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:

**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:

Abdication saves ruler from the blade

Shiiiiit.  I’ve been gone.  I know it, you know it, all of SWS knows it.  I hear it almost daily from Stoney’s filthy face sewer. 

The glory days of summer are over (for the time being) my friends.  All the joy I experienced for writing words laced with daggers, tasers, and cocaine has dropped out the window.  Now when I sit down to this shitbox of a computer, it is to write bullshit about how China’s economy is squeezing Atlas’ testicles, or comparing/contrasting the works of Thomas Jefferson to John Locke.  F U C K I N G   B U L L S H I T.  Heres my comparison for you professor, they are both rotted corpses and both were probably assholes.  Deal with that.

I hate school, always have.  I enjoy learning, but do not feel the need to participate in an institution’s theory of how to learn.  A college degree means only one thing; you put up with four-? years of bullshit and getting fucked by pricks who believe they are better than you.  A degree does not mean you are smart.  See also: Dank, Suit, and Stoney.  I know plenty of college graduates who are complete and utter mongoloids, and I am sure you readers do as well.  It is all about how much shit you are willing to take.

That being said, I am taking the bullshit royally lately.  Mired in group projects with a bunch of knuckle-dragging slackers who cannot perform basic grammatical or mathematic operations has left me increasingly jaded; more so than usual.  Honestly, I have not thought about this fucking blog in quite some time, and yes it shows.  With many calls for the king’s head, I was teetering ever so close to one of Stoney’s false chops, hoping to extort me back into writing. 

However, the king has abdicated his throne for a while to a worthy up-and-comer from the population – Twitch.  I salute you, Twitch for picking up my slack in these dark and dire times.  The king will be back, most likely with a sharper tongue and infinitely more skewed views.  Abdication will always save one’s head from the chop.  More to come at a later date………I promise.

Sincerely,

His Royal Roughtonius of Funkytown.

And this is why you don’t try and mug somebody

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/?rn=49750&cl=3998436&ch=61492&src=news

Please, Please, Please check out the second video as well.  It is the best.  They’re building the army. 

And…

russia’s new bomb

And a little local news…

the tree climbing dog.

now for something pretty good.  sorry no substance.  i’m supposed to have a task here any hour now, so i can’t get writing.  I figured i’d just post videos like our laughably lauded loser blog poster, roughty.

Stoney, the Fairweather fan shittalker

another moronic uninformed post by stoney below.  if he had any knowledge of the game last night, he would know that eli manning was just about the only thing happening in the game for the giants besides plaxico burress and amani toomer.   oh yeah, third stringer derek ward looked fucking good as hell too.  Eli Manning went 29-40 with 312 yards, threw 4 tds and one interception.  Detractors must know that the interception returned for a touchdown was caused by the venerable plaxico burress, 3 tds and 120+ yards, losing his footing on a comback route. 

 Stoney however, prolly does not know what a comeback route is.  I must blow up this idiotic  attack on Roughty and I’s NY Giants.  I was called late last night to talk about whatever it is we stoneies decide to poop out of our mouths at any given moment.  i informed the said fairweather flan, as in without much substance, i had watched a dissapointing loss by the Giants.  He exclaimed, “oh, i was watching a little bit of that”.  Now, to my surprise, Stoney was actually watching a sporting event.  I was not surprised that he did not watch much of it.  You see, dear readers, Stoney has the attention span of a pre-geico caveman and the patience of a snarling rabid dog.  He watches sports only to be one of the ‘boys’  and plug is whiny vagina for a few brief moments with acceptance and masculinity. 

