September 2016 – f-your blog

Car Fires & Pay Phones

For a formital time in my past (starting when I was 91) I spent traveling primarily back and forth from The North to The South every year or so. I embraced my tortoise paced transient life style as I’d spend a year up to say 18 months up North until I got bored or more likely was in some sort of trouble who’s consequences were on the horizon. At that point I’d head down South and start the whole process over again (and again and yet once again) in an endless self destructive cycle.

It was during one of my times I spent in The Swamp I was reunited with a couple of friends who had returned to The South many moons before me. I found out my 2 friends Armenian and his long term girlfriend Eon where living with Armenian’s parent’s (Mr. & Mrs. Fuckedin- Thehead) house about 3 hours from where I was living at the time. I had been living down in The South approximately 6 months in a smaller than small town known as The Rat’s Ass. Armenian’s parent’s house was located in a smaller micro town called Zero for the past couple of years. I managed to get a copy of their phone number, went to the closest pay phone (yes kiddies this was in the lost time before smart/cell phones.) and gave them a call. We bullshitted for a few minutes and then decided we should meet up and to do so I should shut up shop and drive to Zero where I could also crash on the couch at Armenian’s parent’s place indefinitely.

Right after I arrived in the tiny town of Rat’s Ass I bought a used car from this shady little amateur risky dink fly by night “car dealerships” you know the kind. It was one of those places with a motley crew of used cars crammed close to one another like Sardines on some small patch of dirt on the outskirts of town. Of course as par of the course I had to haggle with this slimy schister of a sales man until we struck a deal on a car that fit my needs. So making the drive over to Zero would be easy as I had my own transportation and no real reason to stay in Rat’s Ass since I had a shit retail job (and I was stealing merchandise from my employer as well for quite awhile) ,and I lived with 3 random room mates in a glorified flop house. Once I talked to Armenian I went directly home, grabbed my shit, told my room mates I was leaving so fuck them and drove off into the dead of night never to be seen again.

I arrived at Armenian’s house around 1 am and met his parents for the first time. His father Yon was a life long alcoholic fuck up with a extensive rap sheet and a hardcore drug problem. While Armenian was growing up (when his dad wasn’t in jail or on a bender) made the monumental mistake to try and be his son’s friend instead of father. Armenian’s mother Yeg also had an seriously extreme on and off again passionate love affair with hardcore street drugs though she was fully functional (Armenian’s dad at this point was BARELY functional). A few weeks of smoking weed, drinking beer and doing fuck all we all agreed it was time to get the hell out of Armenian’s parent’s place and get our own. We started by looking at spots in neighboring town’s as Zero well, Zero lived up to its name and had absolutely nothing to offer. We were still crashing at Armenian’s parent’s pad at night while we spent our days looking at different housing options.

It was a picturesque Wednesday as the 3 of us loaded up in my car and headed out to continue the reality hunt and headed out of town. We hadn’t even hit the town limit when simultaneously Armenian and I notice slight whisps of smoke trickling out from the perimeter of the car hood. Figuring the car was simply overheating we pulled into a local restaurant’s parking lot right away, and I proceeded to park my car way in the back of the restaurant’s parking lot that was entirely empty. Armenian and I jumped out of my car as soon as we parked and went to pop the hood to locate the car’s issue at hand. As soon as we popped the hood of my car it was horribly obvious my car wasn’t overheating ,BUT ironically was on fire as indicated by the foul flames that leapt out at us when we popped the hood. Again we must remember this was the time before technology (and its enormously fast evolution in society) so we didn’t have a cell/smart phone we could use right then and there to call 911. As people did at this time in history we ran over to the restaurant to ask to use their phone (or their pay phone if that be the case)

I feel its important to clue you the reader in on a few facts of this situation other than my cars being engulfed in flame. I will be using a list once again to help keep things moving along.

Zero is a Podunk little town YET this one restaurant was the designated “Fancy Restaurant” around the town. In all honesty the restaurant was equivalent to a run of the mill Olive Garden (No disrespect to Olive Garden intended)
The population of Zero were low to lower income blue collar workers mixed with drug dealers and addicts alike. This most likely accounted for almost the entire parking lot of theirs to be vacantly devoid of cars and customers.
The 3 of us didn’t resemble anything like any sort of dress code nor fancy attire in any way what so ever. Eon was the best dressed of us all in a hippy dippy sundress, a white t-shirt with some cartoon scrawled on it and barefoot. Armenian looked the most out of place of us all. Armenian was around 6’3″, wore entirely black clothes, had skin so white you could see right through it if he held his hand up to the light, long fucking fire red hair (with goatee to match mind you) ,and generally looked like he might lunge at you at any second. I wasn’t much better off than Armenian truthfully. I was insanely under weight at a buck 125 ( I looked like a concentration camp victim my mother told me), shaved head, and was wearing a Slaytanic t-shirt with worn out blue jeans and a beat up pair of combat boots.

