In a conversation yesterday between stoney and i while we were both supposed to be working, we had laughed about the lockjaw incident and i jibed stoney about his own oral malfunctions. He did not find the remark too funny, so in the tradition of assholedness and shittalking, i will relate his story. Our dear stoney can sometimes get so excited by something he may be prone to drooling at the mouth as he snarles in excitement. This however, is no malicious snarl like a rabid beast, nonetheless, it is a snarl of wild excitement where he loses control of his saliva and forgets to swallow. This will usually be accompanied with snorting and mouth-breathing.
Above this minor, occasional loss of control sits the grand pubah of oral malfunctions. Stoney will often be so parched with excited dialogue and excessive smoking that his lips will be covered in a dry white substance that is not the storied mystery cream of another episode. Now i know, everyone’s mouth has been so dried out that they might get a white film in the corner of the mouth, but this is by no exageration a veritable caking of dried saliva that covers the entire lips like cream lipstick. This could be construed as an isolated episode, but i assure ye readers with full confidence in my truth-telling that it is a perenial event.
One episode stands out beyond all the rest. Sitting in a frat room with some friends and some fiends, we were extremely overcrowded as many had seen that the people with the weed had showed up. Stoney, Suit, and I being the carriers of the sacred nuggets, and at this point, Stoney emptying his bank account after mine had dried out from the Fall and being the true carrier, we proceeded to smoke weed per usual. Well, the crowded ridiculousness and gayness of the group soon, as it always did, got to us, but none more than stoney. Looking over at stoney i see he had proverbially just taken a bite out of a piece of wedding cake too big for his face. well, as i discreetly let him know, he was already noticing a huge bump on his arm. In my not so discreet way, everyone looked at stoney and hence the bump on his arm. As a room full of questions pummeled stoney his bumps multiplied with every ‘oh, my god’ and ‘what’s wrong with you’. In front of everyone, his hives as we came to understand just kept going until he was forced to leave. Of course, i had the bag cause i was the only one who can roll and suit and I continued to smoke stoney’s bag until we met with him shortly after.
On completing this story, i have realized that it is poorly written and extremely unfunny. I hope though at least the stonies will have a smile at the memory of a suffering white lipped leper.
With that said, i’d like to move on to another topic. If anyone is looking to get paid to do nothing at all, i have two recommendations for you. Temp or substitute teach in northern virginia. it seems that the employers are as worthless as the citizens of this forsaken land. or, maybe i’m just as worthless, but that is besides the point. i have sat at this job all week and have yet to be explained my responsibilites. though i’ve only made 13 dollars an hour, i still have not done any work. that’s about 500 bucks to do jack shit. Stoney can sympathize as we’ve both done nothing and gotten paid. I ask you, our readers, are you as lazy and worthless as us? i know the other stonies are just as worthless, but they’ve prolly been busy. however, i’ve been too busy watching tv on my computer to talk to them.
… to roughty’s masterful la blog. absolutely nothing omitted that i feel worth mentioning. in fact, he went into detail in places i would have left out completely — namely, my vomiting incident. you loyal readers (who are apparently enthralled with pegasii {search term}) had grown accustomed to seeing me stone sober, cradling lovely trout, perch and bass in my adept fishing (and masturbating{search term}) arm. this is only half the real suityourself. the other half is the drunken, light-weight puking on stoney’s roof. by the way, i doubt seriously that stoney has bothered to drag a hose up there and wash that shit off. hope those infamous la pigeons were hungry for roast beef sandwiches, bong ashes, whiskey, coca-cola and half-digested xanax(sp?) {search term} pills, cuz that’s what they are eating off the roof right now.
