Thursday, November 30, 2006

Whacky phone messages part 7.

Actual text I received...5 times.
It was sent 5 times, the same text. My inbox eventually became full, but I think attempts were made to send it even more.

"will u do me a favor and delete my # No offense i think ur super cool but we r on different pages & im not a fan Good luck with everything it was fun"

I'm not proud of this, but its the most interesting thing thats happened to me in the last 12 hours.

I am a real bastard, apparently...

The odd thing is that I only hung out with this person a few times, and it was definitely casual. We just drank and went to shows and hooked up, the fact that I wasn't available all the time and never really made plans i guess is the straw snapped the camel's spine. Don't know why it has to be so drastic but hey, it was her move and I am cool with it.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

I ain't going out like that.

"I'm a little upset about a bad sexual episode I had last night your honor..."
-Fletcher Reed

Ok, it wasn't last night but it wasn't good. It involved a large flap of skin that remained hidden to me until the zero hour, a lot of hair, some thanksgiving leftovers, and a stoned roommate who couldn't properly decipher my 2:30 am text message.

TEXT TO ROOMMATE: Dude call me and say that you are locked out.
RETURN PHONE CALL FROM ROOMMATE: Hey man, I'm inside, I don't know what you are talking about.
ME (in close proximity to bad sexual episode in question): Aww man that sucks, and you don't have a spare??
ROOMMATE: What? Dude I am here right now, I don't need a key, I am inside.
ME: Shit and [Polish Neighbor!] isn't home? Did you call the landlord?
ME: So you are telling me I need to come home and let you in?
ROOMMATE: Uhhh, oh my God, what is going on?
ME: Sit tight, I will be home in a little while.
*After we hang up, roommate sends me a camera phone picture of our door to let me know he was inside....good god.

She didn't let me leave though. I had to fight my way out, with my penis.
I finally made it home at about 4. It was, like I said, not good.

"Well you're still young, it will happen more and more"
-Judge Stevens

I don't know if you need to know any more. I tell this in the hopes that you can get some enjoyment from my pain.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

And now for something...

Conflict. It’s dark, cold, rainy, and windy, it’s like Scotland. They call it “dreich”. You will know “dreich” when you see it. There is two things that this weather does to me, one of which I know it does to the whole of Scotland. These two things are drinking whiskey and contemplation. I am doing both tonight, Scotland is definitely doing one of the two.

Ten minutes ago, I was dong something so self consciously “cool” it made me laugh. I was standing on my roof with a glass of whiskey, sipping it, looking down the wet streets, the lights of population miles in the distance, thinking about the ins and outs of whatever the hell decided to go in and out of my head. This stopped when I realized I was drinking whiskey on the rocks, foolishly just making my hand and body cold.

What exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I asked myself. Oh yeah, its one of those nights. Tomorrow will be the first thanksgiving I spend away from home. Playing football in the leaves, watching football in the family, and falling asleep spread eagle in the floor. Is this worth it? I asked another question. I suppose it is, because I am proud of myself, proud of what I have achieved out here. Proud that a weirdo like me could somehow parlay his strange disconnection with the world into some quantifiable “real world” success. But I miss my friends, the ones back home, and there is nothing wrong with missing where you came from. Did I leave too soon? I mean, I literally had two weeks between graduation and diving into my career. Perhaps it was too soon, but I am not usually in the business of passing up opportunities. And that’s what happened, an opportunity whipped by me with one finger stretched out screaming “grab the fuck on”, so I did, and I made all my calls from the road. With the size of the sacrifice made, a considerable feeling of loss is normal for me. I am aware of what I have given up to do what I feel passionate about, and that is comforting, that awareness.

What am I talking about? Nothing really. I am talking about seeing the inner workings of those things you really love. Sometimes though, you find out how hot dogs are made and you don’t want to touch them ever again. Gummy Bears are made up of animal toenails and eyeball skin. I am a music fan, and now I get to see how it gets to my ears, like watching those “meet your meat” videos by PETA that turned me vegan for a full 8 hours last year. Sometimes I am bothered by this, and other people are too. I’ve spoken to A&R people who don’t even like going to shows anymore. That is devastating to me. I am not there yet, but here, only 6 months in, I am already dreading the possibility.

