Archive for the 'rugged' Category

Hem-Dog: Getting Fucked Up to Deal with It

Ernest Hemingway is my homie. Literally, we are connected in a deep way. For one thing, we have the same birthday, and that’s about all the real things I can think up.

Hem was a sick, sick writer, and if you don’t think that, then you are a retard. He was on the front line of savagery. If you don’t like him because he is too macho and manly, quit whining. If you don’t like him because you think he is a homosexual homophobe, you might be right, but you still can’t touch him. If you think he was a misogynistic drunkard buffoon living out his fantasies through the destruction of the people around him who loved him…you’re probably right. But, that still doesn’t change the fact that the words he wrote changed the way people think about stories and characters, and that he was larger than life, and that he changed my life in a huge way.

Shout out to my Hawaiian Home-Dog Captain Walt P. Wenska. WORD UP.

What the fuck was Hemingway doing? He went to war, but he couldn’t fight because he had poor vision “supposedly.” So he drives an ambulance, gets his leg blown the fuck up, and acts like a badass, dragging someone back to base out of the fight, Forrest Gump style. Savage acts of heroism in the face of death? CHECK.

After that, he went home to Minnesota and started working at a newspaper. His mom was a psycho religious bitch, and they hated each other, and he left. “Soldier’s Home”… I don’t remember the lines, obviously, I’m at work. But it is sick. Alienation, depression, talk about existential fucking dilemmas, Hemingway was down like Charlie Brown. Except it adds a little to the existential flavor when you have been covered with other people’s blood, seen bodies of young people ripped to shreds by machine guns (an exciting new invention of the times) and just had an overall mind-blowing, world-shattering experience.

Anyway anyway anyway, at the bottom of all these, we have Hemingway. What was his favorite past time, may I ask? Other than hunting, fishing and writing, Hemingway was a motherfucking Booze Hound. Key West, FL was his spot, and he would walk around town boozing it up, go writing and shit, and go out in the ocean fishing for sharks and other big ass fish. Basically, he lived the American fucking dream. He got paid a shit load of money to write about his adventures, and he became famous and well-read, despite his obvious, painful emotional difficulties and hang ups.

I’ll admit it. I can’t even get my head around this shit. Ernest Fucking Hemingway, I mean…he is the Man, hands down, no questions asked. No questions asked.

If and when I can come up with a cohesive argument about why Ernest Hemingway was the most savage writer of the last century, I will. But today, it’s probably not going to happen.

Instead, let’s go down the old road of putting up pictures to get a point across. Here’s what Ernest Hemingway was all about.

Fishing

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Hunting

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Drinking

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Writing

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Making Babies

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Talking Shit

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Boxing

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Going on illegal rum-running and people-running missions between Cuba and Key West.

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I’ll stop there. The last one, illegal people-running is some ridiculous shit. Let me tell you a story, about a story, that made me realize something about E. Dog. One of his short stories is about a guy in Key West who runs a fishing boat, who also knows people in Cuba. He splits his time between the two countries. When he’s in Cuba, he gets propositioned to do a people-smuggle mission from Cuba to FL, and he accepts. The deal was brokered by a shady Asian, and blablabla, we are on the boat, on the coast of Cuba.

The character (an obvious projection of E-Dog) pulls up to shore, and gets all the Cubans loaded onto the boat, there’s like 10 of them or so. Then, he goes out to a different boat to meet up with the Asian dude to get his money. The Asian dude gets on Hem’s boat and gives him the money for taking the people across to Key West.

Then, after Hem gets the money, he kills the Asian guy by strangling him to death, and then takes the Cubans back to shore (Cuba), and makes them get off the boat at gunpoint, because there’s no fucking way he is about to smuggle some goddamn Cubans back to America.

Sickness.

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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.

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.     

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Taken after his royal decree last night

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Suppressing the Truth

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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. 

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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 😉

Asssination Attempt on P.M.

The drama of the foreign invasion has escalated in the last few hours as P.M. Leopold Sunburner was attacked by a would-be assasin while giving his second decree.   

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The identity of the attacker has been revealed.  In a tribute to the long forgotten fighter of injustice, El Kabong, the defiler of the sanctity of the sanctimonious new P.M., was stopped not by security, but the iron hand of Sunburner. 

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His foiling of the attempt was not accompanied with a bum rush of security or the summary execution as expected, but a peace offering.  It seems the P.M. recognizes the assailant as the now dishonored and disgraced former American presidential candidate.  Aligned closely in their political persuasion, they ironically have become great friends and confidants.  A proposed consulship and extermination of the exiled King is rumored to have and still be considered. 

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We, the Royal Press, will continue to bring you the continued late breaking newsworthy news.  Heil Sunburner.       

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Foreign Invader Takes Over Blogres, Installs New P.M.

Similar to the blietzkreig’s lightning attack of speedy fast quickness, a foreign invader has conquered vacantly empty Blogres.  The invading invaders advantageously took advantage of King Stoney’s debaucherous debauchery on a weekend retreat into the depths of the dark wooded forest of ghouls and plentiful fairy dust.  The Minister of Defense, Roughty McRoughton, and his army of little green Alesman sensed the plot afoot and attempted to meet the insurgent infidels but was impeded by the River of COX’ s Dam break and flooding of the southern swamps of the South end of the Kingdom.  The sole availabe resource to meet invader was the King’s Huntsman, SuitYourSelf the Busy, but the woodsman was off hunting the woods for herbs, berries, fish, and small game.  Now, all that stands in the invader’s way is the Blacksmith, Twitch the White, also the Court’s Rebuter empowered solely with the title of Premier Commenter.    

Travelin’ by day in their own land, the conquerors arrived in the early hours of Blogres and seized the Book of Savagery–the incredulous edict of the King and his court.  With this powerful empowerment the invader gained total controlocity in the unthinking subjects longing for the gift of endowed savagery.  They will now listen in dumbblankfaceirification to the holder of the Book of Savagery. 

His Awesomeness, Chancellor Ixniamak, the head of the new government, has issued his first decree:

Mouth-breathing, grass smoking, wannabe Fuckenstein polska opposition like this will be eliminated:

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Do not fear, my children, I will be victorious in battle

Your Loving Father and Chancellor,

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We, the Royal Press, promise to bring you all the details.  We hope we can bring you an exclusive of the Chancellor’s ceremonial Sulfuric Acid baby-head baptismal.  We will exploit all means to bring you the most suffering, death, and destruction of any news organization.   

–Morel the Destroyer–

Brought to you by Apple, Pickers of the Tree of Knowledge, (censored by the Committee to Kill the Human Spirit):

Roughty’s Random Weekly Video. Week 4: A French savage? Who would have thought?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I underastand it is not Friday, the designated day for my weekly video.  However, I have been indisposed with my sister’s graduation.  As a side note, Colin Powell was the speaker at her graduation, and surprisingly, he was quite funny.

So I will amend my slacking by posting my weekly video a bit late.  This is of a French rugby player named, Sebastien Chabal.  France’s rugby team is shit, however with this guy on the team, I am surprised the opponents don’t forfeit out of fear for their lives.  If for some reason my ninja powers failed me, I would definately hire Sebastien as my bodyguard.  There is no bullshitting with this guy, he is out for blood.

I saw this video at the end of last week, but today I learned that the second guy Sebastien demolishes broke his jaw, and just had surgery to wire it shut.  He is now eating out of a straw.  Savage.  Goddamn rugby is awesome.  Kick his ass, Sea Bass.