This one is called: Big City,Big Sittee: Imperium Cheesicus. Behold! The Wizard doth return to tell thee of mighty tales of cheese. Forsooth I have journeyed long from my castle in Wisconsin to the fabled land of New Yorkshire. Magical fromage was needed for several spells cast from my crock pot cauldron. Spell components aren’t easy to attain therefore the Wizard went on a quest, I mean Geas 6th level spell, to a distant land. Sit back, Relax, and hearken to the many adventures the Cheese Wizard doth choose to tell thee.

So I took a five day vacation to the east side: Wednesday, Thursday in New York, Friday in Philadelphia, Saturday in Washington D.C., and Sunday back home to the Shire. Let’s start with the plane ride. Well first let’s start with a little background about me. I’ve played in numerous bands. We would play in friends` rooms the size of a closet. I never wore earplugs and the cacophony of distortion and drums has destroyed part of my hearing. K. I wanted to fly out from Burbank as LAX sucks. When I got to Burbank the ticket lady said my red eye flight was cancelled, but she said I could go to LAX and fly from there with my same ticket a straight shooter to New Yeezie. She said," Wait outside, take this voucher and a taxi will take youto LAX for free." There is one other person whose flight was also cancelled. It was a beautiful girl by the name of Yo-Yo (you can’t mess with my). I get outside and some guy takes my voucher and says take a seat on the bench and wait for the taxi. Yo-Yo was talking to her parents saying goodbye. Some black

dude saw me sitting on the bench and said he’ll take me to LAX. I told Yo-Yo our ride was here and we got in his cab. After 10 minutes the driver said." That will be $30 dollars". What? The ticket lady said this was free we had the voucher. He said," what voucher?" "The one that the ticket lady gave us", I said. "Can the girl pay?", He said. "No! take us back to the airport", I demanded. At the airport I found the guy holding the voucher. He said that the taxi business is viscous. We got on the correct taxi off to LAX. During this 40 min drive I discovered that Yo-Yo spoke very little English. Beautiful, 18, and no way for me to mack on her. I asked her where she was going? Then had to use hand gestures for her to show me her ticket. Pittsburg? That’s like a working class steel town. Why was this porcelain-skinned beauty going there? Whatever I thought. I got to LAXand helped Yo-Yo get to her plane. She bowed her thanks and I bowed back like some stupid Gaijin idiot. On my flight I was caught between a gay guy who was directing a show off Broadway and a cute hippy business girl who pitches products to famous people. Think like a Brittney Spears toaster (not the dancing guy from Madness). Apparently there was a tornado hitting New Yeezee at the time. We had to circle for two hours at a low altitude. Because of my hearing ‘issues’ I absolutely suffer during landings my ears won’t ‘pop’. Gum, yawning, porn mags nothing helps. By the time I landed I was deaf. So def I’d put L.L. Cool J to  shame. So coming directly from work, with no sleep, and trying to read lips like in the movie Casino I finally arrived in New York.

I just wanted sleep then hit the city dead on (weird science reference). The first thing that hit me off the air train was the humidity. It was raining and still hot. I was swimming in my shorts if you catch my drift. K. Just need to take a cab,

grab a slice, and sleep with air conditioning full blast in my Jamaica Queens hotel room. My turban headed cab driver said it’d take 30 minutes to get to the room. From now on nobody from New York can Ever, Ever say we drive bad in the rain in Cali. There was no signaling at all and 60 cars tried to merge into two lanes. Chaos. After 10 miles and $40 I ditched the taxicab for the subway. Surprise! The subway was closed due to the rain and that’s why everyone and their mama was driving. I

walked 3 miles more before a cop told me Jamaica Queens was far, far away. So I took the local bus. The other side of the US and I’m still on a damn bus. I was wilted by this point and my duffel bag looked like a sack of balls (nuts that is). It took five hours to get to the room, due to New Yorkers not knowing how to drive. Imagine going from N.Hollywood to Woodland Hills in 5 hours and you have a great picture how I was feeling. This is day one. I took a nap, regained my hearing, felt better, then took the L-train to see the Mets vs. the Braves. Best damn game I’ve ever been too. The fans were truly fanatics. The Nathan’s dog was the best damn hot dog I ever had and the Mets rallied to win the

game in the ninth. The fans went crazy. I went to Times Square, It only reminded me of Vegas, then back to the hotel.

