The Revelry

People, my bud from work is the drummer for this band and I highly suggest you give them a listen. I went to a show they were at last night, along with Drowning Adam and the Mad Caddies. It was two tons of fun. It's been awhile since I've actually gone to any local shows...or bars for that matter. It's probably because I usually end up passed out in a corner, or a bathroom for that matter.

However, last night I was able to pace myself at the bar, which is highly unusual. I was satisfied with only a buzz. Here's the buzzlist:

2 - Corona's
5 - 7 & 7's
1 - Gnarly ass Jaeger Bomb

Spanned out over the night, that combo worked pretty well. My brosef didn't manage too well after finding out that Sac-Town has some pretty incredible bud to be consumed. Anyways, the purpose of this quick little post is to get some of you goons to go check out The Revelry.

Don't Act Like You're Not Impressed...

Just got a little situation here I'm trying to walk off...



Shizer. This blog is almost dead. It's going to take a little spring cleaning to bring it back to life. However, I am needing the visual medium I once had. If someone out there has a program that they'd like to recommend for me to use for posting pictures on this bastard again, that would be the bee's knees.


Happy 4/20 to the felons out there, I'll be back soon.

Fuck the Tsunami

Sorry, I'm sure I'm not the first person to take this stance, but I really don't care. You live on/near a beach, it's your fault. So why the fuck are we so proud of these kabillionaire celebs donating their month's allowance for shoes to rebuild a shit-hole? Notice how it became like a competition between them who could donate the most? Fuck that and fuck Bono if he wins the fucking nobel peace prize. U2's album donated the 11 worst songs of last year. Thanks a lot pole smoker.

Why the fuck don't we feel sorry for Joe-Bob and Martha in Tornado Alley when their 3rd trailer in as many years is wiped out by a fucking tornado? Why didn't Linkin Park reach into their wallets after the last hurricane in Florida? I'll tell you why.

It's not cool to like America anymore.

So all you kids out there waiting for TRL to come on, listen close to what they tell you, it's the truth. Wear that "U.S.A. = NO WAY!" shirt that's sure to be on everyone's wishlist this fall. And while you're at it, take your fucking WASTE OF A LIFE TO THAT THIRD WORLD COUNTRY YOU ENVY SO MUCH AND FUCK A MONKEY.

While I'm at it, fuck those colored bracelets for causes. Lance's cancer thing was cool, but a fucking poofter color. But now they got blue for 'the' tsunami, green for the troops, pink for breast cancer and God knows what else. I got a new color for ya'll. 'Tye-dye' for all you old people who can't get past you olden days of floppy balls and hairy chicks.

Cops are Assholes

Read this article.

I want to hear your stories of the biggest asshole of a cop you ever ran into. I generally have good experiences with them. I've been pulled over on every drug I've ever done. The worst was acid. But the cop let me go. I was doing 52 in a 35, tripping on acid, for my FIRST TIME. I still don't know how I got away with that one.

I was in college and my friend Skeletor came down with some premium tabs. We dropped a few around 10:00pm and started our night. Somewhere along the line, we decided it would be a good idea to jack some kayaks and slide them down this big grassy slope by the track, since it was wet with sprinkler juice. So here we are, running across a well lit field, carrying a kayak, giggling like clay aiken. As soon as we approach the top of the hill, we hear a siren play across campus (or so we thought) and saw a cop roll out from the security office. They were real cops, not toy agents of University.

So we drop the kayak and haul ass to my truck. I'm freaked the fuck out by now. It's like 3am and we're zooming away from the college when the lights show up in the rear-view. I stop and light my cigarette. But I lit the filter. I try again, this time with success.

The cop asks me why I was driving so fast.

"I don't know,' I replied, eyes big as this guy's balls.
"Well, where you headed?""
"To the mountains to camp," I say.
"OK, drive safe, and slow down,'" he replies.

That was it. So we take off to the mountains and spend the rest of the night sitting on the hood of my truck, listening to Prety Hate Machine and marveling at what just happened. But when we returned the following morning, we caught some Z's in the lobby by my room, as to not wake up my pretentious roommate. Around 7am, some cops and the Dorm manager come up to us and ask to see my vehicle.

