Hello y’all,
this one’s called: Shits Ahoy! The B At Sea. I recently went on a three-day
cruise from Long Beach (The L.B.C. where there’s too much drama, and it’s
hard being Snoop D O double The B) to Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico. Holy
fuckin’ shit! You have to go on one of these things. It was sick. I boarded
the Carnival Cruise lines ship Paradise in a bad mood, because I had not eaten
in anticipation of the amounts of all you can eatness that was to come. I was so
pissed off that in line I kept saying things like, why the fuck do I have to
wait so damn long? I’m a Jew not a fuckin’ Arab. I’ll kill you all for a
cheeseburger. I don’t deserve to wait in line; I don’t have a criminal
record. Anyway, People were already annoyed with me, and I was sober. They
should have known then to refund their passages, for this ship was bound for
hell. I finally got on board and put my luggage in my stateroom. I then
proceeded straight up to the Lido deck for some food. Upon arriving there, I
noticed a “Reggae” band playing and a food area where everyone was getting
burgers and hotdogs. I proceeded to the food line and got my cheeseburger and
fries. As I sat down, I noticed that people were drinking these orange colored
drinks with pineapple sticking out of them. I asked the waitress, whom I just
ordered a beer from what they were and she said, “They’re called The Fun
ship. Try one.” I said, “No thanks, I just ordered a beer. I just want to
know what they are, since everyone is drinking them.” She was a very pushy
Filipino, and since I didn’t have a king sized Snickers with me to make her
(and her clothing) disappear, I bought one just so I wouldn’t have to hear her
annoying voice anymore. My friend Wes asked me, how it was, and I told him it
tasted like date rape: sugary sweet and highly alcoholic. In fact, after the
beer and Fun Ship combo, I was quite buzzed, and when The B starts buzzing,
bumbling is not far off. My friend Wes and I started walking around the Lido
deck and eventually ran into our friends that came down from Sacramento and were
meeting us on this trip. After saying hi to everybody, I noticed that they had
buckets of beer around the table. I said, “I didn’t know that they sold them
like that,” and I was quickly informed that it was a better deal buying the
four 16 oz. aluminum bottles of Bud Light in a bucket than buying individual
beers. This is where the rest of the evening gets hazy. When you go on a cruise,
they give you a card (Sign & Sail) with your picture on it, and this is how
you pay for everything. This is dangerous, because when you don’t see the
money, you don’t know that you’re spending it. I was signing for every
alcoholic thing I and others wanted. I was drunk before we pulled out of Long
Beach Harbor. Not tipsy mind you, but drunk! Drunk like the time I pissed off
that guy so much that he sucker punched me in the face and broke my orbital (eye
socket). Drunk like the time I stole an orange road cone off the street and got
back into Paul’s car and didn’t remember doing it. Drunk like the time I
went into Paul’s backyard to vomit, and I wound up shitting my pants at the
same time (that I unfortunately remember). I was stop Hammered time. In fact,
most of the following evening’s events were related back to me from others,
and the next day I would tell stories to my friends that I had already told them
the night before without realizing I had done so. According to my “friends,”
the night went a little like this: I stood up on the table and shoved a cloth
napkin in my back pocket like a shop rag, and I put one on my head. I then went
into Greased Lightning. I went up and argued with the so-called
“Reggae” band and ridiculed them for not knowing any Desmond Dekker, Jimmy
Cliff, or Toots and the Maytals tunes. I apparently told them that their
Caribbean accents were phony, and that they should stop playing tourist Reggae.