On day 2 I did the tourist thing. Statue of

Liberty, Central Park, St Johns cathedral, etc. I didn’t pay $16 to go to the top of the Empire State bldg but just bought a postcard for $1.50 and just looked at the picture. I have to say I really liked New York. No one gave me shit for being from L.A. and everyone helped with directions. I want to live there. Tim was right! Well actually Felicia was right when she told me I’d feel that way, But I

always have to defer back to Tim. I should have stayed in New York the whole trip. Ready for the trip to go downhill? Here it goes. On Day 3 I rented a car for the trip to Philly. I

passed like 10 tollbooths on my way there. Here in Cali when they mean freeway enjoy the privilege. Out

there you gotta pay at all the toll booths. On top of that I went the wrong way on the Jersey turnpike. Maps spread all over my rented SUV (which I hated driving). 8 more tollbooths later I arrive in Philly. Some royal dead dudes (Bill & Ted), the Unknown Soldier and a Pats cheese steak was all I got from Philly. But the worst (day 4) is our capital Washington

D.C. The whole city had that wet ass Van Nuys smell. Coming off I95 you are pleasantly greeted by: 1) bums asking for change. 2) Crack dealers bumping

hip-hop. 3) Ugly whores that need to pay you for even looking in their direction. Again this is your capitol. Yeah I saw the Lincoln Memorial. I have a picture of me flipping off the White House, and sneaking out of the FBI bldg. They have two-hour only parking and if you don’t get to these sites at like 3am then good luck trying to find a parking space. I suggest never going to D.C. Go to a library, check out a book, and photo shop yourself by these locations. Tell people it was nice and save yourself the trip. You really want to go? K. Remember I warned you. My trip wound down in my hotel in D.C. While my Jamaica Queens room was straight outta Cumpston. D.C. smelled but I had an awesome room. 40` plasma flat screen, down comforter and an I-pod dock. It was pimp-a-liscious. So I had to go back home the next day but prepare for the goodness. I spotted a Micky D`s on my way to the hotel and decided I’d go over for a snack. I just wasn’t prepared. I take the elevator down to see a whole flock of black people. All the guys dressed in white slacks and white shirts some wearing gaudy ass gold chains around their necks like Mr. T. Some with shiny blings in their grills (for the unhip grill means mouth. Do I really need to explain this??) All the ladies, and I do use the word loosely, dressed like groupies at a Too Short show. They had long, red, Lee press on nails, hair done by a weaveologist, pleather mini

skirts, and leopard print blouses. Not all but you get the picture. I felt like I walked into a B.E.T. video. Was this the after party? Then I saw a black male midget dressed all in white with a white cane and round pimp hat, the feather mandatory. I swear I almost shit myself. I had to hold the tears back. What was this midget pimp doing at the Hyatt in D.C.? Like you I had to know. I got my courage up and asked him, "Hey man what’s going on?" His words are etched into my brain. He said," Yo G" in a squeaky voice, "this here (pronounced ‘her’ with a southern gangsta inflection) is fo’ black pride". I had to leave because my gut hurt so much. I

laughed all the way to McDonalds. Pimps, hoes, black pride? Can you use these words together in the same sentence? And just like chocolate and peanut butter go together 20 cop cars raced down the street outside the burger joint towards the hotel. I guess

there were too many black people congregating in one area for too long. No a ruckus didn’t ensue. The

Hennessy flowed like wine and the aristocrats danced divinely to the latest in music trends…AKA hip-hop. Several ‘ho’ words were mentioned in the songs. But isn’t this what black pride is all about? I’m sure the irony escaped all. I went back to my room still thinking about the midget. Would he score tonight? Undoubtedly I thought he had class. It was a sleepy plane ride back home and uneventful. In conclusion: New York rocks, everyone should go there once. Philly was whatever with a good cheese steak. And if you are born in D.C. get out now before you stink like a hairy hole and sell dime bags of black pride. So sayeth the Wizard.

