dear fuckwads at the state of the union address-
please hold your goddamn motherfucking applause until the end. seriously, i've had to take, like 15 bathroom breaks. knock it off.
love-
one of the upteengazillion kids playing drinking games to your crappy SOTU address
ps. honest to god, i would have actually been impressed with "my fellow americans, I'M RIIIICH, BEEOTTTCH!" boom. in, out, 3 minutes, no goddamn clapping.
if anybody needs me, i'll be in the kitchen booting up black tar heroin.
1.31.2006
DEAR BITCHES
OH THE RARE GEMS
that you find just by clicking the 'next blog>>' button... please visit this SFW site and marvel at the drawings. i haven't actually read anything on the page, so i'm sorry if it's about pimp-slapping kittens or anything like that.
...More...1.29.2006
OFMG HFS!
as it turns out, the greatest video game ever created in the illustrious history of this fantastic and wondrous universe, was born to my beloved alma mater.
i don't know which gods i've pleased in this lifetime, but thanks a million, chaps...
1.27.2006
WTF (AGAIN)?
today is kind of an odd day. as usual, i was eating a bowl of grapenuts (death to safeway crunchy nuggets!) and reading the news when i came across one of today's top headlines at cnn.com--which is shitty, but you don't need a subscription like the NYtimes--and nearly emptied the contents of my mouth onto the computer screen when i read it.
apparently, the city of LA is suing rockstar games and take II interactive for explicit sexual content in GTA: San Andreas. hmmmm... as part of the lawsuit, the game's rating has been changed to the game-world's version of NC-17 because of the lewd content.
WTF?
nobody thinks shooting a crack dealer in the face with a tec-9 is a little more extreme than consensual sex? no? just me?
setting fire to the police is fine, but sex is bad for the kids?
somebody please, please explain this to me.
1.23.2006
STRANGE...
don't you find it strange when you wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and think: man, where did all this chest hair come from?
ladies, you know what i'm talkin' about.
OMFG
ummm... let's play a little game called "guess who's happy he has backstage passes to X at Slims on the 25th?"
aaaaannnnnnnnnd BEGIN!
let's see... could it be... um... this bad motherfucker right here??!! (indicates self with two thumbs pointed inward). why, yes indeedy! it is me!
hoooooray!
FACELIFT
please report any errors on my new, improved, streamlined, sexy, groovy website (if any, bitches).
...More...(A FEW OF MY) FAVORITE THINGS
everyone's always talking about their favorite songs, like, "oh give me your 10 favorite songs" or "what's the best song every written," and i think that's just plain lazy. asking somebody to give you their ten favorite songs is like asking them to tell you the ten favorite breasts they've felt in their lifetime. there are so many good ones, and you can't very well just rank them without devaluing their individual merit. far more revealing of a person's character is their ten favorite smells, which i will now contribute below:
1. woodsmoke, preferably in the wintertime
2. a new box of crayola crayons, not the crappy 24 box that all the poor kids had, but a good 64 or 128 box (why multiples of 8, i couldn't say... where the hell is dan brown when you actually need that fucking guy?)
3. eucalyptus or tea tree oil
4. Johnsonville bratwurst boiling in MGD and onions on a charcoal grill
5. Coolwater for Women... ahhhhhh highschool
6. the ocean. no discussion.
7. old books, especially if you can get your hands on a first edition with high linen content
8. new car, leather is best
9. orange tic-tacs... what is the deal with that?
10. freshly-washed sheets that have been line-dried in the sun
there. psychoanalyze, contribute, discuss.
1.22.2006
MORE ANONYMOUS VACATION PICTURES
as they trickle in from the family (and Dutch authorities), i'll continue to post a few photos from my vacation.... that i desperately, desperately wish i were still on. goddamnit...
could somebody please tell me where i can buy ritalin? seriously, this ginko biloba shit ain't cuttin' it...
...though if i take too many, i can sort of remember the womb... man, i thought my junk was enormous before i realized it was just the umbilical cord. what in god's name am i talking about?