did i say there was nothing i can add to roughty’s blog? well, nearly nothing. i would feign go into some detail about the culture — if it can so be called — in los angeles, califreakia. let me start (as i do every day) with the weed sitch. it is, as i stated earlier, all true. you can buy it if you have a prescription. i don’t have a prescription, so i could get busted out there as easily as i could right here in good ole virginny. stoney, on the other hand, is immune. he’s legit. too legit, in fact, to quit. leave it to the rich blond fucker to have all the luck that the rest of us working men (just me) really deserve. i have these pictures of ornately arranged bongs {search term}, blunts {search term}, rolling papers {search term} and big, fat, kine bud nuggets {search term} that i should post as soon as possible. not today. no camera. you can continue to wait in vain. the weed is chron-drizzle-fo-shrizzle. the youngsters out there are just how they were when george harrison {search term} described them some 40 years ago. dropouts and losers. while sir roughtonious and i were traversing the boardwalk one morning, we walked past this band of raggidy fucks who were between the ages of 16 and 22, probably. they were “protesting” in some way i guess. they all had some shitty cardboard signs that read, “give me money for prescription weed!” these busted-ass looking fuckers all had some mangy white-boy dreads {search term}. you know the kind. they’re dreaded at the ends, but just real teased-looking nearer to the scalp. this is because white boy hair doesn’t naturally dread. you have to either put some wax or something in it or work really hard at it consistently for a long while (see Dankkkkkkkkkk’s dreads from long long ago), and these kids had either run out of wax or motivation, cuz they had these fucked up looking dreads, and coupled with their sweat-stained, tie-dyed greatful dead {search term} t-shirts, they suited out as one of the mottliest crews i’d ever seen. i smirked at one of them (see “pffffft,” and he asked me for a dollar. news flash, asshole, if you can’t afford a weed-card, you’re most definitely not going to have the money to support your fledgling tree-habit. here’s an idea for you. try cutting that shit off your head, taking whatever money you begged so far and buy a new shirt. after that, how about getting a job? this has been the bit about the youth culture. i didn’t see too many other “kids” around. most of them were either sleeping under cardboard boxes on the street or eating at restaurants where appetizers cost 400 beezies. needless to say, i did not fall into either category.
now for a little bit on the rest of the society out there. service industry is made up almost entirely of mexicans. as i said before, the kids are either filthy rich or lazy as shit and worthless in both cases. this leaves a huge void in the marketplace for service industry people — people who know how to work for a dollar even if it means messing up that fresh hair-do or breaking a nail. mexicans fill this void. yussir. all the mexicans i saw were pretty nice to me. i didn’t try to bust out the spanish on them. i’m sure they get that enough from tourists just like me, so i just grinned at some of them, exposing my yellowing teeth and my blazed-out red eyes. surprisingly, lots of them grinned back. i am not the most sophisticated guy on the block, but i think their grins were, in general, sincere. could it be that they were happy to be in america and making those big green american dollars? i dunno. i like to think so, but who knows? maybe they just thought if they grinned at them, i’d give them some money or something. maybe they thought i was a movie star… yeah, that’s probably it. yup, that’s the one i’m going with. as far as other people in the la working world, i didn’t really see many. again, most of them are either much too rich or much too poor to be seen in any of the places i visited.
a note on commerce in la, they have pretty much the same type of stores there that we have here. grocery stores, liquor stores, clothing stores, drug stores, electronics stores, home furnishings stores, etc. as always, some of these places are over-priced, and some are more reasonable. however, the most reasonable one out there was much more expensive than the most over-priced on in virginia. likewise, the cost of living is steep. housing is hardly affordable, even for two gainfully employed folks like roughty’s and my hosts — stoney and lady t. just like nyc, la is a place i’d love to live so long as i was dirty-rich. for regular middle-class people, it’s a nice place to visit.
the physical environment was everything i had hoped for in some ways but not as cool as i had hoped in other ways. temperature was perfecto! never too hot. sun always shining. cool in the morning and evening. perfect. sandy beaches and lovely palm trees. some good looking women — maybe a slightly better ratio than virginia. however, i didn’t get to see too much of the country, not-developed areas as i had hoped. i know they exist, because when we went to the greek theater, it was sick-to-deff. lots of wildlife possibilities and such. i feel like cali. is as wild as they say, but i just didn’t get a chance to see it. we stayed in the suburbs of the concrete jungle. next time, i plan to check out all the wild places and make a better judgment after that. as far as animalia goes, i saw some lizards, some pigeons and sea-gulls, a bunch of dogs, a cat inside a window, a crazy shark/ray and that is about it.