Definitions, what words mean. Now there are the definitions one finds in a dictionary, and there is the true meaning of a word, the part that people understand that they may not want to say out loud. Everyone has their own meaning for different words and concepts, here are some of mine.

Art: Fraud propagated by charlatans. Art is trickery; the artist manufactures value from things that are valueless. No artist can be complete without a gallery of fools who buy into their lies, besides they need to crash on your floor until they get their “break”. An artists work is valued more when they are dead not because there will be no more, but because the artist cannot annoy you with their egotistical prattle.

Bicycle: The embodiment of man’s attempt to achieve perfection in their works. A success.

Cat: A creature that is completely flippant and selfish. Cats are excellent for practice when dealing with most humans as cats and humans often behave alike.

Dating: Emotional loophole to avoid accountability for one’s actions in romantic relationships. Often employed by people with weak morals to use, abuse, and trash fellow members of the human race. “I don’t know why she was so upset, we were just “dating”, exactly.

Emotions: Bad wiring, the part of your brain that makes you fail. Every dumb, thoughtless, regrettable thing you do can be tied to your emotions. The bad part of being human, the dark side, the sweet side of your frosted mini wheat’s in your mind, use with caution.

Friends: A friend is someone that you have given special privilege to bother you with their train-wreck of a life when ever they feel like it. A friend can call you at 4 in the morning, crying, or drunk, or drunk and crying. A friend is someone you have to help move for the 10^th time this year, to loan money to and never get it back, to borrow your tools and never return them. They will torture you with every bad decision they make. You said she was no good for him but he had to find out the hard way, now you get to hear it. A friend is a person that can do things to you that if a stranger did them, you’d kick the crap out of them. So why do it? Because at some point you get to return the favor, and that’s what friends are for.

Good: Something that is truly good. Most people don’t know what goodness is or wouldn’t see the goodness in something unless they had some themselves. For example, watching two deaf people have an argument, that’s good. Or seeing some guy dressed in drag with Cheeto’s smeared all over his face, good as well. To recognize goodness, is to embrace the inner tard in us all, to see what reviles others and comment with smug certainty, “That’s good.” It’s one of those things, either you are in the know or you don’t know and perhaps never will.

Happiness: Falsehood, a lie. There is no such thing as happiness, there are brief moments where grief, misery, loneliness, despair, anxiety, fear, pain, discomfort, discontent, regret, and self-loathing are not overwhelming present. The diminishing or lack of these things is what people call happiness. One will spend a lifetime in futile attempts to attain this the most allusive and addictive of all drugs. Happiness is a cruel companion, taking you to great heights just to see how far you’ll fall when you’re unceremoniously shoved off the precipice. If your life was a photo album, you’d have a handful of snapshots where you were truly happy, a quick turn of the page and it’s gone.

I. The beginning and end of all subjects, all topics that pertain to each human as they put them selves at the center of the universe. “I don’t have time to wait in line, so I’ll cut.” “I can’t help you because, I’d rather sit on my fat ass and do nothing than help this world along.” I is the adult version of “me, me, me,” an oath often uttered by small children, so nothing changes as one gets older.

Josh: “Josh is the wizard and the wizard is Josh.” It’s true. Are you holding a piece of cheese right now? Well, then you’ll never know. We at chicken-head use the word Josh as an expletive, a cover-all saying that fills the gaps of language like melted cheese fills any hold or crevasse. Josh! You don’t know!

Kindness: An act that will follow all forms of abuse, perpetrated by the benefactor.

