Reconcile Our (Trade) Differences

For the last 3 days, or ever since I really caught on to the Great American Blog Revival, I have been wracking my brain for some shit to come up with.

Make fun of my friends and Stonies. This worked for the first 9 months of the blog, but history has proven this an inferior strategy for generating views. Too many inside jokes for non-Stonies to get into.

Complain about how shitty my job is. This worked for the first 9 months of the blog, but because I have a new job that is not shitty, this doesn’t work anymore either.

Talk about how messed up I get/ used to get. This one never gets old to me, but to other people who don’t know me, I think they take these posts a little too seriously. Yes, we did do that, but we can’t talk about it like that anymore.

Bash, compare and promote Bands. I love music, and will continue to highlight shows and bands of interest.

Come up with stupid lists that have no point. I’m doing that right now, but just without numbers. Please think of them as talking points, but not numbered.

Scour the internet for the freshest videos and pictures. Roughtonius unearthed some internet gold….where is Roughtonius anyway? (see first talking point [he’s taking it up the butt]).

Talk about politics. I am tired of useless politricks. Over the past year, I have moved ideologically from the medium left to the center. I don’t believe in the government helping people out so much anymore, if you want to be cold about it. Is global warming really real? In the end, I don’t really care.

Out with old, little bitches. There’s a little sum-up. From now on, expect less of the old and more of the new. What’s the new? I don’t know yet, because we’re not quite there. I do know that I am still a neurotic ball of rotten garbage juice. I may have fermented a little, but that’s just going to get you more fucked up off my shizzle.

I have been considering promoting a new group identity. The Stonies, as it were, have totally abandoned and fucked the cause right up its powdered ass. Right there, in the balloon-knot. You know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, I think a new identity would be cool. SWS will always be SWS, not that we have any long-timers or anything. Like the Wu-Tang has the killer bees, NWA is the most dangerous group, and……Busta-Rhymes has Flip-Mode?!?!

No but seriously…fuck all you bitches, for real. Bunch of no-good panty-waist slack-jawed dumbfuck hillbillies. Useless.

PS- Digi-cam in the house now. Maybe I’ll throw up some pictures about how to keep it real on the West Coast. East Coast is for pussies!! And bitches!!!

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.

Bow to your Master, except Suit, I need a Dr.’s Appointment

Well, neophytes, mongloids, troglodytes, and our readers, ol’ dank has done it again– 
Er got it done for him by his friends.  You are now reading the words of a future ex-masters student sure to be defamed and broken by the iron hand of american higher education.  Well, by iron hand, i more like mean crippled grip that lets the waste of the future generation slip through its fingers and into the bowels of bullshit.  I must tell all you little stonies that if your heart desires titles, respect, publishing outlets, and degrees in higher higher education simply wait for your good buddy to do it and then ride his coat-tails.  This is the stoney way.  It goes back to the beginning of time and only the savage can guiltlessly ride the wave of others’ success and call it their own. 

Stoney himself cheated his balls off of my econ exam one time for a 65.  Except he was too lazy to do it well and fell short of my 66.  Then we walked 20 yards out the door and convinced ourselves that tests are illegitimate (arguable) and that tests aren’t real (even more likely) and neither is the world–all over a big fat boombalatty. 

Roughty is currently in his seventh year and is a sophomore.  Twitch, never went to school because he could not tear himself away from his mother’s teat and has been home-schooled for fear his mothers always says-quote-They’re all gonna laugh at you.  Suit, well Pet World here we come.  I think we gotta get a few piles of dog food for me to lay on while you take care of the bidnaz.  I’ll just write some poetry and sneak you cigaweeds in the back by the dumpsters. 

 Well, I’m still sitting here at work waiting for somebody to tell me what to do.  This will be my eighth consecutive hour of waiting for directions while i get paid for this bloggity blogerfification.  I just want to let you all know that you can pursue graduate work by never going to class, never reading books, never staying awake when there, never stopping smoking weed, never trying, and always, always giving it your worst. 

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.   

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. 

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. 

                                  

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

A Message From Our Sponsor: 

“Do you want to get fingered or do you want to get fucked?” Come on down to Funtown Auto. 

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:

 

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

Your Loving Father and Chancellor,

 

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):

The Guillotine? Please, Biatch

I’ve got one hand to type with, so it won;t be much.  My one hand however will blow your proverbial loads with the profundity of my blogging wizardry.  just returned from afar and am currently ‘sojourning in society’ (name that author) to the desperate delight of all you unsavage settled society sinners.  in this jingle jangle morning without a tambourine i am inspired to waste more space on the blog.  in my absence and natural objective disconnection combined with a previous feeling i must say we have all become lazy.  we have relied on pictures to glitter our stories with extra sensory excitement.  with that said, here’s some of that…

For all of us Americans.  Yippee kay yay motherfuckers.  oh yeah, james marshall served in the 101st till he broke his leg on a jump.  Currahee! i know i celebrated in true american fashion on white man don’t pay your taxes day–i blew shit up.

p.s.  i’m just going to start Dankknuggets’s weekly music video.  it will however be more like whenever i get to it and i’ll prolly get tired after like three.  oh, zack kim is retroactively part of this mini series, so i guess there’s one left.  well, here goes…

p.s.s. just cause i’ve been out of contact for awhile– roughty, you’re a bitch.  and who the hell is gn?  and once again, roughty, you’re a bitch. 

 check below too, related but not the same.