enough, for now, on la. now onto more pressing matters — baseball.
braves {search term}are poised and ready to strike out at roughty’s shitty mets (who blew the hell out of that 5 run lead roughty alluded to in an earlier post). dankkkkkkkkkkkkkkk’s redsux are pulling the usual choke-job. stoney’s dodgers have fallen off a little bit. the rest of you need to pick a fucking baseball team, cuz you’re missing out on the best season in generations. get ready, because in two weeks i’m going to be writing about how my beloved braves are in first place and roughty’s favorite player has broken his leg or sustained an equally devastating injury. all i hope is that pedro martinez gets called up to the bigs soon. i cannot wait to see him get shelled by the big bats of the atl braves. it’s going to be dangerous for him, though, so roughty ought to kneel down and say a prayer that pedro doesn’t get killed by a line-drive off chipper’s bat.
speaking of sports, stoney has been awfully silent lately about
michael vick {search term}. maybe he feels bad for always being such a fucking racist who hates all black people. he should. michael vick has been framed, and everyone with half a brain knows it. it’s just that the white man can’t stand a talented black man having any money, so they’re framing him. michael vick is the shit.
if he gets suspended, he’ll just go into seclusion for a couple years and work on his skills like luke s. did in one of the star wars {search term} movies with yoda on degoba. after this, he’ll just have to win three superbowls instead of the 2 he was planning on before. there’s no way he’s going to jail, and if he does, i can smell a “longest yard” three-quel. yall need to stop being jealous of michael vick. just because you’re racist doesn’t make him guilty. if i were vick’s attorney, i would use the self-defense ploy. after all, pits are dangerous.
“if mike got bit, you must acquit.”
now, back to one of my fav. topics — john from cincinnati. as i mentioned before, the show takes place in one “IB.” imperial beach is the southwestern-most city in the united states. i thought maybe it was in la, but no. it’s nearer to san diego, i guess. no wonder stoney and the rest of his idiot friends had no idea what the fuck i was talking about. anyways, the show’s first season is over. the finale was anti-climactic, to say the least. in fact, it was close to a let-down. no secrets revealed, no aliens, no death, no jesus christ, no nothing, really. just dylan mckay and zach morris dicking it up like they did in the early 90s. they are setting us up for a second season, so i hope the numbers allow this to happen. john from cincinnati is the best show you’ve never seen. trust me. how about one more clip just for good measure?
Before I start, I want to mention that I did not include Pink Floyd in the Brit bands. Pink Floyd is classic, but never one of my loves. Pink Floyd, I forgot about you, but I don’t really care that much. Sorry.
The broad scope of American rock makes it hard for me to pinpoint any one thing, or to focus too long on anything. This is going to be a whambamthankyoumam kind of thing.
First, Elvis. Elvis is the fucking King of Rock and Roll. There is no other king. Chuck Berry is there too, but Chuck Berry is not the King of Rock and Roll. Elvis is the King. Without Elvis, I don’t know what would have happened. We would probably have an Elvis with a different name. Elvis, as a red-blooded American rock student, I salute you.
The 27 Club. The 27 Club is an exclusive club, reserved only for rockers who achieve amazing, superstar status through the exceptional qualities of their polyphonic debris.27 Club members all died when they were 27, at the height of their fame. Most of the deaths can be linked directly to over-consumption of drugs, or a very closely related factor.
These people did not get rich and internationally famous because of their connections, their pretty face, their money, or any other thing than how badass they were at rocking the fuck out.
There are 5 member of the 27 club. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Kurt Kobain. How many Brits are in this infamous list, the sealed stamp of approval of rockstar god status? 1. Uno. Un. One. The ratio of Brits to Americans in this most critical list is 1:4, and that ratio plays itself out all over the place.
