"Metallica. Meadowlands. '92. Front Row. Shoulda Seen It Bro. Put My Tongue Down This 16-Year-Old's Trote!"

Bill Hicks doing Bill Hicks.

For you bitchbabies, substitute Debbie Gibson and Tiffany with Hannah Montana and uhhh, I don't know, some other OVERexposed, UNDERaged cunt that every hetero American male secretly wants to humiliate sexually.

Taboo SNAFU!?

It'll be o.k. Maybe you can justify the depravity in your mind with your countdown-to-18 clocks and your fantasies of snorting lines off her back-tat in one of the stalls in the Viper Room, then spitting into her gaping asshole and shooting her a smile that says, I'll always be here for you. When she's 18 of course.

You are no better than me.

There's Always Room On His Broom.

Hmmm... Sit on my lap. Grind on that shit. 2am and rising. Niggas in trouble.

Today, I ate a Baconator value meal, large (three times as gnarly as it sounds)... drank about eight or nine sodas at work (they're free)... smoked half a pack of reds and now I'm drinking skunky, warm beer, trying to pass out. Listening to "Plaster Casts of Everything" on repeat, full volume, won't help with that though, will it? Sleepe wenn ime ded ya herd?! All this and I still look better naked, staring wistfully into a full-length mirror with a raging hard-on, than you do. Munhfuckas can't see me. Big Up the Macey Massive!

I am THE portrait of American Virility!

In Consideration of the Future (Fuck 2009).

"If/when I move in(to a certain local living space that shall remain unnamed), I'm just gonna save up a bit and quit my job, chain-smoke Reds, shadowbox, pound liquor-n-hollywoods, lift weights, blast "Intro" by DMX on a shitty boombox and J my D (in the nude) in the hallways and elevators all day and night".

- Kasai Rex to The Cheeseburger Man no more than 2 seconds ago. Tomorrow.

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid.

The Twelves - "When You Talk"

Bio:
I spent much of my night out after the game wallowing in the existential nightmare that is Federal Hill, sharing anecdotes about NYC lunacy with kids who graduated from Gilman one, two and three years after me. At one point, I was told that I owe it to myself to finish college. At another, that I totally belong in NYC, but that I just had to take care to run with the right crowd. And at yet another juncture, I ran into an old football coach (prickish metrosexual weirdo who was featured on the 2005 edition of the Bachelorette). "Staying out of trouble?", he asks.

Never That.

This Piece Of Shit Blog > Hipster Runoff ||| Soulwax > Justeece

KracK from Davvyk on Vimeo

Mo' Better Maths for that Aths...
Part of the Weekend Never Dies > A Cross The Universe

I can't pretend I didn't pay 75 bucks for a ticket to see them at MSG in March (didn't end up going though). I can't pretend that "Cross" hasn't fueled some of the more savage benders of my time. But still.

What's right is right.

And while we're on the subject of bloated-with-adulation, overhyped, soup du jour entities... I need soldiers for a concerted and consistent frontal assault on Hipster Runoff. Fuck that site. Is anyone (who's on the team that is) feelin' me here? HRO = wack city.

Can't wait for the backlash...


epilogue...
I'm bleeding. And it feels goooood.

Blogs are over.

Notes:
I have become detached. 

98% of the people I come into contact with nowadays bore me to tears. 

I look damn good in skinny jeans. 

I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to write.

I haven't treated my nose in the longest. 

The only thing keeping me upright and above ground lately has been thinking of the day during which I accosted Kyp Malone of TV on the Radio on Bedford Ave., face covered in (fake) blood, crashed Grave Digger I into a New York City cab in broad daylight on Houston with a head full of intoxicants and got a super sloppy, impassioned blowjob from a sketchy dominatrix (who dated, but did not fuck, Mickey Rourke mind you) I'd just met at 6am in the Party Bunker bathroom. For the record, she went on to fuck TimeMachine in my bed not 10 seconds after driiiiinking my milkshake and then stole my MacBook charger prior to a hurried 8am Sunday morning exit. 

They say one shouldn't make a habit of living in the past, but Jesus. When ya gotta go, ya gotta go. If only I could say with a straight face that all this encompassed the most insane/intense day of my life. 

Gonna go J my D and think about the end of days.