So as you or one might imagine when the 3 of us stumbled into the restaurant out of breath and a bit sweaty we turned heads like we had 2 heads to say the least. Once we entered the front door we were in a entrance way that resembled a short hallway that led up to the Hostess’s desk. We strode up to the desk and politely as well as quietly requested to use their phone. We were immediately and emphatically (not to mention as snidely as a stuck up wannabe fancy fuck could be) NO. We were then told we could however use the restaurant’s pay phone if we needed to make a phone call. Now the thing about their pay phone was it was located on the far wall right at the entrance to their main dining room where there handful of pretentious twats were sitting eating their over priced fake ass fine dinning lunches. At this point I was pissed off like a son of a bitch, here my car is burning and these restaurant rejects are giving me a unwarranted snotty ass attitude so this is what I did next to settle this unseen score. I walked over to their pay phone as fast as my feet could take me and then proceeded to dial 911. Once the 911 operator picked up and asked what was the problem I was calling about I virtually yelled as loud as possible directly into the main dining room of the restaurant “MY FUCKING CAR IS ON FIRE! ITS BEEN BURNING AWHILE AND I THINK ITS LIKELY TO FUCKING EXPLODE ANY FUCKING SECOND NOW!!!!” It was right then every piece of pompous shit eating lunch jumped out of their seat and vacated the restaurant running like their asses were on fire too in an attempt to move or save their cars for the obvious reasons. Now I must remind you I was parked all the way in the back of the lot nowhere near anyones car in the least.

The fire department was dispatched and arrived in record time, but at this point all the could do was extinguish the flames as my car was absolutely totaled at this point after burning for 10-15 minutes strait. The prissy patrons of the restaurant all got in their cars and bailed, I never saw a single one go back in to pay or anything (I assume they all were going to use my car fire as a reason they shouldn’t have to pay their bill’s as it was a great inconvenience TO THEM) Anyway we called an acquaintance in town to come pick us up and give us a lift out of their. Our ride came over fast as fast can be ,and we loaded up and left leaving the burnt out wreck that was my car in the restaurants parking lot like a giant still smoldering piece of coal.

Patrolman Pud Whacker & The Night Of 1,000 Tickets

It was a warm summer’s day back in The Mother State I remember it well, time as not dulled the vivid details of that day in the least. I was driving around town aimlessly trying to find something to do in a town trapped in constant small time stagnation. I ended up stopping by my friend Arminian’s grandmother house and found him at home with his long term high school sweet heart girlfriend by the name of Eon. Not to long after picking Arminian and Eon up we ran into a mutual friend in the 7-11 parking lot called Hermoor the self proclaimed “Last Norwegian Viking”. Like us Hermoor was bored out of his Nordic God loving mind and had nothing to do as well decided to join our futile quest for entertainment.

We had been aimlessly driving in virtual circles for about half an hour when I made a right turn onto a highway accidentally cut some random red pick up truck off. The driver was a beer bellied middle aged man in a stereotypical John Deer baseball cap, dingy flannel shirt and sporting a scruffy unkempt wild man of the woods beard. At this point in time the term road rage had not been defined and coined into the american lexicon as of yet ,BUT thats exactly what this moronic hillbilly bellend had going on. The driver was tail gating the holy shit out of me while screaming like a banshee and waving his hands around like a Hitler during one of his speeches.

The problem at hand I was faced with was I had 2 choices and had to make one on how the hell to best handle this road raging dickbag. On one hand I could keep driving until I hopefully lose the fool and that would be that problem solved. OR I could pull over and my friends and I could beat this wannabe bad ass into the ICU. Blinded by his road rage the pick up truck prick had failed to notice he was one middle aged outta shape man versus 3 twenty somethings figuring a fight would relieve the eternal state of boredom for a bit. I decided to attempt and avoid a fight due to the fact that inevitably the cops would be called followed by us getting arrested and the other guy getting a ride to the nearest emergency room. Unfortunately in such a small ass tiny town its next to impossible to lose anyone especially if they’re bumper fucking your car into next week.

Finally I drove behind a shitty strip mall to reach main street when low and behold there are 2 cop cars sitting side by side as they do when the officers are chatting about the bullshit they pull with tax payers money. FOR ONCE I figured the cops would be helpful in deterring the Pick Up Truck Fucker to lay off his wannabe vigilante war path and we could be rid of this son of a bitch. At first my idea seemed to have worked as I drove past the parked cop pow wow and the Pick Up Pecker pulls right up to the pow wowing police and starts ranting like a Meth head on a bender so I figured well hell that douche bag is the cops problem now.

I pulled out of the shitty strip mall onto main street and managed to drive 2-3 miles before I look in my rear view mirror and see BOTH cop cars driving up on me quite seriously with lights on and all that fun shit. I pulled over confused as to what the hell I did other than save some ungrateful asshole from eating soup through a straw for months on end. That and I wasn’t speeding and I obeyed all traffic signs and shit because well there were 2 cops present so what the hell am I getting pulled over for?!

Thats when I officially met Patrolman Pud Whacker a 25 year old just graduated from the police academy and so fresh out of the wrapper he stilled smelled like a new car. Patrolman Pud Whacker asked me what the pick up truck deal was all about so I explained the situation in full. Now I was the picture of refractory when I was younger as I didn’t give a shit about the game and went out of my way to shit all over the so called rules. Patrolman Pud Whacker essentially dismissed the Pick Up deal and just plain started to hassle us “young punks” at which point I all but lost my shit. I vented my increasing anger at this ass backward situation where for once in my/our lives we didn’t do the wrong thing by letting the pick up driver act the fool without inflicting grievous bodily harm.