1.20.2006
THE ESSENTIALS OF MODERN GARDENING
the following describes an issue that has come up over the past months, which i have 
researched, brooded over, interviewed people on the street, conducted controlled scientific experiments, begged, borrowed, and stole to present a case for the ages. i will begin by posing a simple thought experiment and end with a discussion of broad implications that will no doubt inspire a healthy amount of controversy.
let's begin...
think of a world in which there are two doors at every entrance... like the mall vestibules... and in our world there exists no preset concepts of chivalry and no predetermined gender stereotypes. we give our world life by placing you and a stranger at unequal, but close, distance to the nearest double entrance. the first one of you to reach the outer door opens it and holds it for you while you enter.
what happens next?
in a courteous universe, the answer would logically be, "i, in turn, open and hold the inner door while the stranger enters, thus returning the favor."
this response would be a perfectly acceptable, reasonable, and logical result for this thought experiment. you can continue to explore multiple outcomes on your own time, but this will suffice for now.
now let's imagine we're not talking about opening doors for a stranger, but we're talking about shaving your balls.
taking what we've learned from the thought experiment posed above, let's now elaborate by extending our courteous universe to the world of personal grooming.
posit: i prefer a woman keep the hedges 'round the gazebo in neat, tidy order. it's a preference. the entrance to the batcave was always hidden by a subterfuge of bookshelves for the exact purpose of foiling villains like myself, yes? and furthermore, i have enough trouble finding my way around down there, so there's no reason to make it more difficult. seriously, help me out.
action: remove the obstacle.
result: maximum happiness is achieved through a simple, pre-existing bargaining structure.
...but remember, kids, we live in a courteous universe...
what have we achieved here? have i merely custom tailored my world to fit my specific set of values and desires? au contraire, mes amis!
remember the inner door? wouldn't you be upset if, upon holding the outer door, you were to find your companion breezing through both doors without returning the favor? well, i believe the same applies to landscaping. once again, let's return to our logic structure:
posit: i am pleased when a woman keeps the foliage in check, and am more likely to engage in extended acts of depravity in/on her presence.
result: she is rewarded for her efforts...(not always, but not from lack of effort on my part, whoopeee!)
action: in turn, if i am to expect the same level of enthusiasm, i will also denude the coin-purse.
result: both parties benefit from a simple matter of Nash bargaining. gentlemen, be kind to the ladies. shave your balls, and ye shall be rewarded.
plus it makes your junk look huge.
what say you, community of scholars? have i conducted this experiment with thorough and strict adhesion to the laws of reason?
PRETTY PLEASE?
just as a favor to me, could everyone just seriously calm the fuck down for about two or three days and quit freaking out?
i gave up internet porn, like, three weeks ago, and my nerves are fucking shot.
1.14.2006
VIVA LA BAM!
today i resurrected the Burn All Maps tour for the 2006 season.
it came to me as i awoke on the living room couch, unable to, and uninterested in understanding why i came home as late as i did, but then promptly decided to eat 3 burritos at 3am while ADHDing between waterworld and blade II on the tele. still, all things considered, it was a great morning because warren miller's cold fusion was available through comcast (rock), and dag gum that was a great way to spark this morning. i put some good medicine up in me while watching glen plake (fucking glen plake!) shred up BC, and then i, oh clever i, dropped in chris sharma's rampage which pretty much added the extra length and girth to the giant psychic boner any decent, warm-blooded, beer-swilling young man would sport from such stimulation.
it was then that i decided to resurrect the Burn All Maps tour.
also in honor of Kodiak's silver anniversary, and in homage to Pete's absence from the board meetings (read: drinking OE and then pissing it back into the empty bottles), did i do this thing on what will no doubt be this historic day. it came to me in perfect clarity, like a divine thought seeded by some mischievous god... i was going to try and get myself killed, but if i lived... oh if i lived, dear readers, this would be a day to remember.
packing list for today's excursion (in strict order of importance):
1) 1 tin fresh Kodiak wintergreen
2) the Pixies entire discograpy (possible substitutions: James Taylor, Del tha Funkee Homosapien, RHCP, Mos Def, Reverend Horton Heat, etc.)
3) 3 nutrigrain bars (blueberry)
4) 1 blue (blue goddamnit!) nalgene bottle, w/ 1L california tap water
5) 1 Petzl Calidris harness (easy on the crotch and stylish, too!)
6) ~100 ft. climbing rope (retired... nice work there, slapshot)
7) 1 brand, spanking, lick-me-shiny, new Petzl grigri belay device ($79.95 at your friendly REI outfitter)
8) webbing and.... um... safety anchors... and shit like that.... whatev...