I will give up this business before I give up music though. You can bet on that.

I’m learning, at the fastest pace I can imagine, about the places I can fit in to the world, which is what we all do I suppose. We figure out where it hurts to stand, and where it doesn’t hurt to stand, and we usually choose the latter. Unless we are in love, then we spend time standing in incredibly stupid places.

I guess all I need is a little time with my friends and my family. Damn I know some fantastic people, and I can’t wait to have them around me, doing nothing but being fantastic. I suppose it is all about balance. I needed a boozy, Scottish, contemplative night alone, and I got it. Now, I need a day surrounded by beautiful people who I know and who know me, and I hope I do get it in the near enough future. I think the chances of this are pretty good, if balance has anything to say about it.

Don’t get used to the honesty and sensitivity; it’s the scotch and the weather. Also in the name of balance, I will soon be back to beating my chest and saying “fuck” a lot.

Have a great night.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Lazy, thanksgiving.

George Hower (2:44:09 PM): lazy fuck.. get on the bottom
George Hower (2:46:22 PM): you should just post a fucking link to youtube and call it a day.
George Hower (2:46:40 PM): just say "explore as you'd please, there's plenty of good stuff"

Ha, he's right, but he's also a fuckhead.

Have a good thanksgiving. I will be running with the bolivians.

And now, Lindsey.

It's both shitty and awesome that she is playing for the other team. Shitty, because she chooses to share a bed with Ellen Degeneres, as opposed to sharing one with me, your Mom, and every woman I've ever slept with...awesome because well.....she's hot and she is lesbian.

See, this is why I am not writing anything, this is the best I can come up with.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

The Berzerker Loves You

I'm getting fucking lazy.
This guy is the fastest drummer in the world, verified by the Guiness book of world records. Sorry about the shaky video, but its worth it just to see what he does to the snare drum.

See, I could write something, but theres really no point right now in the face of all this brutality.
This one might have been banned for causing seizures or some shit...or because it is just ridiculously brutal.

There's more, don't worry.


Most brutal...

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Guest Post #3

3rd guest post comes from my good friend Drew.

Drew is 85% of the reason I started this thing. His Livejournal (circa 2002-2005) is something that transcended typical puffy-eyed bloggery to become something quite heroic. He inspired me. He still writes, but it is more like stand-up comedy now. He now makes more money than he deserves to, selling insurance in one of the Carolinas. He also used to have the most entertaining temper problem in history. I once saw him flip out and beat his hands into scappy lumps against a brick wall because an ATM wouldn't give him money to buy obscure Scandinavian pagan black metal CD's.


I remember a few years back I was walking around with my friend Scott Bibus on some railroad tracks. As we walked, we went by this sheltered kind of area where there were these two bums hanging out. Being that Scott's biggest fear was getting raped in the ass by a homosexual bum while light rock hits of the 80's were playing, we were already sort of on edge about the situation, but it was made worse when one of the dudes saw us and started yelling, "HEY! HEY! HEY GUYS, C'MERE!" Which went from really scary to really awkward because we had to just sort of smile and wave like two fucking morons that didn't know they were about to get a case of anal AIDS. Nothing happened, but one thing I did notice was that while the one bum was yelling at us, the other one was kind of covering his face and looking away, like he was embarassed. So I learned that people who cook shit in soda cans and literally shit where they eat (in dumpsters) actually do have shame. Which is fucked up. Even this dude who was crouching in a bus station all by himself was screaming apocalyptic shit at the moths surrounding him. It also made me sort of think on a deeper level how when you're in a shit situation where you feel totally isolated, you're forced to make due with what you have. To further elaborate, you have to make a fucking friend that you don't want to make - shit happened to me in the 5th grade with a kid named Andrew Lorge. Now, don't get me wrong, Andrew Lorge was a nice kid but there was a reason he didn't have any friends. The kid fucking smelled like shit. Those years where the onset of body odor occurs and if you're not careful, you're suddenly an outcast for reasons you might not understand. Of course, it didn't help that he was so pale that you could see the veins through his skin, either. He was obsessed with this role-playing game that I never understood but pretended to; called Mechwarrior. He would bring these fucking books to class, talk about them in the locker room; just fucking everywhere. The worst part was how he'd bring it up. He'd run up to you and yell, "YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT MECHS?" Being ten years old and already feeling like an ass because I had this group of girls who relentlessly teased me (the worst of which is now a fucking stripper), I did what anyone else would do: I beat the fucking shit out of him at recess until he stopped talking to me. Kind of an aimless story, but I guess I just wanted to say that on a very petty level, I understand what it's like to be forced to partner up with someone for survival.