Patrolman Pud Whacker broke right into the snide superiority of a cocksucking cop who just hit the streets and is getting an erection from the new found authority (My guess is Pud Whacker was a punk bitch who was bullied and beat up all through high school so now being a cop is his way of settling his the score with society) Anyway things between Patrolman Pud Whacker escalated quickly to say the least as our voices rose and I let the profanity train go hurtling on its way to obscenityville. I was viciously arguing that messing with us instead of dealing with some reckless revenge driver’s road rage was exactlly why America is fucked as well as why no one trusts nor likes what the American police force has turned into.

So to be a MEGA prick and also prove my point Patrolman Pud Whacker preceded to walk around my car in a malicious 360 of dickdom writing tickets for every and all traffic infractions he could find wrong with my car. At the end of our lovely 15 minute roadside shit storm I was handed a literal fist full of tickets that totaled $1,200 and change.

Summery: Cops are Crooks so handle things yourself because cops can only hurt you they don’t help anyone BUT themselves and now in 2016 cops aren’t just crooks anymore their cold blooded power tripping killers.

The Spinal Tap T.V.

Long ago when my wife and I started dating in early 1776 I was living with a friend of mine named Nightmare. An unusual trend started for a few months where my wife and I would be awoken by my friends/roommates tv blasting at an ungodly volume almost every morning. Finally curiosity trumped annoyance and I out right asked Nightmare what in the name of all things sane was the whole waking up to his tv blaring like a goddamn Imax movie about exactly.

Nightmare’s response was quick, simple and conciese as he asked me to view a typical evening from his point of view. I agreed as once again my annoyance level was rising like the 1980’s stock market. After meeting up after work back at home base all 3 of us would hangout bullshitting and drinking more than a few beers. As the evening wound down my wife and I would retire to our bedroom as Nightmare retired to his which was right next to ours.

Once everyone was settled in their perspective bedrooms Nightmare would kick on the T.V. for a bit. Then my wife and I would inevitably end up having sex which in turn caused Nightmare to raise the volume on his t.v., but instead of that being the end of it apparently my wife and I would precede to get louder then louder again causing a volume battle with Nightmare’s t.v. until the television’s volume maxed out. Nightmare then at some point had to upgrade his sound system for his television because the max volume wasn’t loud enough. I can only imagine the conversation Nightmare had with the sales guy.

My Mind @ 2am on

I’m an extreme night person who finds his mind most calm and creative most from 1:30am to 4:30-5am.

Here are a small sample of tweets I came up with during the early hours of the morning or in the late of night (depends on how you view time)

A. America is not a country, its a global cooperation.

B. Mr. Id is coming and The Egos can do nothing about it.

C. Smut peddlers of the world UNITE!

D. I irritate people and piss people off to make the lemmings dance for my amusement.

E. When in doubt question

F. Hope can be dangerous

G. I’m so old I remember when Ozzy could talk like a normal human being

H. This reality feels virtual

I. Why are drug reps not referred to as drug dealers, thats what they do push drugs all day long

J. Trump America’s 1st dictator in the making.

K. Hillery those pant suits can’t hide your massive dick.

L. Sodom and Gomorra ain’t got shit on me.

M. I hide my eyes to spare you from shit you’d never forget

N. So if you say ‘I want to fuck the shit out of him/her” means what? That your going to fuck them until they shit themselves?!

O. In 90% or more of child custody cases due to divorce the court rules in favor of the mother and I think thats sexist.

P. Shove your App up your ass.

Q. Next time some dick I dislike gets married I’m crashing and replacing the chocolate in the dessert fountain with feces.

R. If you use a vaporizer to quite smoking tobacco good, if your vaping for vaping’s sake your a douche bag.

S. Prepare for the Hipster Holocaust can’t stand the fucking LL Bean looking lumberjack trendy clones unoriginality all over

T. Uwe Boll is a untalented ego maniac who should shut the hell up and make a good movie for once.

U. Bill Zebub is the laughing stock of independent film

V. Smarter the phone dumber the user.

W. Global warming will usher in the 2nd coming of the dinosaurs

X. Body shaming someone? When I was growing up it was called being an asshole.

Y. I swear my Bulldog farts tear gas

Z. Alcohol the true gateway drug evil.

These are just some I could remember off the top of my head as my twitter content has been frequently described as prolific by others. If your curious

Less_Sober@f_yourblog.

The Hippy and The Hillbillies

My father was born,grew up in, lived and worked in two major Northern cities before he met my mother at his job. My mother was working in the second city ,BUT she was from a very small southern town where she was born and raised before seeking employment in the Northern city.

As you may imagine though they lived in the Northern city they made frequent yearly trips to visit my mothers side of the family down south. Now my father noticed in the first few years of their marriage that when he wanted to go into town my grandfather automatically would send one of my mom’s relatives to accompany him. In all due favor it was the mid seventies the deep south. At this time my father had a full on beard, prominent jew fro, wore aviator sun classes and sported a military type jacket . Well finally my father got rather fed up with the whole baby sitter situation and asked my Grandfather strait out why he couldn’t go into town alone.

My Grandfather in brutal honesty told him the reason he wouldn’t allow my father to go by himself into town. My Grandfather said it was because until the towns people knew who he was, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY that he was married to my mom and my Grandfather’s son-in-law it simply wasn’t safe.