Is it wrong to base my decision on a list of musicians that glorifies a fiery death through rock and roll? No. Rock and Roll is a force of nature, a force unto itself, a mythical beast which exerts an enormous influence on the way people perceive and act upon the world. The thing about rock and roll is, it’s not even subliminal. These people are singing songs to us, lyricizing our deepest fears and desires, using everything that they have experienced to create a new experience for us. And we willingly buy (or steal online) these people’s souls, the product of an extraordinary effort of introspection, and then projection. It is a transcendent experience to listen to a live performance of rock; “a more perfect union” can be achieved, which is not all that different from doing the nasty.
Rock and Roll is a form of art, but it is also a form of religion. I, for one, deeply believe in the power of rock and roll, and the feelings and sentiments the music can inspire. Rock and Roll has changed my real-world actions before, it has pushed itself into my life and into the lives of the people around me. I am better for it, too.
When John Lennon said, “The Beatles are bigger than Jesus,” he was fucking right. There were, and still are, more people creating a more personal, intimate, transcendent relationship with their chosen rocker, than there are people creating those same types of relationships with Jesus. If you go to church and daze off, or do whatever, that doesn’t count, and I know it, and Jesus knows it. When you go to a real rock show, and something hits you in the stomach, you choke up, you tear up…you are having a fucking experience that can never be achieved again, ever, by anyone. It was your show, the band is on for you, and if you do it right, you can come away with something that is more than just a light show or magic show. It is a religious experience.
Now that I have established that rock and roll is a religion, I move on. Every religion needs a sacrificial lamb. The Gods of Rock are not a mellow breed. They do not take kindly to negligence. They need blood, and that’s what American rockers are here to provide. American rockers are the soul of Rock and Roll. Rock and Roll was invented here, Rock and Roll grew up here, and Rock and Roll will die here. The blues are from the deep South, via Africa, and I’m not really sure where country western is from. Mix those fuckers up, and you get some rock and roll.
I could go on. I could list band after band of American rockers, and compare them with British rockers, and see who borrowed what from who, and blabla. I’m not going to, though, because it all comes down to the fact that Rock and Roll is an American past-time, and it always will be. The altar of Rock is built on American soil, and stained with American blood.
I think that the icing on the cake is a club I kinda made up…the 28 Club. Right now, Bradley Nowell (sublime) and Shannon Hoon (blind melon) are the only two I have in there. I’m saving a spot open for Pete Doherty this year; he’ll be 29 next March.
For a sum-up, I chose Blind Melon’s song, “Galaxie.” Shannon Hoon died of a cocaine overdose, a roadie found his body in the bus, right before the band’s soundcheck.
Rock and Roll = Savage
For anyone who has shit to say about glorifying the wrong things about rock and roll, or blabla, I say, “Fuck off.” If it wasn’t about dying in the name of rock, then why aren’t there a bunch of badass rockers, making real rock and roll? They are out there, but they are few and far between. I am not lamenting the end of rock, because I believe in it too much to doubt. White Stripes, Strokes, Pete Doherty, here and there we see glimpses of eternal greatness.
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.
the first category tag i clicked was worthless friday, cuz that’s what i’m in. it’s fantastic. finally some time to interact with the tech-junkies, alcoholics and weed-fiends who read this link-laden, anti-american, diaperlicious bloghole.
has anybody noticed that politics are continuing to play a large role in our blog?! i can’t believe that shit. if you knew, (and most of you do), the authors, you’d be as surprised as me. four years in the burg, and we never talked about it. now it’s all over everything. i think that comes along with growing older. things we never cared about before are starting to look more and more important. we’re all realizing our global citizenship, and i think it’s pretty encouraging. now all we have to do is change the minds of all the fuckos in general society *(see stoney’s note about the a&f models on the airplane… these are the dipshits to whom i’m referring.)