Life: The cruel joke played upon us all. At the end of all the toil, suffering, disappointment, and misery you are finally rewarded with death.

Musician: The embodiment of ego, this creature spends 90% of their time in acts of self-aggrandizement, 9% looking for a new host (girlfriend), and 1% attempting to make good music. Plug your ears.

Nah: Slang, vernacular for distain, apathy, disinterest, disapproval, lack of hope, caring or interest. A way of life for some, a rigid code for others.

Oops: The thing you say to feign remorse, when in reality the horrible thing you’ve done is horribly funny.

Please: The word people think is a magical word that allows them to enforce their tiny-minded whim upon others. Thank you.

Quality: A form of goodness (see good, above) usually pertaining to things instead of people.

Respect: Never given, always expected, seldom deserved.

Suck: To suck is the most bitter of invective. You suck the life out of me, you suck the joy out of my life, you suck my ability to trust, to love, to care away. You are a drain, an albatross; you suck. Something that sucks takes away, never gives. For something to suck it has to possess life-draining qualities. To fall under this description is to reside on the lowest rung of humanity.

Trust: A desperate gamble with the most dire of consequences.

Unicycle: A clever way of selecting people for a life in the circus.

Vegan: A person in their most private of moments craves meat. A bold hypocrite, a self deluded fool with a mouth as big as a cows ass. Armed with fascist leanings and both hands firmly on the wheel of ignorance, the vegan projects their self loathing onto anyone that does not embrace their trendy ethos.

Waste: The sum total of what you see in the mirror.

Xylophone: A device used to instill madness in others, cruel contentment in the wielder.

You-Tube: An interactive way to waste your entire life staring at a computer monitor.

Zez: This means the veto, the volz, the thumbs down, no, not approved. When something gets the zez, it is discarded as trash. I.e. the “new” Star Wars movies get the zez.