The Cop, The Crooks and The Kegger

It was a night as another night in the small town of Phucitville USA when I along with my friend Space Dog ran into a couple of friends of ours at a local shit strip mall. their names were Firefly and her on again off again love triangle entangled boyfriend Hermoor which is Scandinavian translates into ”War Spirit”. Now the gruesome twosome had gotten themselves into a bit of trouble (selling counterfeit acid) and needed a ride out of town about as fast as they could get one. They asked Space Dog and myself (though I was the one with the car) if they could bum a ride, but this wasn’t just a spin around the block as it were they needed a road trip into the deep south. With Space Dog as my copilot as well as my traveling companion for the return trip I said it be no problem so we planned to meet up the next day and hit the road.

When the morning arrived I drove over to Space Dog”s, picked him up and headed out to meet up with FireFly and Hermoor at the designated location. Once we got to the spot we had to find them in a crowd of people who turned out for some fundraiser “fair” that had been scheduled for the same day. Finally we found them collecting money owed (as he was the biggest drug connection in the entire county in spite of his acid antics) and peddling whatever contraband they had left to fund their/our road trip. At last with cash in hand and out of contraband (accept for the personal head stash Hermoor kept at all times.) we managed to get going as it was going to be quite awhile on the road to say the least. We spent the entire day limping down the highway as my car (being older then dirt) kept over heating every 45 minutes or so (turned out once we arrived to be a minuscule hole in the radiator hose) and smoking weed at every rest area along the way waiting for the car to cool down. Once the sun set traveling was much more productive since obviously it was much much cooler.

It was around 1 am I was driving (Hermoor and I were trading off driving as Space Dog and FireFly where old enough but yet still didn’t have a drivers licenses) I had been driving 6 hours or so straight and started to suffer white line syndrome, thats when your so tired you start to see double as your vision becomes increasingly blurry. I took the next exit I could find and pulled into a gas station at the bottom of the exit ramp. I woke the crew up for refueling the car and ourselves then decided it was time I called home since my family hadn’t seen hide nor hair of me in 72 hours (friends used to call and where told by my family that wasn’t there and had the caller seen me and if so when) I moseyed over to the pay phone (Yup life before cell and smart phones) and called my family collect. No one answered because it was after 1 am in the morning , but the answering machine (yup life before voice mail hard to comprehend even for me) so I left a message saying I was on the road with friends headed into the deep south and would be home in a couple days or so. As soon as I hung up the receiver out of the corner of my eye I saw a fucking cop drive into the gas station and park. Now he didn’t park at a gas pump nor near the gas station’s front door instead he pulled up next to the curb where he could see us and us him (common cop tactic to intimidate so if the civilian acts nervous because fuck their being intimidated on purpose then the cunt cop can fuck them over 9 ways till Sunday.) The first thought that went through collective conscience was “FUCK! Now what the hell we do??!”

What you must understand is the following facts:

I was 19 and my friends were 17-19 years old so to the cops we were a group of young punks.
There was the matter of the various contraband items that comprised Hermoor’s head stash in the car.
We all were exhausted not to mention stoned as Tommy Chong at the time.
We had out of state plates on the car (a natural attractant of unwanted police attention) too.
We had by this time ventured into the religious region of the south and we obviously weren’t church going folk.
Cops are BIGGER assholes in the religious religion of the south BIG TIME.
The way we were dressed made us stand out like the Las Vegas strip. I was wearing a leather biker jacket (no shirt), worn as worn can get jeans, a pair of shot out shit kickers and a dog collar with pad lock. Hermoor was sporting his Black Metal Scandinavian heritage gear that consisted of a Leprous Troll T-shirt, combat boots and some sort of Norwegian viking kilt. FireFly was sporting a tie dyed sun dress and was barefoot like some wannabe woodland hippy elf. Lastly Space Dog was wearing a Sonic the Hemp Hog T-shirt, ragged jean shorts and a stuffed pair of Doc Martins.

At this point we figured all we could do is prepare for the worst and hope for the best as we were destined to get royally fucked with and likely over by this deep south son of a bitch pig. The cop after pausing an exorbitantly long pause (also designed to instill unease in citizens by the cocksucking cops.) rolled down his window and asked us strait away if we were coming from the local collage kegger party to which we responded that no we hadn’t been at the party as we were out of staters just stopping off to get some gas before moving along. Once again there was a longer then normal drawn out pause on the crappy cops end. After his 2nd planned pause the cop said something we had never anticipated so much it almost turned our brains into shit with utter surprise and awe. What follows is almost verbatim but time has worn my memories so its not quite a direct quote.

Cop: “Have you all coming from the kegler down at the college?”

Us: “No just getting some gas and heading out back on the road and not aware of this or any kegler.”

Cop: “Well then, I’ll tell you how you can get there….”

The cop went on to give us complete details and directions to the party before telling us rather cheerfully to be safe, take it easy and safe travels before rolling up his window and slowly driving off into the shadowy vail of night. As soon as he was out of sight we jumped in our car and drove like a motherfucker as far away from there as we could get.

Nice not to get arrested for once, not to mention a cop has never given me directions to a college kegler or any party for that matter. Luck be a lady tonight.

The Bastard Brothers of BarFly

Back in the day when I was a real son-of-a-bitch I had the great displeasure of knowing The Bastard Brothers of Barfly for a few miserable months. First off BarFly barely constitutes a town out in “the boonies” of TCM. BarFly is such a tiny,tiny bankrupt micro town its not even a small dot on the map, and the people’s families/friends of BarFly residents received enthusiastic emails when the town got a 2nd traffic light for Christ’s sake. As you can imagine there isn’t diddly shit for the youth of BarFly to do but drink, fuck, vandalize, smoke weed, loiter and drive around the rural landscape of nothingness that is BarFly.