Under The Radar

Under The Radar, or “UTR,” is a very important concept to understand and implement, if you are of a similar mindset to me. I’m not sure exactly how to pin down my “mindset,” but at this job, I’m pretty lazy and like to do the bare minimum. I’d like to add that it wasn’t always like this at my job; when I first started, this was my first job, I was gung-ho, blabla….but after a year and a half, I have concluded that my best option is to keep my head down and do what I’m told.

UTR means that you do your job right the first time, and that no management wants or needs to talk to you day-to-day. You’re doing your job, everything goes up on time, no mistakes, whambamthankyoumam.

I have touched briefly on this concept early in the blog, but wanted to outline some key points of achieving and maintaining Under The Radar status for the neophytes and job-seekers out there.

1. Show up on time every day, and do your job. Lateness and skipping work leads to other people doing what you usually do. If other people can take care of your bullshit when you are there, why do you need to be there? Come to work every single day on time, and you are literally more than halfway there to being UTR.

2. Don’t make mistakes. Mistakes create confusion and scrutiny. Fingers usually end up pointed at the person below you, so if you are at the bottom, which you probably are if you are reading this blog, then you should not fuck up, so nobody is pointing their finger at you.

3. Maintain professional distance from your coworkers. When you become friends with your coworkers, keep in mind that you spend more time with them than with you do your significant other, or roommates. When you bring someone from work into your life, and show them how wasted you get, or how many steroids you do, they are going to automatically take that knowledge with them to the workplace, and it will affect their view of how you do your job. It is most wise to create a firm, though friendly, wall between your job and your real life. Work-related BBQs and the occasional happy hour with the gang are different than becoming homies with DW from sales and doing coke at the bar with him. When you cross that line, it is impossible to come back.

4. Don’t be the go-to guy. The go-to guy, in my experience, always has 2x as much shit to get done as the normal guy. Why be that person? Are you really getting paid that much, or do you just take THAT much pride in your shithole assistant position? It is important to create distance between yourself and the management nexus, which creates and distributes the given workload.

5. Build relationships with people who support similar UTR mindsets. If you are in an office with 1/2 worker bees and 1/2 UTRs, why would you want to be friends with the workers? Fuck them, they are not doing it right. A spiderweb network of UTR assassins creates a safety net of similar-minded people who can back you up when and if necessary.

6. Create a certain aura of mystery around your duties. If nobody knows what you are doing, then how can they talk shit on you? When you look busy, but nobody knows what you are doing, people will usually give you a nice little bubble of privacy, so that you can carry on in your mission to underperform as strongly as possible. In an earlier post, I mentioned frowning. A good frown on your face for more than 50% of the day should be enough to convince people that a) you are busy working and b) whatever you are doing sucks, so nobody else wants to do it.

That’s pretty much it. Come to work, do your job, be friends with people who are also into slacking (but don’t buy weed from the same dealer), and don’t put yourself into a situation where you are the “Golden Boy.” The thing about Golden Boy status is, that it always fades.

I hope my Under The Radar thoughts help you in achieving your goal. If you are reading this blog at work, then it’s a fact that you have at least a little slacker in you. Don’t let the Man take away your slack. That’s a bunch of bullshit.

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

 

 

Presidential Hopeful Bows Out in Disgrace

 “I’m not a rake”;

George Shrub leaving Campaign Headquarters in the middle of the night

 He has retracted his bid for the Presidency in the middle of the night, June 1st 2007, under a cloud of public disgrace and failure.  It seems the Commander in Chiefing was not prepared for the epic battle between right and wrong.  In violating his code of ethics and going back on his campaign promise of outlawing pre-marital sex with life imprisonment, he could no longer vie for the coveted position.  His political rivals quickly attacked his questionable morality, unsteadfast inner fortitude, and in old political jargon, his political wishy-washyness.  Furthermore, the promise of plasma screen TV’s for every American was quickly dismissed when sensitive financial documents revealed his net worth at $187.  Ironically, he spent all of his campaign contributions on phillip morris products, the major soft money contributor to the political slush fund known as the The Committee to Elect a President Who Smokes.  It is even rumored that he participated in free expression this past weekend while retreating in the sin filled capitol of Thailand.  He claims he will return to his father’s oil farm and redeem his sins through stern lecturing, old-fashioned farm work, and a non-indulgent residence.  It is also rumored he invited a one Stoney McStoneystein to join him because of the following’s fondness for stern lecturing. 

In the political vaccum created by dropping out of the clear favorite, as shown by the latest poll of the American public, approving nearly categorically of his arch-conservativism, war mongering and supposed morality, I, Lester von Cherrytree, am annoucing my candidacy.  I hope the public will support my l****al persuasion in their new found distrust of the right.  Published below is my first campaign speech.

It is no longer a time for our fathers to McGovern,

We have the responsibility to alter or abolish the old regime as we see fit for the future.

It is a new time, with new dynamics, that requires the trained but untested wills of children entering the grand forum.

No longer can we caged by familial reliance, unfounded defiance, or blind contrivance.

Only through blistered hands, broken backs, bee sings, and scraped knees will this lingering foreboding be addressed.

As children of the Republic we cherished our leaders and teachers.

We exceeded their expectations with our own resilience in dealing with the slaughtering of innocence.

And as we matured in this world, we were equipped with the instruments needed to understand it’s dynamic.

We must love it and care for it before it’s beacon is extinguished. 

*edited by the CIA  

 

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