I told them to play some Traditional or Skinhead Reggae. In hindsight, maybe
this wasn’t the best thing to say being that most people think of Skinheads as
Nazis, and these guys probably did as well. After all, they were playing Cat
Stevens and UB40 songs, and they thought that was Reggae. Anyway, my friends
pulled me away from that incident by enticing me away with more beer. “Good
plan guys!” I remember making nasty remarks about how many fuckin’ weird
accents the crew had. I was just joking around, but I’m sure I came off surly
as Hell to those around me. I remember getting out of the bathroom, still
holding my bucket of beer in my hand and seeing all of my friends with their
orange life preserver vests on. This confused me, as I had never been on a
cruise before. They looked a t me astonished and said, “ why didn’t you go
up to your stateroom and get your lifejacket?” I was confused, “I didn’t
know I needed to get it,” I said. They rushed me into a large amphitheater,
where everyone else had on these strange orange vests; everyone except me. I had
my bucket of beer. I looked around and asked my friends if we were sinking. They
laughed and told me that we hadn’t left dock yet. Other people around me
started laughing too. One of my friends taunted me saying, “If we were
sinking, you’d drown ‘cause you don’t have your life preserver on.” To
this I replied, “ If we were sinking my alcohol bloated body would be the
first one up, because I’ll step on every Filipinos’ head to insure my
safety. I’ll even grab a couple of newborn babies and put ‘em under my arms
for buoyancy.” In hindsight, maybe this wasn’t such a good plan. I mean
stepping on every Filipinos head was not such a bad idea, but the two newborns,
I think one would suffice. Besides, if I grabbed two, I’d have to let go of my
bucket of beer and that would definitely not be such a good idea. Anyway, after
saying this, this sexy little brunette got up on stage and then ruined it by
speaking in a British or Australian accent. While she was up there telling
everybody how to save their lives, my lust quickly turned to annoyance, and I
said, “Make her stop talking. She’s disturbing me. I’m aroused and
annoyed. This is Jewish foreplay. I want her to blow me just so I don’t have
to hear Mary Poppins talk anymore.” The problem with drinking is that
sometimes your inner voice doesn’t work to well, and my speakerphone button
was definitely on. This was hysterical to my friends and the couples and singles
around me, and it was terrifying to the families with young children around me
(why would you bring your kids on a 3-day cruise to Ensenada? Then again why
would you bring your girlfriend or wife?). Anyway, later that night, after
dinner, I played craps in the casino. I turned $50 into $250 with some
conservative bets. Not bad considering the fact that I was shit faced. I went
from there to one of the clubs on the boat and sat down and had a drink. I was
the only single one out of my friends on the cruise and the only one up at 2:00
a.m. I figured, hey, I’m on vacation and there is no doubt that tomorrow will
be shitty; I’ve drunk too much for it to be any other way. Anyway, as I’m
sitting and having a drink a well dressed, attractive brunette comes up to me
and asks me to dance. This being a new experience to me (women being so
forward), I say sure. As we dance, I look at her and notice her appearance. She
has inky blue-black hair, very dark eyes, and pale skin. She also has an accent
that I can’t place. We sit down and order some drinks. I ask her name and
where she’s from. She tells me that her name is Ileana and that she’s from
Macedonia. My inner voice speaker phone is still in effect and I tell her that I
don’t know where that is and that she sounds like Borat. I suddenly realize
that I just fucked this up, but she playfully punches me in the arm and says,
“fuck you!” all the while laughing. We talk for a while, she was getting
more comfortable (drunk), and I couldn’t feel my feet. She leaned over to me
and said, “Do you want to make out?” I felt like I was in a John Hughes
movie, and this time, not playing the role of Anthony Michael Hall’ famous
geek. I said sure, and she went in. After a while of smooching, she looked at
me. I was smiling and she was too. I said in my best Borat accent, Nice! She
laughed and punched me again. Then she asked me if I had ever tried absinthe. To
this I replied, no you see I have two ears right. She liked that remark and told
me that she had some in her stateroom. Off we went. Great success! I can only
sort of remember going back to my stateroom around 7 a.m. and having my friend
wake me up 3 hours later for breakfast and to go into Ensenada. I did this after
shitting (in the best toilet ever mind you. It was like a cannon. I swear I held
my balls when I flushed it for fear of having them torn off.) and showering (in
the best shower ever. It had the detachable showerhead that I used like a
microphone and sang New York New York into. My friend Felicia told me that it
was what she referred to as “The Girl Shower.” A-ha, so that’s why it
takes you girls so long in the shower). After breakfast, we went into Ensenada.
Papa’s and Beer had $1 beer from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. So, I ordered six Bohemias.