The Bastard Brothers are a classic example of the youth of BarFly, but I’m sure by now BarFly has developed or died providing a much more active environment. The older brother was named Bell-End who was the most transparently fake as fuck person I have ever run across in my chaotic travels.

This story unfolds in a time before smart phones and social media when Headbangers still existed in diminishing tribes but where a dying breed since Seattle ejaculated Grunge music and flannel in the face of America. Now Bell-End was a wannabe metalhead he had the long hair, played guitar, smoke’n drank, wore jeans with torn knees, and a lame denim vest (a jacket he had cut the sleeves off of, he missed the memo stating sleeve removing is for t-shirts not jackets the moron) covered with band patches (such as Metallica, Motorhead, Anthrax etc.) ultimately he was a shitty sheep in metal clothing. Not only that but he has a condescending, egotistical, snide “I’m gods gift to the fucking world” smarter than all attitude ,but in reality he was just a lame legend in his own minuscule mind.

His younger brother Dingus was not any better then his big brother accept he was a scumbag of a different shitty color. Dingus has short man’s insecurities all Napoleon complex and shit because the guy is 5 foot nothing. Dingus dropped out of high school in the 10th grade to hangout 24/7 attached at the hip with a scummy emo goth chick named Slutica When I say attached at the hip I mean it in the most extreme stereotypical manner, you NEVER saw one without the other being no more than 3 feet away like the pair of codependent cocksuckers they still are.

This particular cool fall evening I was loitering my balls off outside the one and only connivence store/ gas station in BarFly called the Bub’s Gas’n Grub in the entirely vacant lot somewhere around 8 pm or so. My buddy Slaytanic who had be relentlessly hounding the pay phone (yes they too still existed in limited numbers as cell phones evolved society) trying to find something, anything to do other than what we were currently up to. Slaytanic finally reached The Bastard Brothers on his mental rolodex and found out the two douche bags had a party ball of Schidt. The Brothers also claimed to have in their possession a bag of Northern Lights so if we needed something to do Slaytanic and I could stop by The Brother’s house since their parents were off visiting relatives. After a brief no brainer consultation Slaytanic and I were walking our way over to The Bastard Brother’s parents place.

Once Slaytanic and I arrived Bell-End announces that the two twats had decided to charge everyone $20 to party. This was beyond stupid as fuck for two key principals 1 being imposing a last minute party tax is like a bullshit cover charge, and we’re in BarFly not NYC. The 2nd principal being the Brother’s claim to marijuana fame (Yes again there wasn’t ANY legal weed medical or otherwise.) which was blatant bullshit. There was not a chance in all the religious hells the 2 twits could have gotten their grubby hands on Alaskan high grade shit. What The Brother’s had was what everybody had Mexican brick weed which is very low quality shit (especially by todays standards), and were simply lying to try to warrant their $20 turd tax. Not to mention this was the farthest thing from a party as it was the 2 Bastard Brothers, Slaytanic, myself and one other person who also was a good friend of mine named Space Dog.

It was not just the fact I was hanging at the home of 2 colossal cockbangers but it was the surprise last second tax that just royally chapped my ass, and thus kicked off my rampage of drunken revenge. I had had enough at this point of the to Bastard Brothers with their endless torrent of complete horse shit and even shittier personalities. To get the ball rolling I decided to pound beers like an alcoholic yeti until they went down like water. The entire group adjourned to the backyard at one point to smoke the alleged (and yet totally fake ass) Northern Lights aka dirty ditch weed. After smoking it was back to slamming beers like I was trying to keep Schidt beer from going into bankruptcy until the beer finally ran out. We had been hanging out in the Bastard Brother’s garage but without beer our rag tag group of miscreants headed inside to the basement, thats when I knew the shit was going to reach absolute apeshit levels.

In the interest of time and due to the fact I can’t remember the minor details I present you with a list of pertinent highlights.

I sat down on the crappy couch in the basement (which is where we ended up) propping my foot on the coffee table while holding onto an imaginary steering wheel. When Slaytanic questioned what I was doing exactly I respond by damn near yelling “I’m DRIVING my car MOTHERFUCKER you gonna get in or what?!”
I walked over to the out dated tv with an archaic VCR on top of it. Once I reached the VCR i flipped it upside down and proceeded to start unplugging cords by ripping them forcefully from their various attachments. Again when asked by Slaytanic what the hell I was up to I glared at him and demanded to know “How do you get into this thing?!!!”
In the drunk urinary tradition I wondered over to the water heater and promptly started pissing all over it as well as the floor.
I violently and voraciously vomited in the kitchen sink clogging the holy hell out of it with chunks of regurgitated fish sticks (I had at this time managed to escape from the confines of the basement and was freely walking around The Brother’s parent’s house.)
I was quickly escorted back to the basement where I stumbled into The Brother’s Mother’s at home pottery making shop. Turned out she was really into making clay pots and shit as a relaxing hobby. Now the mother had lined the walls with those cheap rickety metal shelves (not to mention the cheap selves where lined up around the room not just against the wall). They were the kind you see in industrial warehouses anyway she used them for storing her clay pots in various stages of completion . I decided I needed to sit down so I attempted to sit but ran into a serious issue. I tried to sit on one of the shelves but my ass and lower back got sort of stuck so I got trapped in a squatting position. When I stood up I incidentally shoved the self back (thanks Einstein ya dick) and the entire book shelve of clay pots came crashing down in a hailstorm of homemade havoc. Every one of those pots hit the cement basement floor and exploded sending clay fragments flying in every direction.
The next morning after crashing in the basement I went upstairs to make the bladder gladder when I ran into The Bastard Brother’s parents The Dullards. Now the Dullard’s had arrived home an hour or so before our encounter, and they were staring intently at me as if to ask “Who is this bum in our house?!” I hate people staring at me period not to mention I also was insanely hungover and no longer gave a shit about any of it. I turned my head as I passed them on the way to the crapper I stated in brutally blunt honesty “What me? Your sons are the real assholes here.” In all do favor I was made aware before hand that The Dullard’s hated my specific race so thats why I gave them a face full of shit, fuck’em their racists.