The stupid bitch manager thinks that we stole a yellow backpack the previous night, since we were reported as being out and about. (small college) So I take her to my truck, so them the inside and she has the balls to ask to look inside my backpack (green). I say no. She looks expectantly at the cops. They ask. I say, "No, I've cooperated enough this morning, and have done nothing wrong."

So they leave. Good thing, since I had over 30 hits of acid in that backpack and each hit can be charged as one count of manslaughter.

Pick a Winner

Today at work an electrician had a cliff-hanger in his nostril the size of a large raisin. Doesn't that affect the way you breathe? You can't sense it? Bottom line, just pick that shit, or buy a pocket mirror, you fucking ninny.

My Fucking New Years

(diagram A)

Well, my new year was insane, as is most things that I end up doing. The idea was to drive down after work on the 30th and stay with the grammy for the weekend while enjoying various activities.

We arrive around 11:30pm and DrunkBastard and I proceed immediately to the hot tub. After grammy said we could have full access to her bar, which she rarely uses, we begin. Begin by finding a 20 year old bottle of Bushmill's Irish Whiskey. Bushmill's is good, but a FREE twenty year old unopened bottle is perfection.

Unfortunately, Open Bar + Hot Tub + Pool + DrunkBastard + Me = Being up 'till 4 am. And keeping everyone else in the house awake with our deep insightful notions on political domination of third world countries and the like. (We were informed of this at a later date. Around 4:05, I believe)

So after three hours of sleep, we awake to prepare for our visit to the Santa Anita Park, made famous for horse races, and the bullshit movie, "Seabiscuit." So we spent the day at the races, betting on various horses. I had the max winning bet, which was shit, considering I had no idea what I was doing. I won $49 off a $6 bet. Whoopity shit. It was pretty fun, besides paying $5 bucks for a fucking Miller.

Then we go back to the grammy's, get drunk again in the pool/spa. I found another treasure. A 15 year old bottle of Johnny Walker Black. T'was the night for whiskey, I s'pose.

So after midnight, and some kisses all around, we pack up our shit and drive down to Pasadena, to camp out on the street for the Rose Parade, which was scheduled to begin at 8:30am that morning. So we get there, get set up, and get to drinking. We had previously bet DrunkBastard that he could not would not hook up with a black girl on the streets of the parade. Well, as pimp and circumstance would have it, a couple of pretty attractive black girls had come and set up right next to us. DB wasted no time spitting drunk game. They were friendly, but not open for an Oreo with DB. I laughed while drinking continuious 32oz Big Gulps of rum 'n' coke.

Finally, after staying up all night, daybreak came. I new it was crunch time. I'll let you know how the above diagram works. I'm very good with drawing, so very little information should have to be provided for you. We were sitting where the red X is located. Lake street does not get closed for the Parade. It is kept open for emergency vehicles to rush old ladies getting trampled by excited japanese tourists taking photos.

So come daybreak, we're informed that no one is to cross the painted blue line on the street (see blue line on diagram A) This was a rule that was ignored for the better part of two hours, while the parade was being assembled. So, that left my family and the rest of the grumpy, sleepless motherfuckers on the street to yell at clueless morons that thought this,

"Hey, there's nobody sitting where this green circle is (see diagram A) why don't we stand here? It's not like all these thousands of people lined up on the street in their tents and sleeping bags have stayed here longer, it's a good view!!"

My mom became so angered and locally famous, that an L.A. Times reporter came and interviewed us about the situation. She was hot and I was still drunk, so of course I had the best excerpts.

Her: "What's going on here?"
Mom: "Well, we got here-
Me: "These stupid idiots think they can barge in here like we didn't think of it, and stand right in front of our view. Cops ain't helping, and I'm drunk."
Her: "Ok"

So I shut up after I realized with my wife and son still asleep behing me, and thousands of people on the street, I probably wasn't going to get laid.