I also smoked a Cuban Monte Cristo, and bought a small bottle of absinthe for
$25, remembering that Ileana told me that it was legal in Mexico. I shoved the
small bottle of absinthe into my back pocket and boarded the ship unchecked, as
my shirt covered the tiny bottle. When we pulled out of Mexico, I went around
the ship drinking and carousing, and looking for my special new friend. I
didn’t find her that Saturday night, but I spotted her on Sunday (the fun day
at sea). When I happened into the casino again, I saw that she worked in there.
I had been so drunk this entire cruise that I hadn’t noticed her when I was
playing craps. I was going to go and say hi to her, but when we made eye contact
she quickly turned away. I got the picture Mr. Sigoloff. I was a booty call. -
Nuff said. No hard feelings on my part, except for the hard feelings in my groin
area. Oh well, I can rub those away as I usually do. All in all I had a great
time, I think. I remember saying to my friends; “ I can’t wait to get home
and chill out on the drinking for awhile. Then as I returned to my stateroom
Sunday night I saw that they had delivered the 3-liter bottle of Remy Martin
V.S.O.P., and the liter bottle of Disaronno I bought at the duty free shop. Add
to that the small bottle of absinthe I got in Mexico and smuggled aboard and
then come to the conclusion that I did. I might as well go on another cruise and
drink at sea, because it isn’t going to be dry on land for me- Captain B
Greetings and salutations fellow chickenheadians of the World. "I got so much trouble on my mind"--Refuse to Lose. (chuck d)....This one is titled " Why, why, why, -- my oh my, and once again
why. . .Posers, Haters and H(e)aters"... Many things in this life really piss me off, although I restrain myself from becoming the serial killer I would like to be. Although most of you out there seem to have
battled and lost to the Intellect devourer (what’s up now!!!)(MM pg. 54). There are a few categories of people that I would like to select first, and I have a couple revelations to kick down to you dilrods. First and foremost Posers, (please sit down). Do any of you know of the Indian who would cry if you threw trash down in front of him? Row, row, rowing his canoe gently down some stream? Come on, you remember. OK. (are you still sitting?). "Iron eyes "Cody's actual name is.........(drum roll please)......Espera DeCorti, son of Francesca Salpietra and Antonio DeCorti. He's Italian? I was crushed. Not like he didn't do anything to promote Native rights etc., (which is cool in my book), but fuck man, he's a complete poser. (much like most of you).....Yet another disappointment from my fellow lying sack of shit, stab you in the back, try to fuck my girl when I aint looking, shit talking, asshole, fellow human beings. AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! Yes, most of you are as fake as "iron eyes'" Glycerin tear. When I worked at the Cobalt Cafe in Canoga Park, Gilbert and Myself would play this game called "Poser detector", or "The Punk Rock Quiz". For those willing to take the test, the benefits
would be to come inside the venue for FREEE!! If not, they would have to pay double or leave immediately. SO anyways, some dumb rich crusty would walk up with his fellow posers and want to take the
Challenge. Simply we would look over the buster with his new Detestation, Oi Polloi and Ramones patches and ask a very simple question. "Name one Ramones song". Blank stares ensued, followed by laughter (by Gil and myself). Are you fucking shitting me man? Now we are not expecting them to know all the members of Extreme Noise Terror, or to recite the lyrics to "Protest & Survive"(discharge)--only to
know something very generic, especially if they are wearing the patch. Maybe ask them to name an album from D.R.I., is it that hard? Then again, it's not like I actually give a fuck, or would think that they are anymore "punk"(whatever the fuck that
means) if they "dress up" or have liberty spikes. The most hardcore people I know now, or when I was growing up were people that actually looked kinda nerdy. So, Posers fuck off............Once again----Why, why, why, -- my oh my, and once again
why. Next point of order is the subject of "haters", why must you forsake me thou? SO anyways, I'm out and about and stumbling thru Caseys, (whaddup big Lar) and drinking and having fun,,,, wait back up...I hadn' slept for six months....haha, just kidding. I used to have a shaved head, and a goatee (see picture above). One day I was sitting around doing nothing and I decided to grow a Mohawk and shave the goatee.