Around the crack of noon Slaytanic, Space Dog and I walked off into the sun rise never to see The Bastard Brothers or their racist parents The Dullards ever again, and I for one couldn’t be happier.

I Survived the Smutville Summer of Slaughter 1976

It was a favorable fall evening in the midst of July as we slowly assembled our motley crew of usual small town misfits behind the Piggly Wiggly. I as always arrived first as patience is a virtue I was born without followed by Clitoria and her white trash future meth cooking boyfriend aptly named Tweaky. The three of us stood around loitering like a son of a bitch and chain smoking Cowboy Killers until finally Ziggy Zag (the one and only marijuana peddler in the entire county of Pornotovia) who operated on some bizarrely slow internal clock ,but you couldn’t get too pissed off at him as he was the only small town connection. The final stragglers Tool, Tits McGee, MC Satan and Ms. Muff wondered in 45 minutes later citing their lateness on a glitch in obtaining the evenings alcohol (as we were all underage high school seniors at the time.)

There 2 elementary issues when your drinking underage first being how to obtain the alcohol and secondly a place to consume the said alcohol. We had already solved issue one by bribing Scumbag Billy the local small town 22 year old delinquent. Scumbag Billy graduated from the local high school (on the 6 year plan mind you) stayed in town taking a shit job as a mechanic down at Jiffy Lube of route 1171 ,and lived in a hellhole of a mobile home. Scumbag Billy “Inherited” the property when his parents vacated the premises 3 years back to avoid being arrested for bootlegging. We had this pre party at the Pig to devise a drinking place free from the prying eyes of neighbors and the ever bored ever present police. Some cliches are cliches because they’re real and just one such saying is “News travels quickly through a small town” which is absolutely and fundamentally correct. Just a few hours earlier Ziggy Zag had overheard a conversation at the local convenience store between 2 guys who worked in construction. What the 2 construction works were talking about was next weeks project that was due to start the following Monday ,but before they could build a damn thing the previous structure and to be demolished. Apparently this monopoly like cookie cutter mass produced single story business building (at the ass end of an industrial complex) had gone bankrupt, and as a result the office was cleared out and locked up a couple of days ago. It was a unanimous vote by all that tonight we’d party at the newly abandoned office building because 1. No Neighbors, 2. All the workers else where in the complex went home no later than 6 p.m. and 3. It was such a new spot that the cops hadn’t heard of it yet and added it to their nightly rounds about town.

With decision in hand we piled like circus clowns into MC Satan’s 1968 Ford station wagon which was an anomaly unto itself. MC Satan’s Station Wagon was beyond a beater and more towards rattling death trap as the speedometer was completely broken, the floor boards on the passengers side had rusted all the way through so one could see the road while driving, the gas gauge was shaky at best, the dashboard lights would flicker on then off ,and the radiator gauge was stuck in the over heating position permanently. Thankfully the drinking location was located approximately 8-10 minutes from the Pig.

When we arrived we were all delighted to find the bankrupt business building as perfect and promising as we had hoped in our heads. The parking lot behind the building was small enough to avoid having a shit ton of other people there calling attention to themselves. The lot was also dimly lit allowing us to see what was happening but also allowing us not to be seen if the cops showed up and we had to hide right quick. Lastly there were thick woods around the entire perimeter which was damn near perfect if hiding wasn’t enough and we had to make a run for it. It didn’t take long to set up camp and within mere minutes there was smoking,toking,drinking and fucking abounding under the star ridden sky. The hedonistic partying went on barreling into the late hours of the night until Tweaky heard something and the night evolved into a nightmare.

