Non Fiction – Page 21

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.

The PCP Party and The Pizza Delivery Prank

For a period time when I was 21 I was living at my moms house spending my free time sitting on my mom’s backyard porch drinking beer with friends. One evening it was myself and three friends Drivel, Cult and Ms. Razor. In addition to a 30 pack of Red Dog they had also brought a couple of dime bags of PCP which we preceded to roll up and smoke both bags. For our millennial readers PCP was a street drug that had its 15 minutes of fame hay day in the 1970s. The Irony is PCP is a veterinary drug (can you say foreshadowing? Special K.) that was/is a horse tranquilizer ,but in humans it can cause violent, unpredictable and aggressive behavior lets just say PCP was the Bath Salts of the 70’s.

Well the night finally ended as they always do with Ms. Razor, Drivel and Cult stumbling off into the night to raise more hell by morning. I was sitting in the kitchen after turning off every single light in the house off when their was a knocking at the front door. I stood up, grabbed a 12″ butchers knife and went to answer the door. I flipped the porch light on and whipped open the door to find some teenage pizza delivery guy holding a pizza of course. When I opened the door the delivery guy jumped back a few feet and was looking as nervous as a chihuahua in a thunderstorm. I glared at him with such intensity I’m sure that between the look and large butcher’s knife he thought he was going to end up dead, devoured and have his skin worn as a smoking jacket. I demanded to know what the fuck he wanted and he replied someone ordered the pizza so obviously he’s delivering it. I informed the delivery guy that I was the only person here and I didn’t order any goddamn pizza. He replied in a shaky voice that he was wondering what the knife was for ,apologized and high tailed it the hell out of there.

Interesting prolog:

I went to the pizza place where the delivery guy worked to apologize ,but he didn’t want to come up front to get it stilling being a tad bit frazzled.
I found out over a decade later that this rancid twat of an ex girlfriend who intellectually reverted to 12 years old and decided to play the call in a fake pizza order gag.

The Coolest Cake I Ever Encountered

I’ve never really liked sweets as I have always preferred salty over sweet. Don’t get me wrong now I am in the end just a human ,and once in a blue moon even I need to score a Snickers. But just like you I’m part of the birthday party propaganda machine so on my birthday I would always get the traditional cake and so be it.

Now back quite a few years at this point my wife and championship tag team partner’s cousin Jameson (please drink responsibly, what? if your changing names have some fun with it for christ’s sake.) and his first wife Opal threw me a 30 something (don’t recollect which 30 though) birthday party at their house. After quite a few rather strong beers and pot smoking it was time for the whole cake fiasco. The first cool thing about it was no one said some stupid shit like ” OK guys its time for the cake!” or everyone up and disappears into the kitchen all of a sudden. Basically we were hanging out on their back porch when a tray comes down in front of me from behind me. Once the tray hit the table I saw it was entirely covered with various colored Jello Shots. Heres the kicker and coolest part my wife along with Opal had taken those cheap candy letters you can buy at the supermarket and spelled Happy Birthday Less by placing the letters on top of the appropriate jello shot.

See plenty of people know my aversion too sweets but don’t take it into consideration where as my wife and Opal did ,and as a result came up with the kick ass Jello Shot “Cake” concept.

Peddling Death Door To Door

I was sitting in my apartment one summer afternoon enjoying a craft beer or two when the door bell suddenly rang. Now I’m the type of person who knows who and when people are coming ,but no one was supposed to stop by on that particular day. I weighed the options and decided to for once to answer the door instead of ignoring it due to the fact I didn’t know who was ringing my door bell (and I utterly hate to be bothered)

So I exited my apartment on the 2nd floor, walked down the stair case to the 1st story exterior door and opened away. To my surprise it wasn’t any asshole asking if I found Jesus/accept christ or little kids going door to door selling candy as part of a school fundraiser. It was in fact a little old lady about 60-65 years old, hair white as snow with a cliche grandmother vibe. I said hello and asked what I could do for her today to which she replied she worked for a local funeral home with a neighboring cemetery. So she was going door to door talking with (and hopefully selling funeral home services) people about their or a loved one’s final preparations. More ironic then sending a senior citizen representative to sell funeral services (coffins,flowers,earns,cremation etc.) but I had amassed a short list of 3 personal questions on the matter of post death options for myself when I too die. I invited the little old lady in and took her up to my apartment where she set up shop so to speak in my living room. I informed her that yes I did have some questions about said funeral services and she very politely told me to ask her what they were.