No big deal.....or what it? Yes, I know I should have put in the word "was", but I wanted to make sure you were paying attention. SOANYFUCKINGWAYS....Fast forward 6 months......SO anyways I'm back to my seat after using the bathroom at Caseys, (SUBPOINT HERE)____------->> Ya know when he music stops at Caseys, and (ill) "Bill" leaves his seat next to "Hitler Hair" (don’t ask) and comes
around with the "green hat" to solicit $$$ for the band? Take my advice and ...GO TO THE BATHROOM and take a piss, wash you hands and face. (in that order please) or whatever. Watch for (dollar) "Bill" to
approach the table you were at, solicit, then walk away----then walk back and sit and enjoy the booze. You can avoid all payment for a band that is....entertaining?, Doo dah doo dah doo doo doo--BYE BYE!! YEEEEEAHHHH!!!! Nobody ever paid me for
playing a show, let alone to pass a hat. I do believe you would get you ass kicked for that (office space). HaHA, I remember one time I was sitting there and (Kill) "Bill" came up and put the hat in front of me and looked away. I looked into the hat at all that "lettuce" and grabbed four or five "bills" as "Bill" was looking away. Well anyways, I just wanted to take a few moments out to
thank (Bushwick)"Bill" and the Casey's band for that refreshing Jim Beam and
Coke,,,deeeelish!!!!!!---------->>NOW, back to REST of the story. So I see a "friend" that I have known for years and hadn't seen for a while. He's with all
his "cooler than thou" tattooist buddies, and looks at me and then to his friends for their approval. "Hey, aren't you a little old to have a Mohawk?" I just stared at him. He looked over at his buddies and smiled. I smiled and said, " Sorry, I didn’t get the memo that showed the age limits for hair styles." ----Why do people have to be haters? Shit,
I purposely cut my hair this way, what’s his excuse? haha......That "slicked back" grease ball hairdo went out in the 50's"..haha....Why does he give a fuck what I look like? ----" I asked him if he thought i looked ridiculous", he said "Yes". I
said, "Good, cause that’s the look I was going for"......wink......Go hang with your social miscontent "homies" that are just as fake as you. Go listen to your old "Strung Out" wannabe band c.d.'s Go hang with the guy who has recently acquired a
"New York" accent, or your other bartender friend who talks with a fake "British" accent. Maybe you can hang with your other buddy, who after starting a band, started saying all other local bands. Of
course, mr. "punkier than thou", stopped playing music after a few short months. Unfortunate- since he had already flooded the market with shitty demos and boring t-shirts. I mean, this dude is literally
sailing the seas of bullshit everyday at work, and his only refuge of haterness is directed at me. Not like I really give a shit. If I did, I would have smashed his face in with my elbow... ....and if you don't know, now ya know. .........Last and definitely
not least. EXPLAINATION DUE. I will give you the
"story of the century" and open letter of apology. As most of you know, I have been recently "banned" from a certain Pub in Canoga Park. I believe the title of the movie (in the spirit of Godzilla) would be "Shotgun Mike vs. The Heater". Now I have been known to drink a little too much on occasion, (ahem), especially to those of you familiar with my myspace blog titled tittled (still paying attention?), "What is Shotgun Mike drinking tonight?"...SO anyways, after way too many Beam and
Cokes, I stumbled out of Casey's and towards this certain pub. That night I was hanging with one of my friends whom I will refer to as "The man with no name" ....Anyways, we were walking by the pub and I said, "I feel like breaking something", he went over to the unlocked the heater and "9-11'ed" it. (insert bomb drop whistle) ..Though it didn’t free fall straight down like the Twin Towers(inforwars.com) , it toppled over by the beloved "Stoners Italian Bread Box" (wink)...As the molten monolith crashed into me, I kicked it away,
and stomped down, attempting a final "Coup d'tat". At this point in time "Captain Save-'em All Day", ran around the corner and grabbed the heater and asked what the hell was I doing?. I just laughed. (it was funny at the time). I said the wind blew it
