leave Dank alone. For this to work, Dank, you need to thicken your skin homey and not take everything so personally. You have known us long enough, we’re assholes, we’re sarcastic, it’s time you take that into consideration before getting bent out of shape and making rash decisions.

Damn. Sorry for that diatribe dear readers, but we need to get this wounded ship back on course. We will get over this little hump, we have done it many times before, and I am sure we will do it again.

I have been thinking about what I can say about the Stoney reunion in LA for some time now. However, whenever I envisioned how I would describe the experience of seeing two of my best friends for the first time in two years, it never sounded right. I decided it was time to just sit down and write, no matter the outcome. I love the sound of the rain hitting my windows, I am watching the Mets on my computer as I write (they are up 5-0), the Braves are losing 4-2 on the boob tube, and I just cracked my next beer. If there is a better time to write, I don’t know when that will be.

So, will things be different with us upon the reunion, or will it be boozing and smoking as always…

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I have arrived, the Venice Beach sign in the background…

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Here are some reflections on my recent LA experience:

Car rental companies WILL fuck you in the ass. Maybe I am being unfair to LA, seeing as this was my first experience renting a car. But fuck Thrifty. Suit and I were expecting to split our car at the quoted price of $289, yet upon receiving the bill, it had inexplicably increased over 100% to a whopping $619. That’s bullshit. Letters to my Congressman and the California Chamber of Commerce are pending.

The Drawing Room will fuck you up. Now this place is a bar. It’s dark, has shitty (literally) bathrooms, has a seedy crowd of people who tell the best stories, and the drinks are tall, stiff, and CHEAP. Enough said.

Forget playing darts in LA. This shit blew my mind. There are no, I repeat, NO dart boards in LA. What is a drunken Irishman supposed to do with his time? I can understand the reasons behind not giving out free, sharp objects to boozed up degenerates, but where does LA get the nerve? Do you guys think you are more dangerous than any other major city in America? Please.

Yeah yeah, you can argue that I can use those plastic electronic dart boards, but fuck that. You can take those darts and shove them right up your ass.

You want to see a fight? Go to the dog park. Don’t go to Compton, or Long Beach if you want to see a fight. All fights start at the Venice Beach dog park. Seriously. No, seriously. I witnessed threats of bashing in illegally parked cars, and the always common, “I’m gonna fucking strangle you if you can’t control that dog” threat.

Dogs also love to fight there…

Oh yeah, and hot, slightly older women with small dogs will hit on you and your camera skills at the dog park. Or maybe that’s just me…

The dog park is a haven for drinking and smoking of all kinds. As you can tell, we spent a lot of time at the dog park with Stoney’s mutts. But you better believe we were never far from our beer, cigarettes, or trees.

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Trees will spontaneously sprout out of nowhere when you are chasing a frisbee. We Stonies always loved throwing the frisbee around in Williamsburg, so naturally it was an activity that needed to be addressed while in LA.

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However, in my effort to catch an errant toss from Stoney, apparently a tree materialized out of nowhere. I wrecked the shit out of the fence, but never lost my composure, and didn’t even hit the ground after a head on collision.

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Suit’s new arch nemesis is the LA rooftop. Poor, poor Suit. He had no idea what he was getting himself into on the first big night of boozing and blunting. Let’s view a progression of Suit’s night shall we?

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It was not looking good after a day of getting fucked up and eating cheesebugers.

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BAM! Sorry, Suit. You knew this little golden nugget was going up, you were warned. This is classic not only because it is a perfect picture of the incident, (notice the culprits here- Budweiser and cigarette) but because Suit NEVER gets fucked up to the point of selling Buicks like this; or he never let us see it before.

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Suit, you are toast.

Apparently, 411 is not a taxi service. We had just gotten blazed at the Sonic Youth concert at the Greek Theater in North Hollywood. Walking the mile back to the car at the Drawing Room was not an option. Stoney then proceeds to take my phone, call 411, and yell, “Yo, we’re at the Greek Theater…pick us up!” You can only imagine his surprise when the operator hung up on him. See also: Stoney spouting expletives at the operator as he was dumbfounded to why she hung up on him.

The “Macho Burrito” will end your night. We dines at Campos Taco many times, as it was around the corner, and the prices were right. But after a day in the day, drinking and stinking, the Macho Burrito put this humble Irishman out of commision; along with Stoney’s toilet.

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Breakfast beers are essential to the start of any day. This has nothing to do with LA, this is essential whereever you are. But I have a picture of the first breakfast beer of the vacation.

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Skaterboarding/riding bikes down Venice Beach to get to bars in Santa Monica is a lot more fun that you can imagine. Being in LA, even though I hate the sun, it would be a waste of time to stay indoors. It was fun to get out and check the local freakshow, and get a little bit of exercise.

However, I got more exercise than I bargained for. First of all, because Stoney…

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…got too fat. And I…

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…smoke too much. Stoney had the great idea to skitch a ride on the back of my bike while he was riding his skateboard. For those of you who don’t know, that is me doing all the work as Stoney grabs the back of my bike seat and coasts down Venice. Tough work over the course of almost 2 miles.

