Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? Probably To Rodeo Bar. Just A Guess.

Steve McQueen is... Bullitt

The Bad Old Days, The Hard Days. Oh how I long for them.

Manna Festival Toe? Naw. Man-I-Fester, like somebody's long-dead uncle. seven feet deep, creep creep.

To the "men" of Williamsburg, Brooklyn: fucking eat something, stop wearing your 13-year old sister's jeans (yes, that means the cut-off joints too), and STOP critiquing my clothes out loud as I walk out of CYN to get drug money from Mr. A.T.M. Lest you wanna get wasted in front of a sizeable crowd, with the JUSTICE being administered by a modestly sized, yet tenacious, cracked out, deeply troubled hooligan with no fear and no hope. Know Yourself.


To the women of Williamsburg, Brooklyn: take off those ridiculously large sunglasses, stop getting those gargantuan chest-piece tats (think about your menopausal years for christ's sake!), get the stick outta your ass, and stop dating/fucking/marrying the aforementioned twinks. Actually, you know what, yeah, stop breeding altogether. Your virulent gametes are tainting an already suspect gene pool.


I fucking hate you.

As you were.



epilogue: for the unlearn-ned, the parties mentioned herein, despite their protests, both verbal and non-verbal, are about as "cool"/"hip" as a hairy, elderly gay couple sunbathing in the nude in St. Tropez.

yeah that's right. it's like that! Funeral Music type shit, yeah.

All You Need Is Love. And Money. And Health Insurance. And In Most Cities, A Vehicle. And An Internet Connection. And Don't Forget Shelter...

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

Excuse the repetition. Just had to get that out. What have you done for Him lately?

Better Living Through Chemistry... We Just Need More BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD... BLOOD...

A change has come over me. I don't know how to explain it. But it's like this:

If you're a really garish looking (read: cancerous tan, fake nails/tits/hair, too much make-up, etc.), high-maintenance, preferably JAPpy chick, maybe toting some gaudy, overlarge piece of mobile technology (e.g. iPhone, SideKick) and constantly driving around drunk in a car with a retractable hardtop and a leather interior, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you into next year actually. I wanna knock the dust off that pussy.

This is a strange thing, if only because I've spent so many of my post-pubescent years fucking hating your god damn guts. But now I have seen the light, the guard has been lowered, and previously-held standards have been all but vanquished.

And if you're Lindsay Lohan, even better. Flat out fucken fantastic actually. Call me Linds. My door is always open babydoll.

Consider the script Oh-fficially flipped...

Hey, Hey! There's a 15 kegger not too far from here!

I met these cats from greenpoint yestahdai who(m) showt me the video up theah. it's pretty fucken high-larious. basically, an experiment to get to the heart of the drunken frat dawg ethos. but soon, the student becomes the teacher (or sumthin like that), as a harmless round of 99 bottles of beer on the wall turns into a pagan ritual amidst faux wood panelling. My sides were aching after i watched this last night, and i thought it was only because i was stoned, but i watched again, and it truly is classic. and being a former frat dawg myself (to whom this seems all too familiar), even i can appreciate the beauty of this "bit."

check out more of this wonderful ish at Honor Patrol

Still Reigning

Slayer - Raining Blood

are you metal? didn't think so you fucking pussy... sleep? food? sunlight? move over beethoven... we got it... 4 reap!