over, and he said, "dude, its not even windy out hear". Curses, foiled again!!. ===>>Now I am banned (like Nathan before me), never to return. For this,
I am truly sorry. And now will be forced to buy my beers at 7-11 and drink them in the Pub's parking lot, saving literally hundreds of $$$$ every year. For this I am truly thankful. I am now banished to roam the streets of Canoga Park committing various crimes. Anyway, to the owner of the Pub, Sincerest apologies,.... oh yeah and one other thing....While some of the characters and events in this story were inspired by actual people and events, the portrayal of said characters and events are fictional. Any similarity to the names, locations, characters, and history of actual persons, living or dead, or any other shit that will get my ass sued, is purely coincidental." HaHa....Suck it Bitches,,,,,,,,,,cuz you know how WE do it!! Solidarity, Shotgun Mike
Welcome
to the halls of hate. I hate you. You may be thinking, “How can he hate me,
he’s never even met me?” It’s really easy, you’re alive-therefore I
hate. How I got to this point I won’t bore you with the details but two. The
final straw was going to a garage sale and finding a brand new coffee machine in
the box for 8 dollars. Now every morning for years now I would get up and hop on
my bike, go get a 1.50-2.00 cup of coffee, draw a three-paneled comic strip
(that for the last year and a half) and then go home. I realized I have been
spending around 750.00 a year on coffee. My tolerance for interacting with
people was rapidly decreasing. “Did you draw that?” people would say as they
walked by and looked at my poorly handled doodle. No fuckface, I did not draw
that. I pay some guy to draw these in pencil and then I trace the lines in pen
so you can come up to me and ask if I drew a motherfucking comic strip that any
8 year old could draw. Die already. With the coffee machine in hand, my last
conduit for social interaction was gone. The second thing was my friend and I
built a BMX oval in my backyard. Why leave home at this point? Each cup of
coffee I now drank for pennies a cup just honed my hate. I haven’t gone out
socially in months for perhaps longer than a few minutes at a time as I can’t
stand it anymore. A bunch of people sitting around a TV: Gay. A bunch of people
standing around a bar: Gay. A bunch of people sitting around a bong or a keg:
Gay. Gay. For most of my life I’ve been the kind of person that prefers the
company of myself, I like hanging out by my lonesome. For a span of a few years,
I tried being more social, going out and all that. Being social was good for a
while but I found the dividends to be lacking. So many beer-soaked
conversations, bailing your drunken friends out of trouble, being the den mother
(I don’t drink, but fuck all you straight edgers). So, this is what cool
people do for fun huh? I guess the concept is lost on me now, I’m a geek after
all, the B and I met at a game convention thus I have no business associating
with cool people anyway, what was I thinking? I guess I can’t lie, or betray
my trust, or be cruel, or selfish to myself. Hell, I like me fine enough,
interacting with others has left a bad taste in my mouth. So this adventuring
party is a party of one, I can pull it off because I’m multi-classed and high
level to boot. That part of me that enjoyed social interaction is dead now, I
hate you all; just leave me the fuck alone. I also stopped answering my phone or
calling people. Sometimes the phone doesn’t ring for days. That is what I call
hard work paying off. I have never been more productive since my slide into
hermitdom. Shit is getting done. Big projects are being pushed to completion;
great fun will be had when I go out again for a few events I feel are worthy of
leaving the Fortress Reseda for. I will show my head on certain occasions, like
a groundhog but with more hair on the top of my head. I also don’t change my
underwear for weeks at a time, now that’s hate. I just don’t give a fuck
anymore. And why should I? I have a coffee machine and a BMX track. So get
stuffed. If I went through life caring about what you assholes thought about me,
I’d be really cool with nothing to show for my time spent on this cosmic dirt
ball we call earth. So now on with my rant, I was just warming up. Did I mention
I hate you? OK, just making sure.