So here's how it went. Parade, yeah, whatever, you might have saw it on T.V., it was cute and all that. But I had to spend the whole time yelling at japs, and clueless masturbators that they couldn't stand where they thought they had found Mecca. The cops finally got involved, which made me like a Junior Deputy. Which was fun, because I was drunk, but I could pass that off on sleep deprivation.

I'd tell fools in a secret service whisper, "Hey, dumbass, you can stand there, and I'll yell at you. But eventually, that officer over there is going to stop taking pictures of the flowered parade, and look over his shoulder. Then you're outta here."

There were so many key characters involved in this situation, it's hard to get them all in here without making a novel that nobody would buy. Though I'll post the article, if it's ever written by the hottie from the Times.

There was one dude, who's face I never saw, but voice I know by heart, who was a straight up champ. See, there's these crap festering vendors trying to sell cotton candy on a stick, and newspapers, and all that shit while the parade is going on. But they stand right in your way, while surveying the crows looking for a potential customer. So this red-headed dude is selling cotton candy, yelling his pitch, right in our fucking line of sight. The champ yells out, in perfect silence (between floats)

:"HEY WALDO!! GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE WAY!!"

Dude straight bolted outa that shit. Everybody cheered. That happened everytime somebody was ejected from our view. Loud eruptions of laughter and clapping. I had a few moments, but nothing trumped the damn Waldo comment.

2005 is going to be no different than last year, so keep sucking dick, people. L8

How to make a couple million, and make America Stupid

Bring it on, Drumline, 'cuz You got served. Three movies, same fucking story. Here's the math:

Add one part competition.
One part Ethnic coolness.
One part racial tension.
One part Top 40 soundtrack.
One part "evil cool guy".
Then, subtract the following;
Creativity
Storyline
Plot
Good Acting

What you get is a piece of shit. But there's a special ingredient needed to make these films suspensful. Ready?




A TIE!!!!

No, not a decorative piece of neck clothing, but a situation which requires the two opposing forces to face off and show their shit.

But let the underdogs win. For God's sake, don't forget that.

I just cannot stand these droves of mindless media that are attacking the youth and telling people what is cool. You got served is not about breakdancing. All dancers like that are in fact homosexual. I'm sure there's a union.

Cheerleading is stupid. No movie on earth can make cheerleading cool. Nobody gets pepped up by your cheers. We're waiting for a panty shot, or a boob to fall out. That is all.

And marching band is for nerds. Period. Sorry Adam, but it's for nerds. I love percussion, but there is no need to sit down and watch Mr. Cannon try and act street in fucking band class.

Also, there is nothing fast and furious about Paul Walker or whatever. Dude couldn't sound more white trying to sound more black if he tried. I think he's trying. Unless he actually buys into his own bullshit. "Hey bro, listen to me." God damn.

Then they had to go make fucking Biker Boyz and Torque 'cuz the two wheeler cock feelers couldn't be left out. I know there's a Semi-Truck movie coming out soon....wait....something's coming to me...ahh yes.

Black Dog. Perhaps that steaming pile of failure is the reason all of these crap movies started. But for some reason, I'm hard pressed to believe that MeatLoaf is capable of starting a diet, let alone a hollywood trend.

Liquid Courage

So I get a call last night from my boss. Christmas eve, and some numbskull client can't figure out his fucking audio/video system. He's a big wig for the local newspaper, so it's a big deal. Now I've already had a couple of drinks in me, so I agree to call the guy and see if I can walk him through it.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but I was unable to help him. I tell him that I'll call my boss and see if he approves an after hours service call. I radio my boss and then the damnest thing happens. My testicles inflate to nearly three times their size. My chest puffs out like a fat belly after being released from a belt.

"Hey Boss, I'll make a deal with you. I'll do this service call, even though I've had a few to drink, and it's Christmas Eve, on one condition. I want paid holidays," I tell him.

Silence on the other end.

"What?" he replies.

"I'll do this if you agree to pay all my holidays from here out," I repeat.

"Done. Just don't tell anybody," he agrees.

Now there are around 45 employees in this company. Only about 5 or 6 get paid holidays and they're the ones who have been there for 10+ years. So now I'm stoked.

