Archive for the 'the eternal battle' Category

Twitchell Wins $50k Gambling, Sights Set on $1MM

Twitchie, you win.

Twitchie, you are a better gambler than I am.

Attention, ladies and gentleman, we have a skilled savage in our midst. Unfulfilled and malcontent with the life of a vagabond pirate, Twitchell has converted his sharp gambling skills and no-doubt overpowering table presence into a cool $50,000 US Dollars, and a seat at a 28-person tournament with a $1,000,000 US Dollar jackpot.

For those of you who don’t know Twitchie, this means much less to YOU than it does to ME.

Twitchell won a 241-person blackjack tournament on Friday, and now has his sights set on the $1 Million Dollar grand prize. It is unfuckingbelievable, and let me tell you a little more about why this is so ridiculous. Twitchie is an uncouth pirate, a degenerate criminal of the 2nd degree, and an all-around waste of space. I don’t say this in a bad way, but in a good way. Purity is a rare and valuable thing, and Twitchell is undoubtedly a pure scoundrel.

I have only one thing to say, and that is, “Good luck in the finals, you fucker.” I have major doubts that Twitchell will be able convert that 50k into a multi-year lifestyle of high living. With 50k of free, fresh winnings in my hand, I would be very very hardpressed not to throw a 3-week party, and I am a lot more responsible than Twitch. In other words, you better keep winning, and hit that $1 million jackpot if you want to keep living the dream. Otherwise, you better save half of that money, because I’m pretty sure the IRS is going to come knocking on your door exactly one year from today.

In the same vein, I paid my taxes today at the last possible minute. I owed $181 in federal and about $31 in state taxes, but the rebate should be nice in a little bit. The special lady got mad refunds, big time….

In the spirit of this day of payment and fear, let us all rejoice in Twitchell’s victory, and envision ourselves in his High Seat of Gambling Skill. To win a tournament with 241 people in it is not a mere act of “chance” or “luck.” That’s called skill, and it’s the very same reason that I have full faith in Twitchie’s ability to win the $1 million. I have a large and varied history of gambling, and believing in the good stuff, and being “sure” that I am going to come away the winner, whether it’s competition or just real life.

At the risk of jinxing the run, I predict Twitchell’s victory fully, the #1 champ, the $1 million dollar winner. I predict the win because I believe in the skill, not for any other reason.

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:

 polskasalesman.jpg

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

Your Loving Father and Chancellor,

 chancellor-matt.jpg

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):

politics, religion, et cetera… . .. . … .. …. .. …. .. . .

(those periods are for you, stonesylvania.) 

i have been delinquent lately and didn’t know about either of stoney’s  guys’ debauchery.  i wish i had, but politics is boring — even when it deals with blowww and hookers.  i won’t vote for this guy any more now than i would have before i knew about the drugs and sex.  until i meet a politician who will look you in the eye and say he’s never made a mistake and he never plans to make one,  i’ll be fairly convinced i could do a better job governing myself than any of them could.  i mean, jiuliani (or “orange” [in honor of his boy’s huge nose candy purchase] julius as i will call him from this day forward) doesn’t even know me.  how the shit is he supposed to know what decisions are in my best interest?  in the old days, way on back in the days of grunting, beards and hunter/gatherers, people would form a society to protect themselves from other societies (not to mention the ravenous sabre-tooth tigers, mastadons, etc.).  i’m sure at the beginning of society, some guy was laying out, chilling in the cut, maybe reading a playboy and minding his own bidness, and the tribe leader said to him, “glork, you better get that firewood.  the rest of us are counting on your lazy ass.”  and glork was thinking, “damn, it was so much better when i could do whatever the hell i wanted to do without all these dicks bossing me all the time.”  but you know what glork did?  he collected the wood.  because he needed the protection that could only be afforded by the society.  nowadays, people don’t think like that, in my opinion.  nowadays, people simply accept the fact that they were born into a society, and so that must be the best place for them to be.  i stand that this is simply no longer the case.  man has tamed the shit out of nature.  we don’t have anything to worry about except snake bites and the occasional shark attack.  furthermore, no human cares enough about me to attack me.  what the shit would they even do that for?  waste of a bullet.  i won’t attack them either.  i can grow shit in my back yard and eat dogs and cats and squirrels and shit if it really comes right down to it.  no reason for me to mess with anyone.  my point?  glad you asked.  society is no longer the same shizzazzle it was back in the day.  individuals don’t really need to protection of a huge gov’t.  besides, when people did need such protection — take hurricane katrina, for instance — where the fuck was our great society?  thumb up the ass, watching the weather channel and drinking beer, wondering where the hell they’d move mardi gras to… and that was george w.  that proves (for me anyways) that society can no longer perform its primary function — protection of its members.  that’s the main reason why i haven’t, don’t and won’t vote.  you be asking yourself, “well then suit, why don’t you just LEAVE and do your own thing if you don’t like the american way?”  well, this is a good point.  i wonder this about myself sometimes, too.  i think it comes down to this.  i gotta get mine.  if i left right now, i’d be broke before i got to a place where i could really do my own thing for real.  you gotta have money to make a real move.  hence, the master plan — participate in society to as minimal a degree as is practicable until i save up some real green.  then, peace out.  merc on to someplace where i can do my own thing without worrying about what anybody says.  part of this minimal participation is making it a priority to not vote.  voting would lock me in.  i would start to follow this shitstem and never be able to break out. 