I have tried in life to give most everyone a chance with the exception of hippies. Through life experience I have learned to despise certain types or groups of people, i.e. hippies, crusty punks, cholos, cops, etc. I now hate deaf people. I have valid reasons for this hatred. I work in a bike shop, in my wrenchings I have dealt with several deaf people. I try to work with them and help them out and it’s a little hard to bridge the gap. I’m patient and do my best. I listen to them with their funny talk and making half sign language gestures with the spittle forming at the corners of their mouths all the while wearing a smile. Once the repair is done they have all dashed without paying. Why? Because they can’t hear me? Everything was working fine up until the part where they had to pay then all of sudden they became dumb as well as deaf. This has happened to me on several occasions. Once I could take as happenstance but every time I deal with one of these tards, the result is the same. Now, I can’t think that these people have gone through their entire lives not figuring out how goods and services are exchanged in this society, it has to be on purpose, they use being deaf as a way to get out of things like paying for stuff. I had one guy out in back of my shop for over twenty minutes fiddling with a bike trailer that he could not figure out. The whole time he had the radio on in his mini van. Perhaps he did not know. He could look at it to see if was on or not. He sure was intent on reading my lips when the functioning of his trailer was the issue, when the tab was due (about 5 bucks) He jumped in his van faster than Hellen Keller says “Rwawarg” (her dog’s name, you’d run away too if your name was Rwawarg) and drove off. I had a repeat offender that I had to grab by the arm and shake to get her to pay me. You think I’m in the wrong? It’s called STEALING, so fuck you. Do these people go to Mc Donald’s and expect a free meal? My summation is they use being deaf as leverage to predate upon people’s sympathies so get free goods and services. A hippie in disguise! Well, I hate hippies and I hate deaf people. The thing that really broke it for me was that some of these deaf people can now get their ears fixed but they won’t because it will remove them form the deaf culture. At this point I decided to practice my sign language so they could know exactly how I feel.
People ask you these stupid rhetorical questions: “What would you do if you won a million dollars?” Have you killed by a pack of crack-heads wielding dull screwdrivers and then drink red cool-aid out of your skull. (That’s right, not cherry. Red! bitches) “What would you do if you only had a month to live?” Well, lots of things. First I’d stock up on supplies and then go down my lists. Lists of people, places, and things to destroy. People are easy, most of them would know they had it coming as they have crossed me personally and would surely already be dead if the law of the land permitted vendetta. They know who they are and I won’t waste time naming names, you never know I might get my chance and wouldn’t want to ruin it. That would be a small handful compared to groups of people that I would most surely destroy with hate in my heart, namely: Parking enforcement, all hippies, anyone in a band that has the word “city” in it because of that fact, your band would suck. Everyone on Myspace, you’re not real or living anyway, so death would be a small step for you losers. I may need more than a month for that one though; you Myspace waste-of-life motherfuckers roll pretty deep. All you dumb-ass gangsters living at your mom’s house at 30 with your name tattooed on your neck thinking you’re hard. Pussies. One on one I’d kill every last one of you with my bare hands. Scum. You’re only big when there are a mess of you idiots together, otherwise you got the pussy in you big time. Any white guy in a funk band, it’s just wrong, you need to be killed, I’m sorry. The band Chicago, the last two members of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones all would be killed, perhaps by glorious conflagration, then I’d make marshmallows. Anyone that says they used to be a punk. What do you mean used to be? Well you’re dead already then, the funeral a mere detail. Sanctimonious woe peddlers: You can believe what you want, but don’t come to me door and try and tell me what to believe. As far as I’m concerned, if you have to go around trying to convert people to your way of thinking to validate what you believe then your ideals are false, the shit should sell itself and it never does. So shut the fuck up, well just die already, you’re boring the piss out of me. No wait, let me kill you instead, that would be better, for me that is.