Friday, November 17, 2006

This is where we fight, this is where they die.

A lot of shit on my mind. I will be honest and say I have been stagnating a bit as of late. I was feeling pretty uninspired, until my meeting with the boss man.

Our advertising department recently got a new big cheese, the new SVP. I met with him yesterday, and the effects of the meeting are still being felt.

He is one of those big idea advertising guys, the type of person that jerks in ties would pay 1500 dollars to see give a seminar at some swanky hotel in the city. He would definitely rock an N*sync-esque headset and use sweet powerpoints. Think Tom Cruise in Magnolia, Everything Scat, the main character in the book Syrup wishes he could be, Topher Grace in the movie, In Good Company, and Henry Rollins' character in Feast...I'm telling you, see that fuckin movie because I am going to keep dropping obscure references to it, and you are going to miss the frackin' boat. One of those people that is self-consciously hip, because he knows he has to be, lest he get swallowed up by all the tech-savvy young guns fresh out of college with their arsenal of Helios and Zune players, who think Myspace is "played out".

Be that as it may, I met with him, and it was refreshing, a solid shot in the ass for my attitudes toward work. He, of infinite success and almost unrealistic vision, expressed a lot of faith in me because I am young, and I will be "the future" of this organization and blah blah blah. He told me to go ahead and step on toes, ruffle feathers, and don't listen to what any old fucks have to tell me, Besides him, I need to listen to him, (he's 40, but you wouldn't know it...that's the point) and I don't have much of a problem.

He wants to "usher us into a new age" or whatever, break people down, generalize, compartmentalize, figure out how to manipulate them into buying ringtones so we can stop using outdated media like print (egad!!) radio (wholly defeated, I hear) and TV (we all love it), in preparation for the cliff-dive that CD sales are going to take. Now I can take this either way. Ive spent a lot of my life, especially my academic one, railing against this kind of manipulative, catch-phrasey jargon-rich rhetoric that comes from "Advertising Professionals". I am still very uncomfortable with it, but since this is my job for the time being, I am going to do my best to break it down, balance it out (the benefits of being a Libra), and go "black checker, red checker" on it...thanks uncle Joey.

Ok, quickly, my cynical analysis: This is all well and truly fucked. I'm fucking quitting, going vegan, deleting my facebook, shopping at thrift stores, and moving to Wascott Wisconsin, where I can drink in ONE bar, write leaflets, and jerk off a lot, safe from falling prices and the retarded/old greeters at Wal-Mart.

Anyway, on with the angular over analysis of this situation.

See, a lot of people hate on such pie-in-the-sky thinking because it is unrealistic, but when all the chips are down/the cards are on the table/at the end of the day/when all is said and done, cut and dried, the men separated from the boyz II men (pick your favorite cliche, apparently...) and you need to pull off some cool shit, it doesn't hurt to have one of these big dreaming motherfuckers in your crew. Inversely, it also helps to have a cynical realist fuck around too, to keep Mr. Helium Brain tethered to the ground.

In my situation, I have to weigh the options.

My other influence apart from this guy (we'll call him SVP), is my immediate boss, who I work with day to day. She is sweet, smart, and driven, but the truth is that she is extremely overworked and frazzled. I watch her writing emails and it is strangely amusing, watching her hammer on her keyboard and swear a lot. She resents SVP. She is the gruff Sargeant in the trenches stepping over rats and corpses holding defiled and failed magazine ventures, he is the Colonel, all shiny buttons, medals, and fucking fantastic boots (the 2009 Jordans, probably). To her, he doesn't know the reality of the situation, and he truly does not know what its like to bust ass every day in the mud like she does.