Submitted for your perusal (Rod Serling inflection), this one’s called I’m a Therapist When I’m Pissed. I drink! I like to drink. It relaxes me. It makes me horny. Apparently, I’m not the only one. Look how many of you motherfuckin’ people there are. Oh yeah, for all of you who think that you were planned, guess what… More thought went into the beer choice decision your mom and dad made prior to doing the whore-eye-zontal mambo, than did naming your stupid ass. I’m sorry but what the fuck? 97% of my married friends are more miserable than Mother Theresa’s vibrator. When your marriage doesn’t work out (oh except for yours of course, because you’re different. You matter. Remember, you were planned), you’ll be heart-broken, debt laden, have fractured family and property, and be financially responsible for someone you hate more than anyone else in the world. Makes me wonder why anyone would get married, especially in California, or to an American woman in general? Now don’t get me wrong, American girls are probably the hottest in the world, well maybe the Colombians got us beat, but I’ll put American girls, especially Southern California girls (none of those Northern California tree hugging, rabbi in a headlock armpit type of women (never call them girls. It’s degrading to them) up against them on any given day. But looks aside, we all know that American girls look awesome, but their heads’ are all fucked up. They want everything (even you, for awhile), and no one can have everything. They’re so sold on the idea that they can have everything that they’re undesirable beyond the obvious physical attraction. Which just places the lease not buy theory firmly into the American male psyche.  I mean, they want a career and a family. Well, you can’t have both. Your family will suffer, if you put your career first, and vice-versa. The reason why judges traditionally award custody of children to women is the assumption that the mother is the nurturing “nest-keeper,” but is that true today here in our America? Of course not.  The women of “07” are just as predatory as we are guys are now, and sometimes, even more so. I know this from experience, both personally through women I’ve dated, and also through observation: namely the relationships people close to me have had. Paul is so finished with dating that he doesn’t even change his underwear anymore. I had to tell him the other day that I could smell the hatred coming through his shorts, and so, he finally changed them after something like 3 weeks- now that’s hate. The thing he said that affected me most was that he doesn’t even find jerking off that interesting anymore or worth the time it takes. For shame! That’s scary as hell to me because that’s my therapy. My libidinous desires are always attacking my mind. Think of the Cavity Creeps attacking Toothopolis. Come to think of it, I guess I could be considered a Cavity Creep. I’m just trying to invade other types of cavities, and hopefully with regards to one of them, I hope no teeth are involved. Seriously though, I love myself. I’ve spent many years at war with myself, and I refuse to hate myself anymore. I better love myself; I’m going to be with myself for the rest of my life. When you think about it that way, can you say the same thing about your own relationships or even those of your close friends? How many people have you known that have taken the marital vows including ‘til death do us part, and kept them? Well from my experiences, not too many and not for too long. I love myself in the physical sense. I plan to stay together with my hands until I die. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t masturbate, I’ve gone well beyond that. I don’t even doctorbate. I post doctoral fellowship-bate. I’m that good! I smack my schmekel so much I’m barely circumcised anymore. It’s like my dick is trying to crawl back inside. It wants to pull the covers up in the hope that I won’t find it and choke it like its name was Michael Hutchence. I jerk the gherkin frequently. I’ve even jerked off after sex just so my right hand didn’t think that I had forsaken him. I’ve had some problems with my right hand being jealous of my left hand on occasion. Hey, sometimes you need that difference. The left hand doesn’t know what it’s doing, so it’s more like a chick. For the best version of this try “The Stranger.” The Stranger is when you sit on your left hand until it falls asleep and then you flog your dolphin. It’s just like a girl giving you a hand job, except you only have to buy yourself dinner and drinks. Sorry gals, but you all seem like you’ve been sprayed with anti-fun-gal spray. And, at least I’m honest about enjoying what we all do. Well, I guess that you girls ride horses for similar effect or some shit like that, but you get my point (although not literally).  As far as I see it, I’m chill unless I lose my hands in some bizarre accident. If that happens, then I guess I’ll have to have a special rabbit pelt pillow manufactured and attached to a post of some kind. It would be kind of like a scratching post for a man. I think I’d call it a jacking post. When I do have sex (Frequency: rare; Number Appearing: 1-2; Treasure Type: nil), I enjoy it, but what is all the hype about? It’s fun and all, but what’s so special about it. I see so many of you guys selling yourselves out for pussy. You guys are more of a pussy than the pussy you’re losing your dignity for. If I had my way, I’d come over and make you bleed once a month. I have my sex in the same manner I have my steak- medium rare, so you would assume the grandeur of fornication would overwhelm me, but it doesn’t. Perhaps if one of you girls would spice it up once in a while. Say…oh I don’t know, maybe wear a pair of elf ears to bed every so often; I might be more sprung, but I don’t seem to be getting as sprung over girls as I use to that often anymore. I guess that’s why I’m 37 and single. I know, from past experiences, that any intimate relationship I get into will eventually end, and badly. I’m not a compromiser. You’re not moving in with me. Your not taking down my Complete Story of The Clash or Krush Groove (It’s Chillin’) framed posters and replacing them with paintings of a bowl of fruit or some blue guy playing a Spanish guitar. You’re not drinking my Disaronno. You’re not eating my left over Joe Peep’s. You do look fat, and I don’t want to go to The Olive Garden and have dinner with your family. I have a family of my own that I don’t want to do that with (sorry mom and Aimee, I meant going to The Olive garden, and not going out to eat with you guys in that pervious statement, of course). My toilet seat is staying up. Hell, I’m even trying to learn how to shit standing up, so be thankful I even have a toilet seat at all. And finally, I don’t care if you don’t like my friends. So don’t ask me to choose between them and you. I’ve known almost all of them for a span of 15-20 years, and they’ll be there when you’re long gone. Yes, they’re a bunch of assholes, but they’re my kind of assholes. They’re the kind of assholes who have driven this asshole to the emergency room after he’s gotten drunk and subsequently, gotten the shit beaten out of himself. With beliefs like these, it is likely that I, The B, will never reproduce, but then again, maybe some unknowing victim will sit on my blanket (with which I have affectionately bestowed the name “The Spankerchief” upon), or maybe my Sea Monkeys are strong enough to withstand stomach acid on their journey through the esophagus and make it to the womb, but I hope not. Because other than that, I can’t see it happening. I’m too cautious. I always use protection: I lock the door. Just kidding. That’s Catholic protection. I use condoms. I even make balloon animals out of them. Anyway, I gotta’ go rub one out. I’m going to have a Fat Weasel Ale (A.B.V. 7.1) or 4 and do the knuckle shuffle on my piss pump. I’m already loosening my utility belt and having visions of Julie Newmar circa ’66, in her Catwoman suit - meow! That’s right bitches; I’m a geek for life. So, if you can’t handle that, then go kill yourself (listen to the S.O.D. song of the same name for how to instructions). If you can, then I’ll see you again in 3 months. Same B time; same B channel- B (dazzler)