Places: So many places and so few Molotov cocktails. Orange county and everyone in it. All the backwards baseball caps, raised white pick-up trucks and tribal tattoos going up in flames, You can call it a one night stand or you can call it paradise (or a pair of dice, two 20 siders I prefer). I have a vivid memory of seeing a guy walking down the street with jackboots and a German style WWII helmet on. Westminster with the street signs in Germanesque script. It all has to go, there’s nothing good there. Heil Blvd, no less. Need I say more? Just burn it all to the ground. This would of course include Dysentery Land. Why would anyone in their right mind pay 50 dollars to stand in lines for hours on end full of screaming children? If I want that kind of thrill, then all I need to do is go to my local Jons market or 99 cents only stores, and there at least I get to take home some stuff. Silverlake, Echo Park, Hollywood, and adjoining hipster communities would all be burned. It would be child’s play to waste all these stupid hipsters. Start a big fire at one end, between the tight pants and the hair in their eyes very few would make it to the other end where they would be too tired to withstand me running them over with my Econoline. I’d hire day laborers to sit in the back of my truck and pick off stragglers with 22’s: they all like the cowboy thing so it’s right up their alley. Mom’s everywhere would not have to send rent checks anymore as their children had finally “made it” to a mass grave that is. If this were done, the land would be less cool; we geeks could finally play Dungeons and Dragons in peace, sans judgment (and that’s Advanced Dungeons and Dragons to you bitches). All actors (waiters) and waiters (actors) would die, well I already blew up Hollywood, and so you might as well die too. I guess we will just have to eat at home from now on; it’s not so bad, I can just serve myself; no I don’t want to hear today’s specials. No. Just water, No. Go away, you’re not funny. No! ahhhh. No wonder why I stay home. You may not know of this place but this hippie restaurant called Follow Your Heart. I would be contented if it were to be razed to the ground. The creepy hippie vibe is so thick in this place and everyone that works there acts like they’re auditioning for an acting role, not serving you food. And no meat! Aghast! At least they have cheese; still they all must perish. Hippies, go fuck yourself. Destroying this place would cripple the local vegan subculture and all it’s retardants as they make “vegan” cheese for many such restaurants of phony baloney foodstuffs, to even type the two words “vegan cheese” together fills me with loathing. Errrrgh, I shudder in my hate. I hate you. Amoeba Records would burn for sure, but no matter as there would be no hipsters left alive to buy their picked over wares. What a house of pretentious know-nothings-never-will-be-anything. They have the market cornered on people with tattoos on their neck working retail for minimum wage until their band “breaks”. Most likely it will only break my eardrums. This den of snobbery would be reduced to a mass of smoldering colored vinyl. You work at a record store! A cool job if you’re 17, but you’re 37! Just die already and save me the trouble of killing your worthless ass.
Things: cars with “dubs” hideous, smash them. Why do you need those giant rims? And the spinny thingys? I don’t understand, and like most people, I hate, kill, and destroy what I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand, I don’t want “dubs” on my car, steelies or Ansen Sprint mags, or Astro Supremes for me, thanks. Photo enforced intersections: did you know that they make intersections more dangerous, increasing instances of rear-end collisions but the city keeps them in operation because they are so lucrative? Smash. I’d cut down the traffic light by my house because it turns red when you’re coming even if there’s no opposing traffic. I hate that. I’d destroy all the televisions because they are antithetical to life. Why watch others live life when you can go out and do it yourself? And roller blades; they’re just gay, enough already, the madness needs to stop. Ok, enough for now. P. de Valera, gamers union local 2112, signing out.
The world was astonished Sunday, March 30th when a U.S. scientist announced they'd discovered a large population of sasquatch or yeti's living in Portland Oregon. Eyewitnesses say they've been spotted in
parks and even downtown sometimes wearing tie dyes, shorts, and extra-large hemp sandals. It appears they have been here awhile. "It seems sometime ago
the "yeti" got tired of hiding in the forest and decided it was time to branch out and try "life in the city", Davis said. Speaking of Portland, Oregon It's time to get a report on THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST FROM GRIZZLY JOE. What's up cluckers? Now,
while all you Angelinos sit and wait in 90 degree weather to make a left turn, I want you all to think of your beer-bellied bullfrog buddy GRIZZLY JOE, sitting on his lazy ass, drinking some ice cold