on another very different topic, there’s this issue going on in the baseball world. my boy john smoltz won his 200th career decision last night. i don’t need to remind any of you who the braves defeated. i don’t need to tell you that they beat the metropolitans. further, i don’t need to explain to any of you that this win brough the braves record against the mets to 6 wins and 3 losses on the season. no, i don’t need to mention any of these things. why am i talking about it then? to hurt your sensitive yankee feelings? no. to rub salt into your still-smarting wounds from last october? of course not. well, i’ll tell you why. the braves are currently recruiting new fans, and if you all have been converted over the past few days, just let me know, and i’ll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation. no guarantees, but it’s at least a 50-50 they’ll accept you. last night’s prodigious victory over the hated mets was a rubber match. “what is a rubber match?” all of you except the sport-savvy roughty might be asking yourselves. again, i’ll explain it for you. in a 3-game series, if each team wins one of the first two games, game three is the rubber match. in a 7-game series that’s tied at three games each, game seven is the rubber match. check out this helpful wiki article on the topic. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubber_match
what’s the point of this discussion? it’s not just to make fun of the sucky mets. in fact, i want to bring it back to politics. since i’ve been old enough to think about politics, there have been two presidents. (during bush the elder’s administration, i didn’t understand anything at all about it.) these presidents have been billy clinton and george dubya bush — a democrat and a republican. in 2008, we’ll have the rubber match between these two political powerhouses. as in sports, this rubber match will play a big role on the way our generation will be viewed. will our generation be defined by the shitty republicans or the shitty democrats? lord only knows. i got a guess, but it’s just that — a guess. so i won’t even mention it here. in a baseball rubber match, all we can do is drink beer and root for our own version of the good guys. last night, my team won, and i was happy. roughty’s team lost, and i’m sure he drowned on his tears. in politics, however, we can play the game and get involved. we can be the shortstop who turns the double play, or we can be the asshole who lets the ball roll right between his legs. (by the by, what team was he on again? hahaha.) either way, in politics, we don’t have to sit on the sidelines. we can cast our votes and join in the action, right? here’s the other big difference. if i make a throwing error, and the winning run scores for the other team, the game is over and i immediately know who won. if i hit the walk-off homer, it’s conclusive. i’m the big winner. with politics, it’s not so cut and dry. i might cast my vote and be all happy for a couple years after my selected puppet wins. then, out of nowhere, he blows some country off the map, and my walk-off homer turns into a “you-blew-it” game ending error. that’s why, when this year’s political rubber match comes along, i’ll be drinking beer and watching from the sidelines. the punchline of this discourse — do yourself a favor and don’t vote. vote for your favorite amer. idol. vote for which of the stars dances best. vote for the best apple pie you ate at the county fair. don’t vote for the president. you’ll invariably be sorry!
thus ends the politics of this post.
i’m still going to school. it still sucks. i also work at a school. that, too, is no good. i am trying to learn about the material required for my degree, but all i keep learning about is that everybody only cares about money. the only question my peers and superiors ask themselves is, “how can i make the most money off this situation?” it’s sad to think that this is the world we’re trying to earn membership into. maybe the solution is to drop out and move to an island and try to grow coconuts for food and decorative brassieres. my ridiculous boss’s boss’s boss’s boss volunteered me today to take part in some terrible task around the office. my autonomy is non-existant. i don’t decide what i do at all. they tell me what to do, and i do it. it’s bad for one’s psychology. you’ve all been there. i guess the right thing to do is just grin and bear it until retirement… in like 60 years. one more thing about work, i had to make a presentation yesterday to a room full of suits. i wore a rainbow colored (ambiguously androgenous) plaid shirt untucked and my oldest, rattiest pants. i gave a great presentation. (probably because dank wasn’t there flicking his damned zippo to distract me.) after this, i got an email from my boss’s boss who told me that i should have dressed nicer. this is a big old problem in our society. why in the world do people still judge you based on the clothes you wear? i’ll tell you. it’s because they’re terrible idiots who don’t know any better. and these are the people who i’m scrambling to compete with as a peer… sad.