 Anyone who watched the game, even briefly, with the slightest knowledge of football (mine is certainly slight due to my entrenched knowledge of the world’s game and america’s past time) would have recognized the categorical breakdown of the vagiants defense.  This is been the problem for the last two years, none so evident as a night when the offense looked great.  If anyone wants another reason why they sucked, just look at the blank face of Tom Coughlin. The team is beyond his control, but luckily Eli has manned up and taken responsibility as a quarterback.  The defense however, is weak and lost.  Not to detract from the natural ability of Tony Romo, but the secondary (that is everyone but the linebackers and o-line, stoney) is swiss cheese and has been for awhile.  Nonetheless, the Giants will still be the best team ever to play in history and will overcome not only its own obstacles of disorganization, motivation, and injury, but crush the critics of crass cantankerousness.  Now, onto the original motive of my coming out of retirement. 

 wait, one more, tiki barber retired, stoney.  his brother is still playing for your team.

 ‘Your Team’  a quick rundown of Stoney’s ‘teams’. 

Baseball-Yankees, when they win; Dodgers for a sense of belonging

NHL- Red Wings

NFL- Colts, Pats, Bucs,

Soccer-Brasil

if ever unsure, check the column marked ‘w’ and pick the top one. 

To completely emasculate my dear brother, stoney, I must reveal that the ammunition for his uninformed attack came from yours truly.  Before abruptly ending our conversation on his own terms, he double-checked the primers on his shit-talking munitions asking, “so it was the Giant’s defense?”  So, not only was his misinformation blatantly retarded, but also totally gay.  Next time Stoney, don’t smoke dope in the proverbial munitions storehouse. 

On a side note, Twitch, you never staked your claim for your ‘team’.

The list goes:

Stoney-Bucs

Suit- the one with the fastest black man

Roughty- hometown Foreskins

Dank-Giants and any team with fast black men, especially qb’s.

Twitch-?

Thanks for reading, readerous readers, you’re a loser if you think we’re cool. 

This message brought to you by the following:

YO, JOE!

 Who’s ready to get drafted?

Sincerely,

Finally getting paid to do this like you guys.   Done 20 minutes of work today. 

Getting Paid!

school, baseball/football, dentistry and blogistry

this is the first week of school. fucking worst. doing all the work for none of the money as… per… usual. worst. oh well, as we all know, the first week of fall semester means one thing above all others — girls with tans in their fresh threads. yup that’s right. all over the place. william and mary had dorky ass tanned chicks in fresh threads. when you saw them, you were like, “hey, how did that roast turkey escape from the window of boston market?” now, i’m at a dif. place and the ladies are way dif. way hotter and… wait for it… younger.

you know it’s bad, but it feels so right. my mind’s telling me no but my body, my body’s telling me ye-e-es. (if you don’t know this line from the classic rkelly song, i’ll bet you had zero darkies in your whole high school. yup.) so, that’s what school’s about. sitting here and working and staring at 18-yr old girls… sad and deplorable, i know, but it’s what i’ve been reduced to and, truth be told, i’ll bet you fucks would do the same goddam thing. uh-huh.

braves are playing terribly. i think i’m going to have to say that this may not be their year. i hate to be pessimistic, but i don’t want to fool myself either. they’ll have two great games, and then 2 terrible games. they need starting pitching, and they don’t have it. it’s a shame, but i’m taking the long view. if they don’t win it all this year, it’ll make it that much better when they do win it — next year. just the same, with 30 games left, they’re only a few games out of the WC and the Divis., so hope is not lost just yet. nearly lost, but not quite lost completely.

the mets are fucking terrible. i hate everyone on their gay team. i hate their black coach (not cuz he’s black, though), and i hate their speedy baserunners. i hate the mets and i hope their plane crashes. i’m dead serious when i say this. nothing would make me happier than if omar manaya, jose reyes, carlos beltran and david wright got run over by a bus and then gored by a bull right in their respective junks. seriously. they’re so bad, and i hate them. good thing they’re getting destroyed by the phillies every night this week on my tv! pla-zow!!