(ps — when you register to vote, you also have to fill out a draft card.  i knew this was a shitty idea when i was in high school, and so i didn’t fill out the shit.  therefore, i am registered for neither voting nor slaughtering brown people.) ((pps — the gov’t teacher in 12th grade tried to fail me for for not filling out the form, but i aced all her tests, so she didn’t have a leg to stand on.))

as far as breeding terrorism, i’m either too stupid or too smart to question the fact that all politicians have spin doctors (and i don’t mean the “2 princes” spin doctors).  to reference a simile i made earlier, discussing politics is like going all in on a blind hand of poker.  doesn’t make any sense because you know neither what you have nor what your opponents have in their hands.  all i know is this:  the golden rule is faulty.  “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  if we hurt the arabs, then we deserve to get sliced a bit, right?  it’s the golden rule, after all.  if arabs did bad things to us, they deserve to get bombed, too, right?  it is in the golden rule.  but then what?  people all know the golden rule, yet bad stuff keeps happening.  if people keep “doing unto others” based on what has been “done unto [them]”, we’ll all be fucking DEAD!  this is not what i consider a good time.  the golden rule doesn’t work.  it just breeds recursive murder wars.  neither the victor nor the loser is ever happy.  everyone’s still got a bone to pick, and the killing continues.  here’s what i propose.  throw out the golden rule.  adopt another rule.  how about the one jesus came up with?  how about “turn the other cheek”? how about “love thine enemy”?  i mean, america is a judeo-christian nation, right?  it says so right on the money.  that means we all believe in heaven, right?  that means that what we do down here makes no difference in the big picture, right?  sure.  because heaven is eternal, but life on earth is “but a blink of the eye.”  that means, if some asshole wants to shoot us, who cares?  they’ll go to hell, and we’ll be laughing our balls off, playing hop-scotch with john lennon in heaven.  fuck this killing.  for real.  i am over it all for real.  a guy from my high school just got killed.  i was a total ass to him (roids, teenage hormones, popularity… you know), and now i will never be able apologize or slap him a high five and come back on the flip side.  it’s fucked up for real.  and the worst part — he thought he was doing right by his country!  sad sad scene.

so, any of you who have made it through this post are all stupider for having read it.  i award you no points, and may god have mercy on your souls. 

now, go slaughter some people whose skin is darker than your own!!  before they do it to you first.

and don’t forget to vote.  in fact, vote three times.  keep on voting and voting until you cast a fat, brown ballot in your pants.

The Eternal Struggle

Well, folks, the classic “Eternal Struggle” column is back. It’s been a while since we’ve posted one of these, I don’t really know why.

I’m bringing it out with the hardcore…

I present, the 2-legged dog battle.

Faith vs. Dominic

Faith

Dominic

You decide.

Sweet

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

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

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

thomas_jefferson_being_attacked.jpg

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

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

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

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

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

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

sox5.jpg

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

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

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

Czeslaw Milosz, Nobel Laureate in Lit, 1980

this savage polish poet was actually introduced to me as an audio file of the following poem a couple years ago.  the additional sensory excitement made it all the better, but it’s all in the word.  see, we poles do know a thing or two.

 Song on the end of the world

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A Fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through fields under their umbrellas
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet,
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world there will be,
No other end of the world there will be.
Warsaw, 1944

Copyright 1996 by Czeslaw Milosz

The Scowl, A Tribute

Friends and Biatch,

My initial disgust and self-esteem hit by our founder’s placement at the bottom of the barrel has been replaced by firm resolve. The beatles topic, thrown around in the past, always related to music and the circle of friends and so my initial disgust was understandable. Relative to our unsavage bloggery I am still disgusted by the claim of lacking originality and depth. Perhaps my satire goes beyond the understanding of our wise founder. This however, is a separate issue that is related to over-self-awareness and the subsequent sometimes total self-involvement that plagues us all.

The scowl, this one of actor Johnny Lee Miller

**Stoney Note**- Here is a better picture of said scowl.

As the Godfather of my weed soldier with eons more to learn, I birthed the self-proclaimed Stoney. Stoney, you can thank me for this enlightened self-deprecating, self destruction that you now embrace. Without my gentle guidance i wonder where our Prince might have gone.

?

 

Peer pressure is a motherfucker.

As Stoney may or may not know, all of us have a great reverence for him in different ways. In retrospect I have come to realize its manifestation in this endeavor. My banter has escaped him, I know, in my writings because of the sensitive relationship that he and I have come to have with our tested brotherhood. The full details of it are only known to one other. This post was started in defensive passive aggressiveness, but after reflection, has become a tribute and hopeful vehicle for introspection.

My first experience of Stoney was one of jealous and moral ridicule. The quote, “I bet you I can have three girls in here in 30 seconds” and subsequent success, I thought, pitted us on opposite sides of the eternal struggle. With the future understanding of my brother’s psychological cogs I have better comprehended our initial personal encounter. Because of my own insecurities and romantic moral inflexibility, I rejected my brother’s bid to partake in the then sacred ceremony of ganja smoking.

Of course, our friendship blossomed through the beautiful bud and then spawned another to create the original Minstrels. This band of self-aware and insecure merry-men grew and shrunk as others had the patience to get beyond our aloofness and penetrate the unintended exclusive group. The Eastern-American modern jazz band is now defunct, though it survived the petty quibbles of all of its members, only to be destroyed by the individual paths its members took. It was tried and tested in so many ways, including two yokos, one early on and properly addressed, one later, that allowed the small fissure to fester and explode into near total destruction, and another of my own insane creation of true love, displacing feelings of another on a innocent stranger caught in the midst of the tornado.

This forum, organized by our truest sensitive savage, perhaps in hopes of reunion has allowed for us all to once again come together despite the miles that separate us all.

Twitch, though I have never met you, I have heard a few stories and feel some sense of brotherhood in our common experience of the Prince’s rakishness, but look forward to learning about and experiencing someone who is so close to someone who is so close to me.

In closing, I would like to say in the tradition of full disclosure that you former minstrels have been victims to in the past, I love you all dearly.