well, mr dank nuggets is in, so let the fun begin. in honor of him, i’m taking this opportunity to post yet another savage roll call. feast your eyes on the following collection:
most savage cartoon character: Monterey Jack — he’ll whip your ass and then console you in a lovely aussie accent.
honorable mention: Nermal — fresh off the boat from abu dhabi
least savage cartoon character: Rita and Runt — an ill-fated space-filler in an otherwise exceptional show
most savage world leader: Queen of Jordan — rules with an iron fist and a lovely pair of jumblies
honorable mention: Stalin — (translation of caption: respect the moustache. fear the moustache. obey the moustache.)
least savage world leader: Jacques Chirac (someone either just snuck up him, or he was presented with a lovely quiche.)
most savage cereal mascot: Sonny (cocoa puffs) — this guy has “junkie” written all over his face
honorable mention: Andy Milonakis (fruity pebbles)
least savage ceareal mascot: Tony (frosted flakes) — why don’t you find a gayer bandana. we’re not all convinced you’re a homo yet.
most savage car model of all times: AMC Eagle (no competition)
honorable mention: El Camino (the original cross-over vehicle)
least savage car model of all times: ford tempo (my first car)
most savage blogger: suityourself (no photo available)
least savage blogger: you (look in the mirror and recognize your inferiority.)
finally, most savage drugs: steriods
least savage drugs: whipits (you’ll freeze your lungs)
Well, thanks to the Wage Slave for his insightful comments about the holiday. it seems as though everybody around my part of the world is enjoying the holiday. at class this morning, everybody and their brother was wearing sunglasses. as i stood at the podium lecturing, i couldn’t help laughing at the assholes in the back row falling asleep. i wanted to tell them, “oh, i been there,” but i didn’t have the heart to let them know that i knew what was up. it’s probably better if they think i don’t smoke every single day of my existence.
some people are freaking out. they think that since it’s a drug holiday and Hitler’s birthday and the anniversary of the Columbine massacre (remember that?) and so close to the most recent tragedy that some shit is going to hit the fan… i don’t know. maybe… maybe not, too. some asshole called in a threat the other day, but nobody even left campus. it was, without a doubt, the most bogus threat we’ve had in quite a while.
well, my sessions have become shorter and more boring these days than ever before. in the past, the boys and i would get together and roll like ten blunts like those depicted in stoney’s post. we’d set there and burn them until we could hardly move, wait about five minutes and do it all over again. frequently, these sessions would last until 3 or 4 am (and we didn’t even do blow). looking back, from what i can remember of those times (which admittedly ain’t much), we really didn’t appreciate them like we should have. i was always bitching because i just knew i had somehow gotten shorted by someone during the process. For instance, i can’t remember how many times i said, “come on, man, pitch another nug for the el.” i can’t remember, but it was a lot. also, there were lots of times when danknuggets was mad at stoney or stoney was mad at danknuggets, and we would start burning, and all the passive aggressive comments would start, and eventually everyone was stoned and pissed… not a good combo.
just the same, at least we were all chilling together. nowadays, i smoke alone. about half a j per night in my back yard… then i watch baseball or cartoons… then read maybe 10 pages… then go to sleep. it’s rare that i talk to anyone after burning, and i miss those times when we would all set around and shoot the shit for hours and hours. i’d like to think that if we all got together again, we’d be mature enough to keep our shit together and have fun rather than bitching at each other the whole time… who knows?
anyway, today is a day to look back on the past and look forward to the future. maybe in 420s to come, we’ll all be rich enough to ride our pegasuses (or is it pegasii) to each other’s houses and smoke blunt after blunt like the old days. maybe the powers that be will eventually…
…legalize it… but who knows?
all i know for sure is that tonight won’t be a usual 420 for me. i’m going all out. as follows is my plan for the evening:
1. Dick around here until 7.
2. Administer a final exam.
3. Go home, take a shower, roll 2 blunts.
4. Hop in the honda, light a blunt and drive around on several blaze routes until blunt #1 is gone.
5. Go to the bar.
6. Buy drinks, get drunk and start talking to random strangers.
7. Walk away from my ladyfriend and start trying to mack some marine’s g.f.
8. Get my ass beat.
9. Smoke blunt #2 until i stop crying.
oh yeah, i defy you high rollers and west coast fakers to top that!!