hey,

This quarter I was going to write about my gay Buick, but I decided to do my article on a family friend who unexpectedly passed away. He was one of the East LA original hot rodders and a grandfather to car culture. I figured readers of the zine would appreciate a lost piece of our heritage.Thanks,

-Jack

Recently a close family friend passed away. Rudolph was one of the original East LA Hot Rodders from back in the day. With roots in Venice California and

the City of Vernon, Rudolph's father was a mechanic and from what I understand operated a tow yard at one point. Cruising Whittier blvd, Rudolph grew up

in his teens cobbling hopped-up Model A Fords together from what he would find hanging around. He would tell me stories of his youth about how he

would walk up driveways in South Central Los Angeles and buy parts off of junkers in the backyards of black neighborhoods. Rudolph spent his adulthood doing hard-tops for

roadsters such as first generation T-Birds,

Corvettes and exotic sports cars. Later on he pursued the restoration of numerous vehicles and eventually returned to his roots with Model A

restoration in his older years. Besides cars, Rudolph also had a passion for

sailing, real estate, killer art and breath taking women. If he wasn't dating a playboy quality model,  he was promoting the now low-brow appreciated art of Jullian Ritter. (Clowns, nudes and clowns with

 nudes.) With much respect. Rudolph was a true O.G. playboy and hustler.

Whenever you see a kid in a kustom car, or some psychobilly kid at a show, their ambition is to emulate a certain culture. Rudolph was the grandfather of this culture along with many other Latino-American wrench turning youth, that paved the roads (litterally his family paved the streets in Venice when they came here from Mexico) for generations to come.  I feel very lucky to have not only met him while he was here, but to have truly been his friend and been

able to absorb the knowledge and be handed some of the wisdom from his amazing life experiences and glimpses of a long-gone era.

Friends, how many of us have them? Friends, before we go any further, lets be…….Greetings and salutations fellow chickenheadians of the World. First of all to quell the rumor control about your friend and fellow droog, Shotgun Mike esquire, these points of order are in line. Yes, I punched that white power chick in the face behind the pub, Yes, I stole Big Dans DJ tip money (it was only 6  dollars)…hey I needed a beer, and speaking of which, Yes, I jacked the beer from 7-11 because it WAS only 1:55, not 2:00 am like the Shroud of Turin said. WELL THEN, Friends…(no not that lame ass show)….Sometimes I have to weigh the good and bad points of a certain consequence before I act.  I would like to think that I act appropriately in most

situations. (ahem) But tell me if I’m wrong,,, Now I had a friend that I went to junior high and high school with, we were best friends etc. Now, I hadn’t seen this guy for about 10+ years, and I finally was able to contact him thru a mutual friend giving me his phone #. So I call this guy up and ask him if he wants to hang out and talk. He says yes, but says he can’t stay for too long because he has to meet some other people he had a previous plan with. OK, no big deal, whatever, but I did think it was strange that

