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To past, present, and future Saturdays. Savannah, GA: Birthplace of Adventureism.
"here we are again.punching holes in the sky.take that savannah."
(very special prize for the person who finds that Haiku written somwhere.)
I found this song and this note taped to the arm of a baby that was left on our front porch last night. I can only guess that they were getting at... RAP BATTLE!
"Yo! You shitz is gumsta be the worst rappers in the worl'. DJ March of the Penguinz and DJ Double EntAndre' is gumma break youz down and make you shitz cry. There aint enugh space in this worl' for double crews. Back off muthafuckers. Consider this a slap in tha' face! You been warn. Peace. Shitz, I mean, NOT PEACE!"
the verbal assault.
So we were gone, but now we're not, so you can all pull yourselves out of that downward spiral of agitation, continental breakfast, incest, and matricide you had been riding out since last week. Matt wasn't actually dead; my bad. Jake and I turned out fine; better even, and SOMEONE was cool enough to get a custom YTM© license plate! So all you people who CLAIM to be our friends; try fucking harder! In the meantime, whoever this person is, you just earned yourself a free picture of your license plate on our website. It will be viewed by tens of people, so don't commit any crimes to sabotage our good name, because we'll find ya! You probably don't even know how cool you are being every time you climb into your sweet car. Thanks for the unwavering support.
Scroll down because there's some stuff that can't be missed below. This post about being back was a bit deliquent.
Click on tha muthafuckin image to have your ears filled with the jizz of our latest hot jam.
If you are at all attentive, which you may or may not be; I couldn't possibly know, you may have realized that there has been a flurry of inactivity on our little blog here as of late. This is just an earnest explanation to help assuage the worst of your fears. First of all, we are not all dead. Matt is. That is why I have included this photograph of him giving the universal sign for "lame"; the "thumbs down." Jake and I are still relatively well. Jake is incarcerated in a slightly off-beat but quaint town far to the West. Slowly but surely he is becoming accustomed to the quirky ways of the simple people of Nevada. I myself am similarly imprisoned, by my own will, in the suburbs of Chicago, and to my knowledge have sustained no serious injury. Jake and I speak often of times past; the salad days as they were. Of golden hours filled with tall tales and food and drink by the fire; and hearty and healthy women close at hand. But alas, those days have passed, like the sun over the horizon, into cold black night. We pray we haven't been to much trouble for our ever-loving parents. Even as I write this I feel his powers growing. Well, TTFN. We'll get back on the band wagon god-willing. Until then, cheerio chaps. Have the fun!
Do you remember this movie? I sure as hell shouldn't! But I do, because it has become THE archetypal movie that I see and immediately forget. I don't remember it so much that I can't forget it anymore. It serves as the surrogate wasted hour and a half in place of all the others that I have wasted on movies that I will never remember seeing until I catch a minute of them on TV years from now and think, "Oh yeah, that exists, and I saw it." But Powder is always there. There was literally a good 4 years when I didn't think about that movie at all, and then, BAM! It hit me, and now I can't not remember the movie that had about as much effect on me as a time I probably stubbed my toe on the kitchen counter that I also don't remember. It's like that entire year that I didn't think about hockey. Not once! I existed in a hockey-free universe, and life was fine.
But now it's back, and now I remember it all the time as something that I should have always forgotten. So, just a reminder...