In the time of efficiency and time management here (in no certain order) are the 3 questions I asked her alone with her answers.

Can I have my skeleton bronzed and placed in a certain pose?

No due to laws pertaining to the desecration of a corpse where there ABSOLUTELY NO acceptations.

2. If I chose to be cremated could I have my skull bronzed and placed on top of the earn’s led?

No something similar too the answer for question 1 ,but dealing moreover with the issue of handling dead bodies or some shit.

NOW THIS IS WHERE SHIT GETS DARK FAST AND MAKES NO SENSE: I SWEAR TO THE STARS ABOVE HOW THE FUCK THIS OTION IS POSSIBLE (CONSIDERING THE ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS 1 AND ) AND MOREOVER HOW THE FUCK ITS LEGAL AS THERE LAWS OUTLAWING CANNIBALISM.

3. Can I have my corpse (and possibly certain organs i.e. liver) cooked and served to the funeral party quests?

Yes if you can find someone willing to butcher and cook a corpse.

( There has to be some bizarre loophole because I can’t get my head around the yes to Necro Cannibalism.)

Ladies and Gentleman thank you, that is all.

Reticulated Python Propaganda & Mathematical Biology

Floridans blame their new wild reticulated python population problem on irresponsible reptile (in this case snake) owners. This shared belief has even led to the ownership and sale of reticulated pythons becoming illegal in the state of Florida. This hypothesis is based on nothing more than amateur speculation with no actual truth.

DON’T GET ME WRONG HERE there shitty snake owners for sure (as in any group their always a few fuck ups) who are irresponsible and when the snake becomes to big or unwanted they release their pets into the wild.

But heres the reality of the situation based on both basic mathematics and simple science. See even with decades of asshole owners releasing their pets into the wild it can’t account for the booming breeding population Florida faces today, simply too few and far between (not to mention the unknown ratio of males to females released) So the question still remains how did these snakes get into the wilds of Florida and become a epidemic of sorts? Essentially where did the come from because obviously Medusa didn’t shave her head recently.

The summation of the situation can be said in just one word HURRICANES. Hurricanes have plagued Florida since Florida was born ,but its the coasts in particular I’d like to draw your attention to. As one can imagine being surrounded on 3 sides by water there quite a few port of calls which are miles of stacked shipping containers, giant cranes and massive cargo ships( the size of a small city) in Florida to say the least. Over the years in the world of exotic pets the demand for reticulated pythons as pets grew and since reticulated pythons are not native to Florida (or America) they had to be shipped in on cargo ships. Figured it out yet?

Over decades of hurricanes ports of call have not only been hit but suffered millions of dollars in damages. So now it all comes down to simple math, hurricanes hit a port of call(s) where there shipping containers filled with who knows how many thousands of reticulated pythons being imported as pets. Now due to the hurricane(s) those containers opened allowing their contents to escape. Unfortunately with the huge amount of snakes that escaped combined with the fact that Florida is a semi tropical state it happened to be a perfect environment for not only the snakes to survive but thrive ,and that means an established adult breeding population.

Bottom Line: Hurricanes fucked up imported shipping containers in a semi tropical state, allowing reticulated pythons to escape unknown thousands at a time. Thats what fucked Florida up plain and simple.

IT WASN’T THE COMBINED RESULT OF INEPT SNAKE OWNERS RELEASING THEIR UNWANTED PETS SO GET OFF OUR (SNAKE OWNERS) COLLECTIVE COCKS ONCE AND FOR FUCKING ALL.

Thanks for your time and thats it.