Because of SVP's rallying though....I get the distinct vibe that my department is afraid of me now....more on this later


There are a few other things though. Lil' Wayne is a fucking genius, if you don't know by now, you better get to the learning annex, bitch.

So be a competitor or get out the weather
Me? I got a umbrella and a Beretta

I shook this guy's hand, it was like he barely saw me, I am of ZERO concern to him, and his handshake reflected that. Loose, soft, unmotivated. I'm surprised I even got a look at all, or any kind of acknowledgement. A dark club, sunglasses on, and a non person like me is not a combination a guy like this even needs to concern himself with.

They ask me why I wear shades at nighttime...cause I don't wanna see nothin'.

The Diplomats work right next to me. I see Jimmy Jones' mom almost as much as I hear "Ballllllllin!!!". In the same vein, the cool ass AV technician guy made a music video about his receding hairline called "Ballllldin!!"

I went to the offices of Rolling Stone/US Weekly today for a luncheon with the rocker guy from American Idol who lost. Free food, and I got to see if the people who work for US weekly really are the twits I imagined they were. They are. Free food, free Rolling Stone magazines everywhere.

Ok, that's it, I'm out. I have a big weekend planned. Have a good one. Wait...before I go...


I realize it's small....thus making it anticlimactic, but, AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Thursday, November 16, 2006

51st post.

So that last one, the one with the cockeyed references to ex girlfriends and hard drugs, yup, that was the 50th post. Lets celebrate.

If you read this, do me a favor, tonight, slam/drink 4 beers in 40 minutes. Easy, no problem. Slam 'em and grab your cell phone. Go through it, find the phone numbers of all those random women/men you managed to grub digits off of. I'm talking randoms, the ones who probably don't know who you are. I know you all have plenty of numbers like that at your disposal. Bonus points if you skeeted/sat on their chin but that is beside the point. Take your 4 beer buzz and give them a call, what you do from there is your business...mostly, but please say one of these three things:

a.) I just got back from the doctor, and its not looking good.
b.) "You're the ebony to my ivory" (bonus points if she isn't actually "ebony".
c.) "Hey momma! You still do that thing with the back of your throat??"
d.) "I love you."

Really, try it, let me know what happens. Email me the results at
I'm serious. If one person does this (HIGHLY unlikely) I will be ecstatic.

This blog is now interactive, now go for it.

More to come later.

And now, Shane fuckin McGowan of The Pogues. The greatest man to ever walk the earth (?)



Tuesday, November 14, 2006

The reason I cant stop reading about rock and roll.

I told her I wanted to avoid any kind of heartbreak at all costs.

She obviously wasn't listening, or simply didn't care, because her next move was to insist that we get modern day mid-twenties married. No ring, nah, the only thing I handed her was a handful of explosive orgasms and clever Valentine's day gifts, Her, all she handed me was her lips and a massive shit storm every time I forgot to call her after work.

And now, which is different temporally from the time I was just writing about, all I can read is rock and roll folklore. Epic rockstar debauchery. The dark stuff. And now, which is slightly embellished and probably a little frightened, all I can think about is getting Keith Richards-Mcgowan-Reed-Ryder-Vicious-Rose-Costello fucked up and dancing like a fool at a Battles concert. You know, REALLY go for it, smash my teeth out on some ratty, sticker coated green room wall so the acid will absorb better, you know, get in there. Inject booze, go Aerosmith and inject acid, mix hair gel with crushed up painkillers and give myself a mohawk.

After all, I'm a human, I can take it. The closest I've come to testing my limits thus far adds up to something like this (choose one):

a. bungee jumping in Wisconsin dells.
b. mixing mushrooms, weed, and beer (oh. snap.)
c. calling my grandma after happy hour.

It never was going to go anywhere, but I will be damned if I didn't give the impression it was going to end in puppydogs, fairytales, glasses of wine over green fucking fields, flowers in her hair. I knew damn well what wasn't going to happen, but she didn't, and the rug came out from underneath. The resulting wipeout probably looked fucking hilarious to the sidelines, but we weren't laughing.