I would much rather ride my…

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…than have to go through the torture of pulling Stoney’s fat ass again.

Stoney’s dogs love me MUCH more than him. It’s true Stoney, don’t deny it. Those bitches curled up with me every night, and would fight over who gets the best spot in bed with me. Niiiiice.

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Ralph’s will make all your dreams come true. For those Lebowski fans out there, you will remember The Dude’s, Ralph’s card as his only form of ID. This is where Suit and I picked up all our groceries, and are now full fledged members.

Lady T is a master photographer. Most of these pictures were taken by Lady T. I generally don’t like taking pictures, or carrying around my camera for photo ops. It just seems fake and coerced to me. Lady T is the opposite, so I let her have free reign over my camera.

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Now THAT is a scowl readers. So god damn sexy Lady T.

We suck at skateboarding, but at least we try. There was a lot of skateboarding in Stoney’s alley. Stoney has a better feel for the board, and more balance with it. Yet, while standing still, I can get off the ground, and even flip the board from time to time. I chewed pavement pretty hard one night, and my legs was sore for the next two weeks because I cannot skateboard drunk (or sober apparently).

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Two female dogs WILL hump each other. It was comical on the first day, then it just got a little ridiculous with the amount of lesbian canine humping going on.

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Dodgers Stadium WILL fuck you up. Holy dogshit, Batman. It was viciously hot at the Mets game. We were in Row A on the second tier on the first baseline, just sitting, and baking. The combination of beer, greasy Dodger food, being stoned, and hiking a mile up the stairs almost made Stoney pass out at the game. And of course, the only game we go to in the four game series, the Mets lose. Worst.

Stoney and I are still dead sexy.

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Here are a few more random pictures of our reunion.

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See that light? That’s Stoney’s apartment from the dog park. Just one block from the Pacific Ocean readers.

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Well there it is. The long awaited tour of our reunion. Great times had by all, and we can’t wait for Stoney and Lady T to make it to the east coast, slackers.

live, from venice beach…

… brought to you by the good people at the world wide interwebnet.com, it is my pleasure to bring you the first in what must be a long series of posts regarding the present west-coast excursion.  no pictures this time, as i do not have the apparatus necessary to perform that operation.  rest assured, though, that pictures will be on their way.  consider those pictures to be a tidal wave of destruction rolling directly toward you at the speed of … your … … MIND!

1.  the weed card.

it is real.  for real.  no, seriously, the shit is for real.

2.  liquor.

(+/-) good – you can buy it in the grocery store.  bad – it is very pricey.

3.  ladies.

the hot/nothot ratio is favorable.

4.  weather.

warm and sunny in the sun.  breezy and amazingly comfortable in the shade.  sun is so close that roughton is now red as a tomato.  now, when he becomes drunk he looks even more irish than usual.

5.  demographic and sociological data.

this is all pretty sketchy.  i am not a trained ethnographer.  and when you smoke too much, it’s hard to tell the difference between some types of people.  plus, i have not been into the downtown area of l.a., and i expect to see some differences.  in venice beach, everyone seems to be white, and young, and rich.  everyone is not rich.  that means they all do something to compensate for this lack of being rich.  some of them are straight-up fakers.  (roughty and stoney played doubles billiards with a couple prime examples of this type.)  some of them are really rich.  this makes it easy.  some of them are for real crazy – not dankkkkkkk crazy, but really crazy.  again, this is an easy way to look cool.  come on.  others of the populous are actually cool people.  will report a cool/loser ratio as soon as i can.  but just so you can know, people like you are in the loser category.  read a blog once… loser for life.

ok, it is now time to plug the upcoming submissions.  roughty and stoney think it would be soooo neeeaaatttt to get lots of other dumbasses reading this blog.  that’s right readers.  i know you all are like, “woohoo, roughty, that guy is sooo kewel,” and “ooohh stoney, soooo awesome!”  wrong.  wrong.  wrong.  these guys talk about their blog for real.  this blog is like a mickey mouse lemon ade stand.  come on.  anyway, this means that we’ve talked a lot about future blogs.

1.  vlog #1.  topic will be your friend and mine, dankkkkkkkkknugs.  get ready for this shit.  it’s on.

2.  photo documentary.  (probably more than 1)

3.  reflections on sonic youth

4.  me rubbing roughty’s face in the fact that his sorry ass mets got creamed by the dodgers and that the braves will be beating them in the nl east.  and the fact that all the mets broke their legs.

5.  liquor will make you vomit in los angeles in the same way it will in virginia.  i know it comes as a surprise, but you should believe.

6.  john from cincinnati is set in a fictional location – i.b..  does not exist.  now what?

sorry for this brief and poorly organized post.  soon it will be coming in thick.

lyric of the week:      “I’ll sweep you off your feet,

With a box of chocolates,

But watch it.

‘Cause it’s really

Balled up hog shit.”

these are my conclusive observations.  the rest will need more time to process.

adios.

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. 

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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:

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