I have the wifey drive me to their house and I fix their shit in less than an hour. The guy and his wife are greatfull, and he palms me a c-note for my trouble.

It was a great night.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Merry Christmas to all my friends and crap. Sorry you didn't get any presents. Or cards. You probably won't even get a phone call. Unless I decide to drunk-dial tonight. Deal with it. That's the price to pay to know me.

Gayer than a rainbow with astroglide...

Now, I've seen some gay shit in my life. I've had friends tuck their nuggets between their legs and introduce me to their sister. My uncle is gay and his boyfriend is the personal assistant to Bob Mackie (sp?) the famous gay fasion designer. Hell, I"ve even been offered to have sex with a man in a public restroom. (Serg, No means NO!)

But these butt-pirates top the cake for the day. Peep Game.

Just a little something to make you feel better for checking out that guy's ass on the subway the other day, you fucking homos.

Office Party, White Elephant, and Alcohol

(click picture if you're too old to read small shit)


So I just started at this new company and we had our Office Christmas Party last night. It was at this fancy little bistro called The Rusty Duck in Sacramento. I arrived only to meet the female sales gal fucking blitzed already. But this was a good thing, since she was in the process of purchasing drinks for everyone. I settle down at the bar and let her buy me a jack 'n' coke. I spent the next two hours getting to know the people I really only meet in passing as I pick up my gear to go install. For the most part, it was pretty non eventful. Having one drunk salesperson after another buying me drinks was nice though.

This was also my first experience with a White Elephant gift exchange. If you ever want to feel like total shit and enjoy doing it, try it for the first time. I was told that the monetary amount was to be between $10-15. So, being broke, I root through my DVD collection. I found an un-opened copy of Party Monster. I figure it's wacky, silly, and the right price range. I was told by family and friends that a White Elephant gift exchange entails bringing a silly gift. So my choice in movie would be appropriate.

I had the neighbor gift-wrap the movie, since I'm a loser with no Xmas paper handy. She did a real fancy job, so I thought I was set. However, minutes before my DD (designated driver) showed up, I notice my son come out of his room with a movie in his hand. Upon closer inspection, I notice that it's Party Monster, completely unwrapped. So I'm fucked, the neighbors aren't home, and the paper is in shreds.

I hear a honk in the driveway. I grab the cover off the recent rolling stone, crunch it around the movie, and wrap it up with white elecrtical tape. Looked dope.

Fast forward back to the party. All the gifts are sitting on the table, wrapped all pretty and shit. Real fucking cute. And there's my gift looking like it was done by my son. Which technically, was true. We have our dinner, which was great, followed by a Dom Perignon (sp? if you know how, then fuck off, I'm lazy) toast. Then the gift exchange starts.

The first fucking gift is a fucking Crown Royal gift set with two high-ball glasses. I'm like, "Fuck, this is going to be embarrasing." Gifts that followed included, Baileys Irish Creme, a Bar set, $25 Home Depot cards, dope candle sets, and a Spongebob TVGame. Upon seeing that last item come out I gank it from the fool that opened it. See, shit that other people open can be stolen twice by other participants, and then it's their's to keep. So I'm the first one to steal it.

I come back from the bathroom after my 8th drink, and announce loudly to the group, "Hey, Hey, Hey, seriously, I just want to let you know that none of you bastards better steal that spongebob game from me. My son is a fucking spongebob freak. He's a cute little boy with cancer and he would KILL FOR THAT SHIT!!"
There were a few laughs and go sit down.

The gift exchange continues and my gift is the LAST FUCKING ONE ON THE TABLE. So you know the suspense when it comes to the last gift. I decide this is a good time to go to the bathroom again, so I wouldn't have to see the look on the poor fucker's face when he gets shafted by my gift. Turns out that my immediate superior got it. He had no fucking clue about the movie and was less than enthused. I leaned over and told him, "Merry Christmas" I don't think that helped.

So to end shit shorter than it could be, turns out that a shitload of people thought I was serious when I said that my son had cancer. One dude asked my friend and fellow technicican, "Does his son really have cancer?"