We all had reconvened for a toking circle that consisted of us standing in a circle each with a joint, blunt,bowl or bong and simultaneously lighting up. Then we just passed to the left until all of said marijuana had been smoked and then proceeded to plan where we would be acquiring late our night dining needs. Now a vote had to be taken as oddly for a small town there where several diners and a token Denny’s by the Mall competing for our munchie money. All of sudden as Ms.Muff and Tool were vehemently going at it over The Waterford diner versus The Greasy Spoon as to who had better what when Tweaky stood up quickly ,and started looking around like a cracked out Mearcat scanning around in a complete 360 degrees. The first thing we tried to figure out was if Tweaky was bugging out because he was too intoxicated, but so were we so we were unable to decide. There then was a moment of collective intense anxiety as we wondered then if in fact the cops had found us out which turned out not to be the case. Since we didn’t know if Tweaky’s behavior was do to drugs and drink as well as feeling relieved we didn’t have to haul ass through the woods to escape from the cops, then what the hell was going on? Upon asking Tweaky as to what the origin of his behavior was we were answered with a question that being had we heard something out of the ordinary a moment ago. None of us recollected hearing shit but each other when Tweaky snapped to attention and again demanded to know if we had heard the mysterious noise that time to which the answer was again no. Tweaky now having gotten himself completely twisted over the alleged unknown noise that we decided to all quite down right quick and give it a listen. Well to the surprise of us all there in fact was a very strange noise coming from the woods off to our left. Immediately we went from disbelieving Tweaky to feverishly trying to define the origin of this curious unidentified noise. With out blinking MC Satan stated the noise was that of flesh eating deer. Instantly Tits McGee criticized the hypothesis as not being possible because deer are herbivores so meat was not on their specific dietary menu. MC Satan respond by saying there was a scientifically viable biological reason behind the newly discovered flesh eating deer phenomenon. As we were already aware there was a more than healthy local deer population, but what we didn’t know MC Satan informed us was that a mutated strain of the rabies virus had reached America from a North Western South East region of Africa. Now this mutant strand had also mutant side effects upon the late stage behavior of its victims. While the known original strain of rabies instills a irrational terror like fear of water in its victims, the mutant strain seemed to instill a homicidally high prey drive in normal herbivores turning pretty prey animals into putrid predators. Before anyone had a split second to call bullshit the woods erupted into a flurry of activity, the bushes started rustling, tree limbs shaking and sticks breaking accompanied by a deafening crescendo of the unknown noise. It was instantly obvious that whatever was happening in the woods was massive and more then likely something non of us wanted to fuck with. We franticly started gathering up our shit as fast as we possibly could desperate to get the fuck out of there, but we never stood a chance in hell of that. The deer exploded from the woods in force, there were so many of the damnable beasts that at first they looked like one single entity a giant blurry brown mass stampeding toward us like a living tsunami of slaughter. Our fight or flight instinct kicked in and the adrenaline flowed like the nile as we ran for our piddly little lives. Ms. Muff being a 2 beer queer light weight didn’t make it a fucking foot before the deer where raining down upon her like a pack of land based piranha. The piercing sound of Muff’s screaming bloody gore as the sick wet sounds of ripping flesh, mutilating muscles, tearing tendons filled our fleeing ears. Tool turned out to be the true pussy of the pack as he froze in utter fear watching Ms. Muff being turned into an human order of shredded beef until there was nothing left of her but bare bloody bones. A massive buck charges full force from the woods straight at Tool dead on. The deer plowed into Tool with a meaty smack its huge antlers impailing Tool tossing him high into the air with his intestines trailing behind him like the tail of a fucked up kite. Poor Tits McGee was only capable of sprinting short distances before her massive pendulous breasts swung so out of whack she became top heavy and off kilter causing her to fall flat on her funny face. Once Tits went down she just disappeared, absorbed into the murderous mass of the deers of death leaving nothing of Tits but a blood stain on the assault. Clitoria stumbled over her beloved bong and when she did a deadly doe rammed its entire head up Clitoria’s ass and ate her alive from the inside out making it look like she violently imploded. Now if you’ve ever heard someone say its damn near impossible to catch a crackhead well that ain’t shit compared to Tweaky fueled by cheap moonshine and decent quality biker crank. Tweaky needless to say was way the hell ahead of the group that was until the combination of the intoxicants and sky high adrenaline level overloaded Tweaky’s system causing him to loudly and quite violently shit himself to death instantly on the spot. With Tweaky laying face down in a bloody pool of his own feces with a prolapsed asshole Ziggy Zag and I decided to run like hell for MC Satan’s crappy car, but Satan living up to his name had apparently already reached the car and drove off like a bat out of hell. Upon finding ourselves fucked over by Satan Ziggy and I decided running toward the water sewage plant at the end of the road was our best plan b. We gave it our all and managed to make it to the water sewage plant with the deer literally nipping at our asses, but Ziggy was so terrified at that point he didn’t stop running before accidentally falling head over heals into the sewage plants water re purification open air holding tank (a massive circular tank used in the reclaimed water process of turning sludge and shit into Agricultural grade reusable water)

Once I managed to climb over the sewage plants 15 foot chain link perimeter fence and clear the barbwire I promptly turned around to see where the fuck this horrible horde of mutant rabies infected deer was currently at and couldn’t believe my eyes. The deer of damnation had turned on each other and were devouring one another in a feeding frenzy of blood lust. Apparently I was spared a horrendously horrible demise due to the fact the herd of infected deer were in the final stages directly prior to death causing the cannibalistic carnage I witnessed that ultimately saved my life.