after all those years, I figured he would want to hang out and talk. So we end up over at Casey’s (redeye !!) and get a drink. We have some small talk, but the whole time this guy is looking at his watch. So I’m thinking, “what the fuck?” Literally after about 10-15 minutes they guy is saying, “hey I gotta go.” So, He asks if I want to go hang with him and his other friends. I say, “cool”, and we drive to his buddies’ house about 2 miles away. We get  there and there’s two dudes there sitting watching TV….After introductions, we basically just sat there

and watched TV.   (???). So once again, im thinking “what the fuck?” I hadn’t seen this guy in 10+ years, and he had to leave to go watch TV. at some dudes house? I excuse myself and go back to Casey’s and subsequently get wasted. Now, I don’t hear from

this guy for about a year???????   -- Then he calls me out of the blue and says some biker in some gang is giving him problems and asks if I know the guy (which I did)…so I call the biker and get everything squashed. It’s all good to go. SO once again, now I

don’t hear from the guy for another 6 months or so and he leaves a message on my phone saying a bunch of the guys from the neighborhood are getting together and to come over. NOW, in the previous months, I had been tossing around ideas and thinking

“what the fuck?” I mean, if he had some pressing problem with me, why didn’t he just say so, get it out in the open and get that shit handled. BUT NO. So the more I thought about this shit the more pissed off I got. First, I thought, whatever, who

cares---but then I started to think, Fuck this guy, he ain’t my friend..even if I met some dude from high school that I didn’t really know/like, I would have still hung out for longer than ten fucking minutes.SO now, I decide, fuck this motherfucker, I decide

to drive out the party and tell him what I really think of him. So, I show up and play it cool, and later into the AM, when most everyone has left,  I pull out a knife and stab him (just kidding)…..I expose him to his own bullshit, explain my side and tell him to fuck himself. Then, as im leaving, he says, “dude you too drunk to drive, just stay here.”  I say, “Like you give a shit”. Drive away and subsequently crash my car into a curb. I would also like to personally thank the Simi Valley Police for  not giving me a DUI. Ha-ha. Oh, yeah, I used a “secret” cop sign to get out of it,,,hit me up, I might tellit to you====ËThen, the other aspect of

FRIENDS, is the friend/ acquaintance that you are all cool with, then one day, they act like they don’t know you. WHAT THE FUCK MAN? Of course I have  had many of these incidents through my “barroom

bouncer” years. Now I know that most of this shit comes from the “rumor mill”. Some douche talks shit and says, “Dude, you know what the guy said about  you?” Or the “cockblocker extraordinaire” who in his

effort to fuck some chick, has to talk shit because

he thinks in doing so , the girl with hate me/ like him. CASE IN POINT. I was at this party a few weeks ago and I see this chick, who I used to be totally cool with. I wasn’t trying to “bone” her or anything. I was bartending a few years back, she comes in with a friend and we started talking and we

were all cool. THEN, after about 6-7 months, she comes in one day and acts like she doesn’t know me?  So im thinking (once again) whatthefuck?? Now, I know some dickface probably wanted to fuck her, so

he needed to spread some rumor or bullshit so she would like him. FUCKING LAME. So I see this chick at this  party and I blow her off and avoid eye contact at all costs. Ya, know, I’m over it….THEN, I see her

at Casey’s the following week and she asks why I didn’t talk to her at the party. I just stared at her and walked away laughing. I would like to put this out to the general public, that if you hear any rumors about anyone, HIT THEM UP. It’s probably some

tweaker tale (especially at the Pub). I swear to God, I think some people take a few snorts and just start making shit up. WEAK. SO ANYWAYS ===Ë Last and not least…to those that know me, I have your back in any situation, I may act crazy and do some(some?) OK, a lot of fucked up things, but if you ever need me, I will be there for you, just call me up,….to everyone else…eat my ass/////.till next time

REMEMBER..DEATH VALLEY METH LAB..FRIDAY NOV. 23.DAVIDS DEN AT RESEDA/OXNARD.(free)… Solidarity, Shotgun mike