Afterwards, my dick look like I had used it to murder a thin-blooded public transit wino...

...I've never killed, or at least not with my hands.

And then there is my chosen line of work. There we go. The business, which is great, but these aren't the days of old, I don't have indie, mob-tied sharp dressed motherfuckers beating down my door, laden with hookers, lines of "work", and stacks of records to corrupt me with. No way, I have assistants being flogged by their bosses into calling me, wondering where the money for their digital billboard/pop-up ad is. Other people pretending they aren't looking out for the ol' number one.

don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but Nico was constantly whipping Iggy Pop's skinny fingers for not being full of "ze poison", as she called it, and she is half right.

Now her medicine cabinet?! That fucker had some rockstar potential. Close your eyes, reach in, and swallow, Syd Barret in five minutes.

So anyway, I keep trying to convince myself that there is a point to all of this...other than to finally write "that abstract shit" I keep hearing so much about. Sounds like a hoot, but I'm only going to write it if my grandmother can read it.

So Polka Dot, this one is for you baby. I hope it is what it should be out there. Make sure to keep the wig on, and cut that fucking dance floor into a million pieces. You can count on me to do the same.

Friday, November 10, 2006

More than you needed/wanted to know.

This is the only real time to write, I suppose.

For many reasons, I can't write successfully yet unless I am supposed to be doing something else besides writing.

I've been out, but not for good. Here is a breakdown of what the hell has been going on, supplemented by some recommended listening, Ogre's brilliant idea.

Let's start with last week.

EDIT: Make sure you read the guest posts below also.

Monday: Training my replacement. The heir to the throne. The kid is far over qualified for the job and knows more about the music business than I do. He made one of the two major jumps you can make once you are in this business. He came from "indie" (read: independent record labels, mercenary marketing companies, weed-blown recording studios) to "industry" (read: benefits, HR department, red tape, better quality control, mo' money). I've seen many make opposing jumps like this day to day, week to week, criss-crossing each other in mid air long enough to hand out business cards and high fives.

You could also break it down from a "grass is always greener" perspective as my friend Katie and I did. Katie is hardcore, a business woman hip hop head ball buster (with a deep sensitive side) who somehow managed to get Smiff n Wessun to reunite under their original name for a friends birthday party. We decided that any move from either sector is made in the name of scoring better drugs. It is probably that simple.

CMJ (College Music Journal) week began that day, meaning the whole city was overrun by bands with stupid names, showcases, parties, industry scrubs, and drunk-ass college radio music directors. That night I went out to a party put on by The Syndicate (who knows what they do, it probably involves some ridiculous cross promotion) drank as much free booze as possible, embarrassed myself in front of the bigwigs from my label, won an ipod speaker system, and hustled Chuck Klosterman books out of gift bags.

The Knife: "Heartbeats" - A guilty pleasure, but as the saying goes, "If it's good, it's good, if it sucks, it sucks".

Tuesday: Hungover. Continued training, our biggest artist (dead celebrity big) came in to do a press day about her recent exploits in a third world country. I didn't see her once, partly because of the inevitability that I would cram my whole foot in my mouth, and partly because of the fear that I would turn to stone. It was like the fucking president showed up to use the shitter. I found myself losing my mind, running around doing retarded tasks like telling the bigwigs from her book company (she wrote a children's book, too) to stand somewhere else.

It was also Halloween, so we had all this little kids in the office who were much more well behaved than any guests we've ever had. Power rangers, pirates, jedis, ninjas. The whole crew was in the house.

My workday ended by drinking Patron (gold) in the office, trying to pretend I wasn't.

At night, got high and overly-appreciated the movie "Feast". That movie fucking rules, especially if you've ever seen "Tremors", "From Dusk Till Dawn", "Aliens", "Demon Knight", or any other brutal survival horror flick. Not that you care what I think about movies, or anything for that matter.

A quick example of how wonderfully fucked this movie is (NSFW):

Jose Gonzalez: "Heartbeats" (The Knife cover) - almost as good as his cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart".