"No," DD replied.

" Then why would anyone say something like that? Wishing cancer upon their child?" he responded.

So I'm sure when I go back to work on monday, I'm gonna have a crap-basket full of sympathy cards and shit. That's gonna be a fucking blast. Tune in...

Thanksgiving

Keep your comments to yourself, but I need to learn to shut the fuck up sometimes. So does my son.


Thanksgiving, I rolled up to my folks house in Oregon, to spend some quality family time and all that. I took my son with me, which was a blast. But anyway, my parents had a whole lot of older people from their church over for dinner. The ones who didn't have any family in town, or were just plain annoying.

So after dinner my son goes on the tooth-brushing rampage. He's a freak for dental hygiene, which is a good thing. But if you brush your teeth too much, it can cause gum damage. (both my sisters are dental hygienists) So we have a rule that he brushes only after bath time. So now he wants to take a bath. I tell him that he can't until everybody goes home.

Well, he takes that advice, and promptly runs out to the living room. He goes up to Phyllis, this 87 year old lady in a wheelchair, and screams "GO HOME!!" I'm just hoping nobody heard him when he repeats himself....10 times. So now I'm pegged as having the devil child. Though, yelling at old people has always been a subject of humor for me.

Later on, they were all talking about the Passion of the Christ. Some where discussing why they chose to not watch the film. I pipe in with this gem:

"Well, you should watch it. After seeing what Jesus went through, it makes bouncing a check or losing your job not seem so bad."

-SILENCE-

I killed the conversation. It took them a full 5 minutes of uncomfortable silence to find another topic to discuss. I thought it was a logical point, but alas, they did not.


I'll post about "Black Friday" tomorrow. Getting up at 3:30am to go shopping can have interesting side effects.

Good Lord

There's going to be a whammy of a thanksgiving post coming up. Stay tuned for tomorrow late nite...

We don't exist!!!

Remeber when you could call a company and talk to a real person? Yeah, well those days are fucked. And if you do, by some miracle, get connected to a person before you pass out from hunger & dehydration for waiting to long, they can't speak the fucking language. Everytime.

I tried to call AT&T/Cingular to pay my bill. I went online first, of course, but my number was not recognized. Probably due to my cancelling service, because their customer support is equivalent to a sweat shop in Poland. (they do exist)

So I call them and get some cute fucking automated voice that can understand my speech. Or so I thought. The fucking machine kept running me around in circles for ever. It couldn't match my social security number to the fucking account number or some shit. Then the bitch would tell me that she'd connect me to a real person, only to be fucking re-routed through the same shit again.

Why is it when they want money, they can sure as fuck get ahold of you, but when you wanna pay, they make it a fucking adventure? Baby I got yo' money. But now I"m finna spend it on crack instead.

It finally took me YELLING, literally, "You stupid fucking machine, let me talk to a real fucking person right fucking NOW." Over 10 times, before the machine realized my superior debating skills, and gave up. But it got its revenge, as I was put into a call queue for over 30 minutes.

I gave up after 10. Fuck AT&T, and fuck machines.

Animal Cruelty

Read this article. I want to hear your experiences with animal cruelty. Did you ever throw your cat off your obscenely high roof to see if it would really land on its feet? How long can your brother's new puppy hold it's breath?

Or perhaps you pulled the kitten with a bottle rocket taped to its tail. Tell me.

I feel that assaulting the rooster from hell was not enough for me. Not so bad, in other words. This mean cock would assault me everytime I went to gather the eggs. It got to the point where I'd have to carry a baseball bat with me. Of course, after I mustered my courage, I began to fuck with it on purpose, hoping to get a whack at that shit. Well, over the course of the next couple of weeks, word of my cock spread around and the neighborhood kids starting coming to see it. To play with it, so to speak. Many ran home crying with cuts and blood on their jeans.

All because of my cock. Well, I was away one evening and my father went out to get the eggs. He noticed the terrible beast and its behavior. He promptly went to get his rifle. He shot it three times, point blank. It went limp.