OK, in the spirit of Stoney’s post, here’s my list of most savage weed songs:
#1 — Who’s got the herb? (311)
#2 — Kaya (Bob Marley) [in memory of danknuggets’ soon to be chopped ass]
#3 — Tumbleweed (Afroman)
#4 — Weed Song (Bone Thugs -n- Harmony)
#5 — Mary Jane (Rick James[bitch])
Ok, that’s enough pictures. I don’t want Stoney to get jealous of my page views and kick me the fuck out again 🙂
but lookie here what i got for ya…
this is me holding a fish i caught in the conway river on new years day.
this is the scoreboard at wrigley field in chicago. i saw them get spanked by the astros last week.
jason marquis is an ex-brave. that’s how come he got onto the blog.
this is my father fighting a trout on the tuckaseegee river in old cacalacky.
WHO THE FUCK IS THAT GUY?! … wait for it…
WHOA! no name-dropping. just a visual shout-out!
OK, so i hope this post doesn’t make you bored, but if it does, just read about grundels and pegasii until you feel better…
hope nobody gets arrested tonight!
SENIOR EDITOR ROUGTHY’S NOTE:
This guy is honoring the holiday correctly. Bob knows whats up.
By the way, do they pump crazy air into that studio? I never understood why people go batshit insane on that show. However, if I got on “The Price is Right”, I would probably go total ape shit.
After a string of attempted posts, that I didn’t finish, here goes the motherload.
It’s Tuesday, and I ain’t doing shit. Why do you care? You probably don’t. I read on Digg that if you want someone else to read your blog, it has to be something YOU want to read about too. No shit, asshole, that’s why I wrote it in the first place.
I’m fat and I have my pants unbuttoned, but with a belt on, to ease the restriction around my waist. I used to be skinny and weigh like 155, but now I’m kind of fat and am pushing 180. I guess when you stop doing lots of blow and start eating, your body retains some of the semi-nutritional shit in Ranch dressing and club sandwiches.
One time, I was tripping realllllly hard in college, and I was lying on my bed. I was a skinny little bitch, like I said, probably weighing in around 150 or so. Zero muscle mass, 100% tight shirt squad, I think you know what I’m talking about. Anyway, I was tripping real hard, and I looked down at my body, and I was like, “What the fuck? This is it?” I started to understand that my body was all I had, and it was an emaciated, white skinny piece of quivering worthless meat.
Literally, the next day I started to bulk up and eat lots of hamburgers and shit to try to gain some mass. I didn’t care about looking “good” or having muscles or anything, I just wanted to not be such a skinny little fucker. It took a while for the effects to kick in, but at about the same time I stopped doing lots of cocaine and started to eat food with lots of fat and cholesterol, I started to get a little gut. Skip about 2 years, and here I am, sitting in my sweater, hands on my gut, with my fucking pants button undone to feel comfortable in my zone. I kind of like it too, because I used to be so goddamn skinny, and now I feel a bit more manly with my handgrown American pouch. Maybe one day I’ll get some chest hair, and then maybe I’ll have to shave every once in a while.
Cut to: Me quitting my job. I’m trying desperately to get a new job. Actually, I’m not, I just bitch about it all the time that I hate my job and want a new one. I had a new year’s goal of getting a new job by the end of March, but I failed miserably. I sent out a bunch of resumes, etc, joined a “club” with people in my industry to meet contacts and called a bunch of people. I even went to an interview or two.