9) the 7th edition of Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills (holy text) for ready-reference
oh, and burn all fucking maps. get behind thee, satan!
packing was a piece of piss, since i happen to have all these things at the ready for just such an occasion. ho ho!
i played a little game some of you might know as 'follow the greens' on the drive to my as-yet-unknown destination (should you be unfamiliar with this game, get in your car, and follow the green lights until you arrive at something sweet... like the la brea tar pits). this will ensure you will find something you weren't looking for which, in reality, is the very definition of adventure! hoo-ray!
after driving for about an hour through pounding rain, i finally found what i was looking for. i parked my car and took a good, long look at the distance separating me and the most perfect spire of chippy, fine-grained sierra nevada granite batholith i could have hoped for. off i set for my destination on the lightest of feet, and after about 2 good miles of truckin' i made it to the western face of my rock compadre.
hola! i cried to my gargantuan friend (she just stood there quietly). keep in mind my AdventurEction had not subsided, and i was anxious to climb atop this wild bitch and show her a few tricks i learned in summer camp. oh, but i didn't just jump right into the red meat... i ran my hungry eyes over each curve of her spine, memorizing each dip and rise of the soft, marbled stone as it swirled provocatively before me, aching to be touched, to be held, to be slapped with a wicked sloper so hard the chalk sprayed from my fingers and left imprints on the rock. oh yea... this tower wanted to be climbed. she wanted to be climbed oh so bad...
i scrambled up the west face because it was shallow and exposed to the wind, and i was no mood to be climbing in the wind and rain (which, according to the national weather service was ~1.8cm today... nothing like clinging to wet rock to save your life... best to climb the east face). when i reached the top, sweating and panting from the effort, i was rewarded with one of the most spectacular views i have seen in my short, but wicked awesome, lifetime. i won't go into details here because, frankly, i'd fuck it up and wouldn't do it justice, but i knew in my heart i'd be up here again, if only to collect my gear, so i wasted no time in setting my three anchor points and headed back for the 'please remove your dumb ass from the gene pool' moment that was about to transpire. because, dear readers, i have neither the experience, nor the skill to be climbing unknown pitches by myself. but, well... fuck it. there i was, right? right?!
as soon as i put my hands on the rock, i remembered i hadn't climbed in about a year.
so then, goes the first ascent.
i said a quick prayer to the rock gods to keep me safe (and to keep any motherfucking treasonous hold from giving way beneath my flailing arms), went through the rituals i'd been trained to execute (on belay? motherfucker you know you're on belay. you are the motherfucking belay!), and climbed on. at first i was uncomfortable with the rain slicking up all my holds, but when i put my hands on the rock i felt the soft/sticky moss whispering to me, 'don't worry, pilgrim, we'll keep you safe,' and yea, verily, it did! oh yes, i got the sewing-machine legs, and oh yes did i get the pump-y forearms, but i climbed that be-hyotch! and when i awkwardly swung my legs up the 'summit,' i was the master of the goddamn universe. i stood above all the valley below and for one, tiny moment, i really was the king. hoo-yea.
it wasn't the most difficult pitch i'd ever climbed, but upon quiet reflection, i decided to rate it 5.holy-fucking-shit-i-just-solo-flashed-this-pitch!!! which i think might stand for subsequent ascents.
i reset my anchor points and climbed two more routes before naming my pitch 'You Fucking Die! I Said' after the same-titled and hilarious pixies song that i had been listening to before leaving the warm womb of my cherry chariot. after my third climb, the rain subsided and the sun peaked out from under the protection of the misty horizon, and the thunderheads drifted east in great anvil migrations into the night. what more could anyone want in this life?
on the drive home, i stopped and bought three pounds of garlic and two pounds of dried chilies for $4.95, a blackberry pie, and two delicately frostbitten artichokes from a farmer's market on the way back. yes, i said it. i bought pie, which, according to the charter, makes this a certified, gut-shot, snake-bit, bona fide, motherfucking authentic beginning to the 2006 BAM tour.
sleep tight, skip, you sly motherfucker. these skinned knuckes, blistered feet, calloused fingers, and sore knees are the reason why we keep doing this shit year in and year out.
...great fucking day ... great fucking day...
ps. how am i still alive?... will wonders never cease...
1.12.2006
MY CHAISE LOUNGE IN HELL
go ahead and call me an asshole, but i think it's just the tiniest bit amazing that traces of avian flu are lingering in Turkey. i mean, seriously.... c'mon. i don't want to start any blasphemous rumors, but...
well, you get it.
i sure picked the wrong goddamn month to give up internet porn. oy.