An hour later, when I arrived home for dinner, he told me what he did. I then asked why the rooster was walking around the pasture. He said that was impossible. But my friends, he was. This only made my dad more upset, so he gathered the axe. Off with his head, but the fucker still ran around for nearly an hour before giving up his life without his weapon of choice.

That's a tough cock to beat.

So, what're your stories?

The Tides Have Turned

Now men can be the whores we were meant to be. (and trying to sleep with)


We can tell those women that mysteriously show up nine months after a drunken hook-up involving fresh linens anda few barnyard animals, "I'm sorry, Miss, I was on the Shot."

Imagine the look on her face as she would (no-doubt) turn her head in shame, while stammering incoherant sentances.

Why the hell can't scientists, who can put a damn man on the moon, come up with a shot that renders us humans immune to STD's? Let's face it, condoms blow goats. They may help your 2-pump chump, but they're hardly intimate & personal. It's like saying, "I'm going to stick my bishop in your funbox, but I don't trust you (read: love you) enough to accept the consequences of my most likely drunken choice."

Real fucking romantic there.

With the shot, you could pretend you trust (read: love) the person you're with for the moment. Never under-estimate the power of ignorance.

After all, ignorance is bliss, and so is knowing you won't have to show the doctor your puss-filled love momento.

Fools




Alright Mr. Carl fucking Jr. I will not starve without you. You are an ass.

Who the fuck can't crack a fucking egg? Seriously. I've never seen a man wandering in the meat aisle, unsure what to buy. That's pretty damn gay. You take the meat, season it up with whatever you have and throw it on the damn BBQ. It's that damn easy. Get some 5 minute noodles and you're set.

Do you advertising exec's think you're cute? For god's sake. If a man can't crack open a fucking egg, he deserves to die. I'm sure you CEO's who can't fucking wash their own clothes can identify with that shit. But it's fucking stupid. Without you, guy's would lose weight, you fucking butt pirates.

You know what else shit's the bed? The six dollar burger. For $3.95. Hmm, a deal right? Well, when you pay the six bucks at a restaraunt, you get fries and a drink. So, a large order of fries and a large drink at Carl's will set you back 3 bucks, minimum. Suddenly $6.95 isn't such a hot fucking deal. Not to mention; when you go to a sit-down joint, they actually cook that fucking patty of beef, dress it up with fresh veggies, and make it TASTE good. I'd rather wait another 5 minutes knowing that my food is coming to me fresh, unique, and most likely cooked without the minimum wage rage that most fast-food workers posess.

So fuck you Carl's Jr. Fuck you and the fun boys you roll with. I'll crack my own fucking eggs.

San Francisco

Well, I had a blast. Rolled over to Amoeba for my first time and bought some shit with Serg. That store is fucking boss. I had to restrain myself, and still spent nearly a hundred bucks.


While the wife's away, the boy's will play. And pay. Before we went out, I downed all but a few shots of a 1/5 of Wet, this tasty new gin by BeefEater. Simply delicious. We then went out for chinese food, and that's when I noticed that it was getting hard to act sober. The food was very good, but I have no idea what I ordered. It was red chicken. Pretty sure it was Mother's Chicken, but I can't be sure.

We hop in a cab and head for Milk, this pretty cool DJ Bar/Lounge where Stef was set to spin. I immediately go and meet the bartender, and ask him what his strongest drink is, and how much it's gonna set me back. It was a Hurricane, or Slurricane, for just under 10 bones. No biggie, so I order it. I'm drinking it as people start to flow in. Stef's getting warmed up in the rear of the club, getting ready to tear shit up.

From that point on, the night's a blur. I remember sitting on the stage listening to Stef spin, and it was HOT. The temperature, as well as her skills on the 1's & 2's, that is. So I ditch my hoodie, and represent my sleeveless John Deere shirt. I'm all fucking class.