Wednesday: More training. I fucking suck at training people, and at the time I found myself going quite crazy, because at night when I wasn't overanalyzing the ins and outs of horror movie formats, waiting for sleep, I would have those moments of intense critical introspection, ending with asinine re-appraisals of the way I deal with people. Not anything of any substance, mind you, but things like the way I answer the phone, my diet, and the appropriate times to do that weird "hug and a kiss" greeting thing they do out here.

Regardless, this is the way I (and many others) do it. Get high and over analyze some shit. Like movie previews. By the way...

Oh yeah, music.

Ratatat: "Lex" - Sounds like someone chopped up some Yngwie Malmsteen shit and turned it into an arena banger. Instant badass.

Thursday: First day of the new job. I was treated like I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn't. Also, my department is all female, so they became incredibly interested in my love life. They know nothing.

At night, I stepped out with MassHole to BB Kings, a nice venue with terrible, terrible ways of doing business (7 dollar fucking Bud Light) to see one of our bands perform at a CMJ party. Oddly enough, this band is a Christian band, but their management did not want to send actual music fans running for the hills with the "Christian Rock" tag, so they ripped them from their Christ-tacular label and put them on a normal label, with no mention of the almighty. Seemed to work for them, because they are a hell of a band.

The first half of my night was spent trying to find someone cool with an expense account to buy my drinks, and ended up getting quite buzzed.

The second half I was absolutely riveted by this band doing their thing onstage, especially their instrumental stuff. I didn't expect much, but they blew me away, enough that after the show I was yelling (read: drunk can't control the volume of his voice) at their manager to force the guys to form two bands, one instrumental and oHe not, so they could open for each other. He thought I was amusing. I think.

Mutemath: "Reset" - Instrumental, fantastic fucking drumming. (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more, say no more...)

Friday: Hangover. More new job. More not knowing what the fuck I am doing. Borat movie. Teste satchel.

Non Prophets: "The Cure" - A little "emo rap" or whatever, but the beat is amazing.

Saturday: Um...oh man this day by day thing is getting fucking stupid. Got really drunk on Vodka and Sparks (I'm calling it the the John Starks, my new favorite drink/NBA Jam player) and played Yahtzee all night.

That's all for now, it's good to be back blathering like a fool. Up next, either a guest post by hero Drew, the weird happenings of this week, or all the literature you will need on a religion I am starting.

See you soon, cunts.

Guest Post #2

Keeping with the "Before and After" Title of this blog, cleverly stolen from Wheel of Fortune: NameDropAcid....I will attempt to drop names and tell stories of dropped acid that In No Way Incriminates Myself Within the Story.

Name Drop

First the classic name drop. There I was, sipping Cristal and taking shots of Patron...all the while watching hot chicks walk in my general direction, before they turned to ignore me and talk to the several NFL players responsible for my classy consumption. We were the guests of these players whether they liked it or not, and judging by the amount of conversation between us and them, they didn't like us very much. Nonetheless, these Vikings and Lions players showed us how the NFL players roll on a Thursday night in a trendy bar in Scottsdale, AZ. I was too impressed with the situation to even think about how much bigger and richer they were than me, instead trying to drink as much as possible to allow for a long, painful reflection the following morning on the couch. The night went on and I was only able to stand around waiting for scraps, when I realized how stupid I felt acting like a hanger-on for a bunch of guys that were probably younger than me. But, they filled my glass with more Cristal and I got over it.

At the next bar I was pretty excited to tell everyone that I was hanging out with famous people, when I got word that Mike Tyson was hanging out in the bathroom. There was some commotion while I was in line, and I think I missed him. Mike Tyson is like 3 feet tall and probably slid below my legs while I was trying to light my cigarette or something. Undeterred, I went back to the dance floor to dance with my friend, hoping girls would see how cool I was and attack. That didn't happen, but I soon spotted most of the first round draft picks from the 2006 NFL draft. They didn't care who I was either and all I realized how sweet it would be if a big fight broke out and all these big dudes started rockin' other big dudes. It was cool, even though a fight didn't break out. As the night ended and I waited for something cool to happen, I realized that the guy who had been buying me drinks all night, was about to drive home in his rented ferrari. This ferrari had cost him about $30,000 for 7 days of rental and he had probably 20 drinks. Awesome. NFL players are so hard.