1.10.2006
ANONYMOUS VACATION PICTURES
i finally sorted out my camera from my holiday vacation. unfortunately, since i would prefer the innocent to stay innocent, you only get this one anonymous picture. it is a handsome picture though, isn't it? in case you were wondering, that isn't me. but you already knew that, didn't you...
i should apologize to that random dutch man/woman in the background, but i don't know who you are, and chances are slim you'll ever come across this picture, so i'm not going to worry about it... bitch.
1.09.2006
SoCAL
in thinking about how i would describe the 24 hours i spent in LA this weekend, i toyed with the idea of merely giving you all the minute-by-minute account you're so desperately wanting right now. then i took a sip of piping hot coffee, inhaled deeply on a fine turkish cigarette, exhaled thoughtfully, and eased back into my plush corinthian desk chair while stroking my beard in a pensive moment of quiet reflection. then i decided "i watched 5 episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm and ate string cheese" wasn't the earth-shattering rollercoaster ride of emotion you may have been expecting.
instead, i believe i'll summarize my experience in the only and natural way i know how:
by telling you a story about breasts.
as i unfolded my narrative to pete's mom over brunch the following morning, i began my account of the previous evening's activities with this disclaimer:
this story begins in such away that would make some raise an eyebrow (or two?) in disapproval, but please be patient and you will be rewarded in such a way that would make my own dear mother and father shake their heads in disbelief and then wonder in silence in the car ride home what, oh what they could have done to prevent their dear, sweet boy from turning into such a dismal buffoon.
here's the problem i have with fake breasts....
i was enjoying my second martini on a pleasant, outdoor patio in a nice restaurant near the beach in Laguna, watching the men and women of LA stroll by. my conversation with Pete was gently interrupted only by the occasional punctuation of the surf, and the welcome presence of a kind-faced young waitress complimented my growing sense of calm and serenity. all seemed right with the cosmos. that is until one, single thought--as if hurled from a young hoodlum's grimy fist--shattered my calm, and a persistent uneasiness crept into my mind.
in the periphery, i saw many attractive women pass by the balcony, and a good many of them looking as if the sale of boxing gloves had been outlawed in the state of california, and they were forced to smuggle them out of local sporting goods stores hidden inside their brassieres. large, firm, orb-ish breasts shone brashly beneath grossly inadequate swatches of sweater fabric stretched well beyond its pre-determined threshold of opacity.
now i know what you might be thinking and, given the sophomoric and pretty-darn-near-pornographic descriptions of the opposite sex contained within the rest of this, my great fountain of BS, you'd more times than not be spot on the money. however, this story would not be worth telling if it could be summarized by the sparse "i saw fake breasts; i was aroused." my reaction was, inasmuch as it was to me, totally unexpected.
somwhere, deep inside, some primal urge welled up within me, and i felt the undeniable desire to grab the nearest pair of saline sweater-kittens, turn them upside-down, give them a stiff shake, and then set them down...
...as if i would see some artist's rendition of the New York skyline, or perhaps a quiet winter landscape inside, with a gentle sprinkling of snow falling from the sky...
what i saw was "fake breasts," and my immediate reaction was, "ooo! snow globe!"
and this, dear friends, is my problem with fake boobs.
1.06.2006
1.05.2006
LAST CHRISTMAS
 | i can't believe i didn't think to write about this earlier, but every restaurant i walked into this last week (sweet sweet island vacay) had Last Christmas playing for their dinner guests. those dutch sure do know how to party... i'm not kidding, i'm talking every place, and sometimes more than once in the course of an evening. what a magnificent culture. |
BACK HOME
i'm not ignoring you. i'm exhausted, and i detest coming home from vacation. i hate unpacking, and i can't find the cable that connects my camera to my computer, so no pictures for you!
...More...1.03.2006
MINI-TORTILLAS!!
i had a dream the other night in which i was about to have sexual intercourse with Amanda Peet, and that sort of put me in a weird place because i could not, for the life of me, figure out why on earth Amanda Peet would have sex with me. anyway, she hands me something of the size and shape of your typical birth control, but when i open it, i'm shocked to discover the contents are not what i'd expected. they're Mini-Tortillas. totally pushing aside my unbelievable good fortune of having been placed in that situation, i get angry and scold Amanda Peet like Bernie Mac... like "you betta TAKE yo' ass to the sto' woman!" to which she replies with only an helpless look of surprise. i get her moving with a stern "Mini-Tortillas?!" retort. then she grabs her coat and heads, sheepishly, to the door to fetch me some proper birth control.
quite a disappointing ending to that dream, i must say....
if you're reading this, Amanda, i'm sorry for scolding you. your heart was in the right place.
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