micro-brew. You see, Portland is BEERVANA, U.S.A.---Portland has 30 breweries operating within its city limits. More than any other city in the WORLD! In 2005, Oregon breweries produced approximately 683,000 barrels of beer that are equal to 1.34 MILLION kegs or 226 MILLION bottles of beer, THATS ALOT OF GOOD BEER!! We ain't talking no weak rice beers that your uncle Bob would drink in the garage. I'm talking Big, Heavy, Hoppy beers by award winners like ROGUE (dead guy ale), HAIR OF THE DOG (fred)-----somebody quoted THIS beer as "could bring Mickey Rourke to his knees". The A.B.V. (alcohol by volume) on the Fred is 10%--that’s very strong kiddies! Let's not forget Hood rivers finest "Full
Sail"---their seasonal winter ale "Wassail" is AMAZING, but it's just about gone off the shelves. But don’t be afraid to try any of their other brews. Across the Hood river in Stevenson, Washingtonis "Walking Man" brewery fastly becoming famous for
their "black cherry stout", one of my personal favorites. It is literally heaven in a pint glass. Smells like cherries. Those of you who dislike "fruity" beers due to the sweetness should give this one a shot. It's balanced very nicely and not too sweet. Be careful at 8.5 a.b.v--this one might get you thrown out of the house for trying to crawl into bed with grandma. Another local favorite out of Bend, Oregon is "Deschutes Brewery"--makers of "mirror pond ale" and "obsidian stout". They've come out with a Hop Henge IPA in a 22 oz. bottle. It's very dry with a tremendous hop explosion. Hop heads and IPA freaks will love this one. The Hop Henge IPA, Mirror pond ale, and obsidian stout from Descutes and any of the Rogue or hair of the Dog brews should be available at specialty stores in California like "bev-mo" or Green jug. SO REMEMBER, just cause your a squatter, doesn’t mean you have to drink squatter beer. So vomit up that Steel Reserve,
barf up that Burgie! and Hamms and drink something real. Oh yeah, the next time you are in Portland, stop by the Horse Brass Pub and order a Black Cherry and tell them Grizzly Joe sent ya! Cheers!!!!
Hey everyone, how's it going? I recently made a new discovery and today's article is all about it. It's called ghetto pizza. Within the last year, I have realized that in the San Fernando Valley food is very inexpensive in comparison to other parts of LA. In Santa Monica, a pizza seems to start at around $9.99. In the valley, I have seen whole
pizzas ready-to-eat for as cheap as $2.99. My first encounter with Ghetto Pizza was at the infamous Little Caesar’s chain, which is mostly in the west and central valley. They advertised a large pepperoni or cheese pizza for $5 ready to eat. I tried one of each and
they were pretty damn good for five bucks.
The way it works is the pizza is pre-made and is kept in a special heating oven. When you show up, the pizza is taken from the
oven and given to you. The crust is really soft, the cheese is well melted and the portions are large. For a few dollars more you can add Caesar wings, soda or bread sticks. The most recent ghetto pizza I have tried is around the corner from my job. It is a small chain called "Pizza Man." There is one in Van Nuys and another in Sherman Oaks. They have a medium one topping pizza for $3.99 and a large for $5.99 carry-out only. The place is really ghetto. There is nowhere to sit, the store is really dark, it smells weird and there is only one guy working the whole thing. You pay him; he makes the pizza and gives it to you.
The pizza comes in a generic white box that states it is 100% real cheese. In my specific instance I opted for the medium. I waited about fifteen minutes for him to make it. For the pizza and two Pepsis, it was like $6.42. The pizza itself is small for a medium. The crust is somewhat soft and the cheese is kind of gooey. I opted for pepperoni and the toppings were very sparse. Each piece of had exactly two small pieces of pepperoni placed on it with almost scientific accuracy. In short, Pizza Man is okay. For four bucks you can't really go wrong, unless you get diarrhea running down your leg from eating there. The pizza
lasted two small meals for me and frankly I could've used a couple more Pepsis to get the whole pie down. Little Caesar’s was a much better value. Despite the fact that I am generally against spending money with large companies over small businesses, the food quality is much better, the portion is larger and the service is much faster. Generally, a Little Caesar’s pizza will give me two to three decent meals and sits pretty light as far as pizza goes. The other option is pizza from the super market. Mama Celeste personal pan pizza is a deal at only ninety-nine cents for a single serving. It takes me about two of those to actually feel remotely full. Jeno's also makes a good
cheap personal pizza as well. By far, the best super market pizza is Tombstone at a wallet breaking $5.99. But you can honestly taste the quality.Here's to Ghetto Pizza... bon appetite!
The Wizard is locked in his fortress of cheesitude deep in fonduetation. Perhaps next issue he will return…