The whiskey 'n' cokes to follow the slurricane become too much, and I decide that I must go outside for some air and a smoke. I guess sitting down was too comfy, because I awoke surrounded by cops talking to the doormen. I look around for Serg and Stef, and they're nowhere to be found. They wouldn't let me back in, for some reason, and the cop wouldn't listen to my drunken rantings and ravings about being lost in this fucked up hippy city. (I love SF, by the way) Come to think of it, I'm surprised they didn't cuff me for public intoxication. I was WELL over the fucking limit.

So being the Magellan that I am, I figure I can walk back to their apartment. So here I am, drunk off my ass, in freezing weather wearing a sleevless shirt, bald head, stomping through the sloped streets of SF, fists clenched, cursing my idiocy for not bringing the hoodie outside. I was fucking power-walking, not even paying attention to shit, when I realize that I'm fucking LOST. No damn clue where I am, and only a vauge idea of where I'm going. You could cut glass with my nipples.

Out of nowhere, I realize that this is a big city. Big cities have cabs. Sweet. Well, I must have looked like a serial killer, because it took like 6 cabs for one to stop and pick me up. Serg finally answered my call when they got home, but by then, I was in a cab heading to their casa. By phone records, I think I got to their apartment around 2:30. I made a drink, probably only had a sip, and tried to crawl into a sleeping bag. People, that's harder than it sounds. I was out in minutes.

By the way, they turned me onto this show on BBC America, "Trailer Park Boys". I had caught a few glimpses of it while turning channels before, but DAMN. That is some funny fucking shit right there. Get it.

Fucking Brilliant

My God...

It is done

I have registered the domain for liquidpersonality.com. I now need hosting suggestions, and tech help to get this piece of shit transferred there. When it's done, it will be ONE BILLION times better. Mostly 'cuz I can post pictures, which would be rad.

Top 10 Movie Badasses of All Time

For no reason what-so-ever, here are the top 10 movie badasses of All Time. The list is complete, and correct, so no bitching, bitches:


10.)Martin Briggs - "Lethal Weapon" Series
He's crazy, complete with mullet, and he can dislocate his shoulder at will. Plus, he has to put up with Danny Glover's constant bitching.

9.)Walter Sobchak - "The Big Lebowski"
'Mark it zero Smokey! Mark it zero!!!'

8.)Mr. Blonde/Vic Vega - "Resevoir Dogs"
'Are you gonna bark all day little doggie, or are you gonna bite?' I mean, the dude was gonna light a cop on fire. Cool. AFTER CUTTING HIS EAR OFF. Total badass.

7.)John McClane - "Die Hard" Trilogy
'Yippie kay-yay mother fucker'
So many people have used and abused that cute little saying. Ok, short tally here:
Running barefoot through a room of broken glass? Check.
Walking through Harlem with an, 'I hate niggers' sign? Check.
Putting up with Airport Security? Check and Check.
Plus, he had to put up with Samuel L. Jackson's constant bitching.

6.)John Shaft - "Shaft" (1971)
C'mon, it's in the song people. 'He's one bad motha...Shut yo mouth!'

5.)Sean Connery - "James Bond" Series
People, Sean Connery IS the only Bond. Get the fuck over it.

4.)Conan - "Conan, the Barbarian"
Sorry, but I only chose this movie, because he's a FUCKING BARBARIAN. A well placed M-80 can be a 'destroyer', but never a barbarian. Not to mention he could actually pick up that Buick sized sword.

3.)Bruce Lee - "Um, all his movies"
Hate if you want, but the dude revolutionized the popularity of martial arts films as we know them today. Well, and he died kicking ass. Even if it was 'Hollywood' ass.

2.)Jules Winnfield - "Pulp Fiction"
Cant have a list without Sammy on it. And what a fucking movie this was. Quoting scripture a very not-nice tone before planning to kill someone is badass. Bitching about brains gettin' in your afro is badass. Having another brother on the list is badass.

1.)Dirty Harry - "All 5 baby"
This series has been quoted, punned, played, tricked, mocked, mimmiced and idolized to death. But when you sit your pasty ass down and watch Clint spit those famous lines, you feel like maybe tonight you don't have to wet the bed after all. Maybe you can leave that closet door open. But in all honestly, Clint should have stopped the career there. Everything after "The Dead Pool" is waste.