Uwe Boll SHUT YOUR MOUTH

If you don’t know who the hell Uwe Boll is consider yourself lucky thats for sure. Uwe is a german screenwriter,director,producer and actor based in Canada of all places. There is simply 2 parts to Mr.Boll his work in film and his pungent personality (Boll won the “Worst Career Achievement” Award at the 29th Golden Raspberry Awards)

WORK: Uwe Boll has made many movies over the years since 1990 that have one thing in common, THEY SUCK on a monumental level. They are all gutter garbage for the same reasons as well, the acting is like watching a nervous summer camp talent show skit were the actors are literally reading their lines off a piece of paper as they try not to shit their shorts. But thats just the beginning of the cinematic shit storm that are Uwe Boll’s films. As far as a script is concerned its like Boll took a crude amateur script, shoved it through a industrial sized shredder, and then picking up the shreds to tape them back together in a completely random order. Not to mention 95% or more of Boll’s work is based on the same similar subject matter and basic Boll business plan. The whole of Boll’s work consisted of him buying the rights to popular video games (such as Postal, Bloodrayne and House of the Dead to name a few) and adapting them into his movie template. Its not a surprise that video game fans have blasted Boll with aggravated anger claiming Boll butchers the games he bases his films on by destroying the plot and ad-libbing a bunch of his own idealistic gibberish. Some Anti-Boll minded people have also said that Boll’s work is low budget as if thats a contributing factor to how much blue whale cock his movie(s) suck. I DO NOT AGREE With The Previous Statement for I’ve seen brilliant independent movies made for around $25,000 and shitty ones too ,and same goes for bigger budget hollywood films as well. You can make a masterpiece or a monstrosity with 1 or a million dollars.

As for his pungent personality its plain to see Boll is overtly egotistical and self assured, far beyond opinionated, a bit delusional and a extremely intense person who truly believes the endless stream of bullshit he perpetuates. Boll blames everyone else for his failure from distribution companies to underachieving Kickstarter account its ALWAYS some else fault, as Boll believes the world is out to get him because of his outspoken self perceived talent and self deluded cinematic genius. Boll who was/is an amateur boxer has over the years challenged many of his critics and detractors to a 10-12 round boxing match to prove he and his work isn’t a laughing stock of the entire film industry. After Boll’s last failure he posted a handful of videos on Youtube screaming like a banshee. Boll went on to yell about Hollywood is for fake motherfuckers, no one is smart enough to understand his work, Big Name Hollywood actors (i.e. George Clooney) are talentless whores who sell their faces for films, American directors (such as Eli Roth and Quentin Tarrentino) are slaves to the film industry who have no originality Boll said in his random rambling rant.

What set Boll off was the Kickstarter page he started to fund the 3rd installment of his Rampage film series failed to secure the needed funds. Boll’s baby all along was his Rampage project about a disgruntled average American Joe who can’t take the corruptions of the country (and world) with all its injustices and brutality (Calling Micheal Douglas via Falling Down) and takes matters into his own vigilante hands. Unfortunately for Boll who wrote,directed,produced and acted in the previous two Rampage movies (Rampage and Rampage:You End Now) were a PERFECTLY PRIME EXAMPLE of what makes Boll such a wannabe bitch. The Rampage movies were shot on a single shaky digital video camera by what one can only imagine is a teenage high school AV Club member. As for any sort of proper sound recording/editing there is none just the microphone on camera which causes the sound to cut in and out like a shitty WiFi signal. As for the screen play its just a vague and artificially angry monologue spewed out by the lead actor (who’s body armor is blatantly a run of the mill paintball outfit) thats supposed to be this hyper intelligent socio-political commentary of the current state of affairs in American and its citizens. Instead the “dialogue” comes off like Boll got a paranoid schizophrenic conspiracy obsessed person to hook up with a elderly homeless person with late stage dementia ,and the script was dictated to him by their outrageous offspring.

Boll’s bottom line is he spends more time trying to make people believe he’s a great film director/writer instead of just MAKING A GREAT FILM.

LSDeity

I don’t believe anyone knew his actual name but as kids we called him Smiley Jesus. You would only see him bare foot leisurely wondering through my and surrounding neighborhoods in summer. Besides the bare feet he also preferred to be shirtless wearing a red pair of 1970 high school gym class shorts like a personal uniform. Obviously looking like the traditional white version of christianity’s Jesus along with his penchant for constantly smiling earned him the nickname Smiley Jesus.

I found out from my father years down times long twisting road a basic backstory biography about Smily Jesus. First off he didn’t find ANY OF THIS OUT for Smiley Jesus NEVER spoke a single word as far as any of us knew he just paced around smiling and not bothering anyone at all.

My father had found out from some of our neighbors that Smiley Jesus occasionally mowed various peoples lawn for cheap. My father admitted he had hired Smiley Jesus to cut our lawn BUT said it was by far the strangest social interaction of his life. My father went on to explain that Smiley Jesus only spoke a sentence or two max and was unable to answer basic questions pertaining to cutting lawns he would just stare vacantly not saying a single thing. Also in spite of the reference no one told my father Smiley Jesus’s real name ,and he never found it out on his own. Some how the two of them managed to do business so to speak a few times over the summers.

Now a friend of our next door neighbor was in fact also a dear friend of Smiley Jesus’s family and knew what his story actually in fact was. Again his actual name was not mentioned as he was referred to during the conversation as he and the story’s bottom line was this. Smiley Jesus was a strait A student (that was a member of even fucking club and School events) a well rounded over achiever who upon graduating high school was accepted to Princeton University back in the late 60’s. Smiley Jesus excelled in chemistry (on a rocket scientist level) and had access to a full laboratory ,and he for some unknown reason started manufacturing LSD. That was until one batch he made was systematically fucked up, or in plain english a “bad batch”. Apparently Smiley Jesus didn’t know about or decided not to use a volunteer genie pig and tested his product personally. Needless to say he totally fried his fucking brain and destroyed any possible future he had.

I’m ending the story there with no wise life lesson or tragic hero sob story, or cautionary tale shit. The guy made a bad life decision and fucked over his life.