Quick second story: I heard Mike Tice told someone to "Shut the Fuck Up!" in church one time. Awesome.

Drop Acid

So this Friend of mine took a geltab on a Saturday at noon. He had to bounce at a bar that night, but c''s noon, how could that be a problem. The first stop on this new drug was at Hempfest where drugs would be welcomed with open arms. The first sight at this place is a man wearing a lizard rubber mask, nodding to the music that was playing. My friend tried to play it cool, but there was no rational reason for this and he was sure it a was a hallucination. After some quizzing of those around him it turned out the mask was real, and situation was ridiculous. Then the giggles hit. My friend sat by the river with his two other friends and laughed until they were told to leave before the police saw what was happening.

A full day of poor decision making ended when my friend thought going to work as a bouncer at a popular bar was a good idea. By this time the acid had bypassed the fun and exciting phase and bottomed out in the painful and introspective phase that is usually counteracted by weed/booze/sleeping. No one should attempt to work in this phase, and my friend soon regretted his actions. He was forced to work the door and check id's....looking people in the face as they looked back judging him. He knew that everyone knew he was on drugs and semi-retarded. He was sure someone would turn him in and take advantage of his weakened state. By four in the morning he had broken down and had a heart to heart with everyone in the bar telling them "I fucked up today, I took acid and I don't know what is going on. If you see me in trouble...please help me." That night he went home and swore off all drugs and thought of a way to get his respect back from all the people in the bar. As he walked in the door to the house, he was met with an alternative to quitting drugs and he took that instead. Go drugs.

Our second guest post came from my good friend Ogre.

I first met Ogre studying abroad in Scotland through a shared love of drinking, drugs, and grab-ass. His interests include, drinking whiskey and water (he is the only reason I drink that shit), telling fantastically over-embellished stories, and saying "sweet" and "awesome" (like the whiskey and water, I picked this up as well). He is also an expert in tavern etiquette, and the most politically astute person I know.

EDIT: That Mike Tice story in the middle is more mine than his. Bastard. Good thing only like 6 people know who the fuck that is.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Guest Post #1

The mighty Clitoris Rex has spoken for some time now. Every now and then there comes a time when life is simply too busy to allow time to write. This could be one of those times. So during these times of so-called busyness, what does a clitoris do? Does it fiddle with it's respective clit? Does it think of complex stimulation techniques to enhance her pleasure? Does it just rip it's hair out instead of shaving/waxing to feel something different?
Is your clitoris suicidal?
See but there in lies the issue at hand. There are all of these questions circling around about the whereabouts of out endowed leader.

Here is one man's opinion.
On October 28th, 2006 Clit disappeared without a trace. He left all he held dear to him in New York. He went on to search for greener pastures, rather than listening to the new Nelly Furtado over and over trying to find meaning. It is a dance album, fuck!. That's it..but Timbo killed it. Anyway that's all off topic. This was a Saturday to be reckoned with. Here is the actual accounts as they took place.

Saturday October 28th (series of events, times are all speculation)
Clit awakes from a night of much deserved pleasure-fucking-rest.

Clit scratches himself for the next hour...straight.

Clit moistens himself under a water fountain.

Clit dresses quickly and rushes out the door.

Arrives at the subway and waits for Jarrod... not Jared.

Jargy arrives.. "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d! mcmarmely"

Clit punches Jargg in the throat and promptly escapes.

Clit decides to fly back to Minnesota to hang out with his real friends.

While on the flight clit becomes very intoxicated and hit on everything in the plane. Everyone promptly turns him down except for this marvelous looking plastic cup. He does it...hard. A nearby woman sees clit's cock in full-thrust and becomes moist. She decides to whip out her clit and spank it.

Clit arrives in Minneapolis.

Clit arrives on the street in front of the airport. He decides to hail a cab.

Clit arrives at Billabongs in Bloomington. He doesn't know anyone there.

He decides to sit down at the bar and drink.

While sitting, Jargg sits next to him. "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim" d00d!

