On to the next one.

This is my new blog. You'll probably hate it.

End times.

I Can Do Everything. I Have Done Nothing.

Change gon' come.

New York Is Killing Me.

For the heroes. Somehow found the dirty verj of the vidjo. Fuck a VEVO!

LOOK AT ME!

I get the feeling that a lot of you are lamenting the passing of Malcolm McLaren to establish some sort of cred. To, perhaps, rub their noses in it, if you will. No biggie. The internet brings out the hipster in all of us. I know that there are some music phreeks who may be legitimately saddened. I just don't get in the habit of mourning deads that I didn't know personally. Just sayin'. I'm a bastard.

dude, life's been over since Partners, or, brevity is the soul of shit. been here b4.

Nothing profound here. Just wanna know who's down to get bad out this tweekend... It's good to know at least one understands. Deep in this anatomy. Buried.

Leeds Or Bust.

Anybody Wanna Go To Warped Tour And Cause Problems?

There are few things that get me foamin' harder than the very notion of the City of Baltimore and non-Chainsaw Diaries iterations of The Real World. Thus, combining the two is a guaranteed Level 5. Sure, it has been confirmed that a season of the (shit)show is to be filmed in Bmore. But this shit right here gives me one more reason to long for Death To Man.

Video of the walking abortions responsible for this super-funny video getting their dicks sucked (unfortunately, not literally) by 14-year-old know-nothing cunns is found below.

You Could Find Me In The Streets, Even In A Drought, My Mattress Is Full, Why Shouldn't I Be Out?

Degrees won't mean shit when we're eating each other, man. When we're, when we're fucking burning our CHILTRIN to stay warm in a post-9/11 dystopia. Mannnnnnn. BURN YR CHILTRIN. On to blackout. I suggest you do likewise. Who's to say there's enough left?

Live Through This.

It is inadvisable to black out with yr Mac out. Yet, it could be argued that it is equally as foolhardy to nod out with yr rod out.

Niggas just tryin to scam on some craw, Breau. From downtown. Nothing to say really. Nothing to report broh craw lee. Real shite.

We Are Baltimore.

I can feel the ludacrity leeching into my lymbic system. Subcutaneous seepage that lets me know I'm still here. But for fuck's sake! Danny Glover beatin' the shit out of a Predator?! How you gon' sleep on that?!

Why Do You Overdo It?!

WHY KNOTT?!

Children Should Be Scene And Not Herd.

I have a disturbing imagination. If I could draw, I would make art. I would make a sketchbook out of the things I dreamponder and I would call it art. I would sell the art to make money, which would allot me the time to create even more sketchbooks. I would become known in various circles for my art, which I would be making money off of. If I could draw.

"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. 

Suck Those Toes. She Off That Diet Coke, She On That Coke Diet.

To TimeMasheen...

If I go along with this whole Club Super Sexe vibe, you gotta promise me and mine that things will end up nearly, if not entirely, identical to what's depicted in this "screamo electronica" video. Bitches getting choked out, rented Ranges, poppin' bottles of sparkling cider, and more fake E than you can shake a giant black rubber cock at. Ya heard me!? Make 'em say unh.

Like the '80s never happened.

But on the real, this is everything that's wrong with society today. To think that the people involved with this shit will someday grow into decision-makers or managers of some sort maybe. Possibly even parents. Actually, wait, yeah def parents. You see that one Asian broad? Total teen preggo stat. Chalk it up. I would bet my unborn daughter's life on the fact that these fucks are either from Jersey (how many Jersey Shore soundtracks is this shit on?), Vegas/New Mexico/Phoenix or Orlando, home of the Backstreet Boys.

Thanks-Shivving. Double Consonant Double Penetration FTW.

"Thanks for the wild turkey and
the passenger pigeons, destined
to be shit out through wholesome
American guts.

Thanks for a continent to despoil
and poison.

Thanks for Indians to provide a
modicum of challenge and
danger.

Thanks for vast herds of bison to
kill and skin leaving the
carcasses to rot.

Thanks for bounties on wolves
and coyotes.

Thanks for the American dream,
To vulgarize and to falsify until
the bare lies shine through.

Thanks for the KKK.

For nigger-killin' lawmen,
feelin' their notches.

For decent church-goin' women,
with their mean, pinched, bitter,
evil faces.

Thanks for "Kill a Queer for
Christ" stickers.

Thanks for laboratory AIDS.

Thanks for Prohibition and the
war against drugs.

Thanks for a country where
nobody's allowed to mind the
own business.

Thanks for a nation of finks.

Yes, thanks for all the
memories-- all right let's see
your arms!

You always were a headache and
you always were a bore.

Thanks for the last and greatest
betrayal of the last and greatest
of human dreams."

E Pluribus Unum, Or, The Ruler's Back.

"Nahh, see, cuz if they clip Obama, Ima just be on my roof with an AK and a pound of weed, pickin' off white people... It's not like that shit in the '60s. Munhfuckas ain't have guns back then, so they just got to smashin' and burnin' shit. Every nigga in the hood got a strap now!" 

-My Barber, about two weeks ago

You probably want or need something brilliant here, but you've got to forgive me if I come off as uninspired. After what can only be described as the most harrowing year of my life, what lies before me and you lot but the culmination of the 2008 presidential campaign... I can fully admit to playing the cynic, the Grinch Who Stole The Election (or will that be Johnny Mac?) as it were, during this epic(ly boring) journey. But who can blame me... the guy I was adamant about voting for months back ended up being a philandering shithead liar. 

So it goes. 

Over the past year or so, I have seen the very manifestation of white guilt in the form of Obama stickers plastered onto the backs of every Volvo and Volkswagen throughout this great state of mine. I have seen a black community completely unaware of (or unwilling to acknowledge?) the phenomenon of immobilism(e) and its place in modern Western politics. And I have seen "them" all draw a blank on how thoroughly evil the Amerikkkuh Machine can be when it wants what it wants (if the past eight-or 80 years-haven't proven this fact to you, nothing will). Time to find out exactly how masochistic this great nation of ours truly is, yeah?

"And though it seems Heaven-sent, we ain't ready to have a black president..." 

-Pac

We Shall See.