speaking of soooo bad, i hate the red sux. dankkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk, you know better than to think they were winners. now, it’s crunch time, and manny has gotten some “injury” (aka yeast infection) and papi is too busy looking like a black and even more deformed andre the giant to hit homeruns. … … this is me trying to think of some other redsux to make fun of… … … wait a minute… … … they got nobody else. their team is made up of two power hitters and a million other foreign or geriatric also-rans. i hate the redsux, and they’re getting their just deserts by getting destroyed by the YANKEES two games in a row. bla-zam!! a-rod can hit, and manny and papi should learn something about class from him.

i got a fantasy football team, and i’m in a pickle. i am in a league with several of my professional superiors. this is fine, but i know more about football than them, so i’m torn between letting them win for the guan-shi (aka asskissing) or beating them back to the stone age just cuz i can. i think the former sounds more likely, but i haven’t decided. my team includes, among others, the following destroyers:

“Fast” Willie Parker —

Clinton Portis —

Alge Crumpler —

Tom Brady —

and many more villainous football rascals. get ready for a season of destruction, i’ll say to all who challenge me. i prefer baseball but have no problem embarrassing anyone who asks for it on the gridiron as well.

what i’m really looking forward to about football season is a) colder weather and b) fishing. the summer sucks cuz it’s hot and it’s hard to make the fish bite. when it gets a little cooler, i’ll get back to my main aquatic pastime, and then the deluge of fishing pictures will begin anew. prepare yourselves while there’s still time.

two nights ago, i broke off my toof. it broke off fo rizzeal. for the previous three days i had thought i had something between a couple of my teef, and i had been flossing like a mad man. then, the other night i was eating some delicious pretzels (honey mustard and onion flava) and felt something strange. i had broke off (and subsequently injested) by own toofus. it was delicious as it, too, was coated with the honey mustard and onion flava’d powder, but when i put my tongue into my toof’s former place of residence, i felt nothing but a terrible sink-hole. my toof was, how shall i say this, gonnnnnnnnn!!!!!!! ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!! it was so freaking scary. i was so freaked out. i thought my whole head was going to implode or something, and i’m almost sure it had nothing to do with how blazed i was. just the same, i went to the dentist the next day, and he told me that i had to get a crown… so i did… now i have spent 800 bizones, and i feel nobetter than i did with my old (obviously flawed) toof. this brings me to the main point of this paragraph. i have no idea what dentists are all about. on the one hand, i think it’s good to take care of this stuff before it gets out of hand (as in this particular case) but at the same time, why would you go to the dentist if your toofuses don’t hurt? after all, if it ain’t broke… (you can finish this sentence, surely). in my case, it was broke. it being my toof. and now it’s back. i have a dynamic, space-age toof now, and i will chomp the fingers of anyone who questions my oral hygiene. fyi, this is what a crown looks like

don’t question me when i say that i will verily chomp upon your fingers with my radioactive toof of fury.

last topic for the day — blogs. i was teaching class, and one of my students was saying, “well, you can’t believe anything you read on blogs anyway.” i replied, “sure you can. you just have to read the right blogs.” this was my gut reaction, and i would stick with it. blogs are only as reliable as those who write them. in our case, i think this is a bit different. we don’t write this shit because we want to convince people that we are a) smart or b) cool. in fact, most of the time, these blogs are dedicated to our real loserocity. this is, i think, what makes our blog different from the blog-herd currently polluting the web. everyone else is out there preaching about this or that important issue but really saying very little that matters at all. we are talking about pegasii, tv shows, fake marriages, and other meaningless, non-sensical bullshit, but at least what we’re saying means something to us. i mean, at least when stoney writes something, he knows roughty, twitch, dankklkkkiel and i will like it. when i write something, i know they will like it. when roughty writes something, he knows we’ll like it. when dankkkkkkkkkkkkkk writes something, he thinks that we’ll like it, (and though he’s usually wrong, we like him anyways sometimes). so, my point is that dankkkkkkkkkkkkiel is cool even though his blogs are not, and we are all losers who write the worst, best blog in the galaxy. just kidding. this blog sucks, and nobody should ever waste their time reading or writing anything for this crap-chunk.

[shit aint working right]
yall know…

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.”

(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.

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. 

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