Clit promptly vacates the Billabong's establishment and walk the streets.

After walking for nearly an hour on acid, Clit searches for meaning in all of this.

A female with large gazonges approaches the clit. He reaches out and caresses her large members. She soon becomes moist and needs to fuck..naturally.

12pm Sunday morning: the night after October 29th
Clit wakes up..dazed as usual. Looks over at the clit he bagged and vomits profusely. Stands up walks to the bathroom with sagging balls. He looked in the mirror and says "what the fuck!" The clit he molested turned out to be a crazed grongler with a predilection for long sacs. This grangly horrible excuse for a female had fastened an additional stretched-out sac to Clit's already semi-dangly sac, making a ricockulouly ridiculous sac.

Clit comes to the full realization of what has happened to him and decides to go drink.

After stumbling around town all lopsided and shit (ones always bigger than the other and in this case two and large) he sits on a street corner in downtown minneapolis.

Jargg comes up to Clit. "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"
Clit looks at him disgusted and walks away.

after wondering aimlessly he decides to become a male stripper and decides to work at "Gary's well hung dance emporium"

has his first dance. It goes over well. The mens all love his double sac.

Clit has unprotected sex with 19 exotic males.

Clit's ass hurts so much he can't walk for a week.

It is here that the details get fuzzy. The next week is all a blur.

Sunday, Novermber 5th
Clit awakens to planes overhead. He heads to the bathroom to take a shit. His ass feels much better now..but he has this horrible rash on both sacs and seems to be developing some kind of blister. Anyway he is surrounded by unknown whereabouts. He has never been here before. He decides to sit on a couch and watch tv.

A dude with a partial mohawk comes wandering out of the room near the bathroom.
Clit: Hey man...where am I?

Hawk: you mean you don't remember man? Your friend came and saved you from the gay club a few days ago. You've been passed out for days.

Clit: Great..where am I?

Hawk: do you want anything to eat man? you're probably hungry...huh..

Clit: I could go for some Spam out of the can, some ham and perhaps you might be willing to split a microwave hamburger with me?

Hawk: I'd love to dude.

Clit: Do you have the movie Mallrats?

Hawk: Yeah I think I do... let me go look..

Hawk: aha! here it is!

Hawk: Dude.. we got some freezies you want some?

Clit: (very puzzled) why yes... I'd love some freezies. You remind me of someone Hawk.

Hawk: Yeah man.. I get that a lot.

Clit and Hawk talk for a while and watch the epic Kevin Smith film "Malllrats"

Hawk: well dude it's been cool hanging out.. I have to leave now though.

Clit: Yeah man I've had fun. Where are you going?

Hawk: I gotta go to work.. your friend should be back soon.

Clit: alright dude...later!

Clit falls asleep during the third round of Mallrats.

Monday, November 6th

Clit wakes up frantic... (thinks to himself) "holy shit!!! have to get back to NY to go to work! I have this really crazy new awesome job for this ultramegahuge record label. I don't want to get fired.. Man.. how am I going to get home?"

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"


Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"


(throws empty Spam can at Jargg)

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"

Jargg: "sup d00d, shnagples mcgrangren sholzy's mcswim d00d!"

Clit: AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!


This is the last known whereabouts and conversation recorded of the Clit.

At this time we have no further information.

Stay tuned.. there will be more. we hope.

For know.. keep you clit moist because Clit does!

OK...I'm too busy to write, so I commissioned some close friends (probably the only damn people who read this thing) to handle it for me.

The only thing I will be writing I guess is introductions and overly-simplistic summaries of my friends.

This was from George Hower, an overly-sensitive ex-fat guy graphic designer who's girlfriend once convinced him that sex was a "bad thing". He is one of my oldest friends and an all around fantastic person.

Oh yeah...I barely proofread this thing.

Monday, November 06, 2006



I am sorry about the lack of updating going on. I have been in transition from one job to the next and simply haven't had the time.

I promise I will be back on the job very soon. I may have to start writing at home now....which might change things, being that I won't be swiftly hammering out posts when no one is looking.

I will actually be able to write....

In the meantime, continue hunting for porn and starting flamewars on the know thats what you do.