Guess what? I’m still here, wasting my time on this blog, and talking about how I was tripping and decided to get fat. It’s not that terrible of a life. I have health insurance, get paid decently, and really don’t do much at all. Like I explained in my early posts, it’s all about ACTING busy, not actually being busy.
Anyway, I’m trying to get a job in the movie business, and odds are that I won’t have any benefits at the new job. My yellow teeth will only get yellower, and if I get in a car crash and become paralyzed, I won’t have a corrupt corporate institution to pay for a nurse to wipe my ass. My mom swears she won’t help me if that happens, but guess what? Whatever.
To sum up: I got fat in the last year, I’m still trying to quit my job, and when I do, I probably won’t be able to go to the dentist for a few months because I’ll be uninsured. Oh well, bitches. What the hell are you guys up to? The Sid Vicious crew has stopped coming in, maybe they fixed the algorithm once they figured out that we don’t want your stinky, indie asses coming to our show anyway.
OK, so Christian Bale is a moderately savage actor. He’s got the right face, so he got some work, and I’m sure mad honeys have dropped trow for the son of a bitch. OK, he qualifies. J.Brown — “Watch me now!” No dizzoubt. Steve Urkel — acted like a nerd for a decade and got rich as shit. He’s in. Stoney’s pal, Pete Doherty — drinks all day, toots all night and writes a song every now and again. Fits the criteria for admission into the ranks of savagery. The point to this intro is as follows: Savagery is, in many cases, easy to point out. See that fucking trucker rolling 95 mph down the highway, laughing as he scatters hondas and mazda like so many ants?… Savage. See the 370 lb. construction worker with dirt all over his face and body, wearing a hardhat whistling at hoes from the high steel like he’s really gonna get into them britches?… Fucking Savage.
I am more interested in the less obvious savagery — savagery incognito. The kind of savagery that you don’t immediately notice. The kind of savagery that sneaks up on you and then hits you over the head like a shovel or a tire iron. This post will detail some of the best examples of savagery incognito and explanations. Some example are so subtle that you’ll likely disagree, but I urge you to sit back and give it some time. Search your feelings. You know it to be true.
Savage 1: Smoosh
14- and 13-year-old girls from Washington. Rock stars who have been more places, seen more shit and done more things than you ever will in your life. Won’t comment on the music, because that’s a matter of taste. What I will say is, what the fuck were you doing when you were 13 years old? Not making a million bucks, I bet. Smoosh — Savage!
Savage 2: Ray Lewis
Now, I’m no historian, but didn’t he kill the shit out of a dude AND A CHICK in Atlanta? Yes he did. Then, he went on to make mad tackles, cause some concussions and make everybody forget about his killing somebody. What are you going to do to make everybody forget about you after you kill somebody? Nothing. You’re not Ray Lewis. You’re getting raped in jail for a long time. Ray Lewis is washing the blood off his hands with Cristal. Ray Lewis — Savage.
Savage 3: John Goodman
He was the Dude’s pal, Walter and Roseanne’s husband, (for a while). He was Fred Flintstone, King Ralph and Coach Harris (Revenge of the Nerds). He has lived the dream, and we should tip our caps to this savage son of a bitch. John Goodman — Savage.
Savage 4: Farnsworth Bentley
He’s done nothing. He was a man-servant and a grilled-cheese cook-off champion — that’s it. How many platinum records would you have to put out before you were as famous as this no-talent waste of space? Lots. He has perfected the art of optimizing productivity. Maximum money, minimum work. The code of the savage. Farnsworth Bentley — Savage.
That’s only the beginning, but it should be enough to make it clear to you that savagery is not always easy to see. Keep a keen eye out for savages all around you, even in unexpected places.
March Madness is some worthless shit. Who gives a fuck? Not me. Not Roughty either.
I really don’t have anything else to say about this bullshit, except for the fact that I don’t give a shit about it, and neither should you.
If you are playing a stupid NCAA pool, then I do not respect you, and hope that you get beat up and raped by a drunk Irishman with Hepatitis this weekend.
Stoney Wage Slave 