Take Me With You

According to the site tracker for this blog, people came across it by searching Google for:

"Ol' Dirty Bastard"
"spike lee huff paint" (seriously? is there something I should know?)
"Arnold's kid images"
"douches iceberg"
"india freespiritman*" (glad to have him aboard)
"baseball baby and names"
"a lorna doone obama" (I want one)
"gum drop soup" (gimme)
"Anthony Hopkins"
"suckosaurus"
"douche ball"

"Encore!!!" You got it, homey.

Suckosaurus Rex

Saw this in The Onion today and couldn't stop laughing:



Get well soon, Mr. Orton. Use your bearded wisdom to vanquish this talentless stepchild.

Anagrams!

Anagrams are words with the letters switched around to make new words, you fucking idiot! Whoa...I'm sorry. I flew off the handle there and I apologize. Let's start again.

I've chosen to rearrange celebrity names as an excuse to find their most unflattering pictures, and bask in some absurd word combinations. Let's do this shit!


(Better get used to this photo, folks. It's my favorite thing in the world right now. You'll be seeing it again, soon)

Mike Tyson
ink my toes
kite, my son
tiny smoke




Vladimir Putin
invalid rum pit
mini drip vault




Hulk Hogan
honk laugh
Ghoul Khan
klan hug, ho!




Quentin Tarantino
non-tit quarantine




Lou Reed
dour eel
ole rude

side note: Look at Lou Reed. This is how a Jew ages. Apparently, when God was making the chosen people, he forgot to check the "age gracefully" box. This is what I have to look forward to? Oy vey!



David Letterman
Milt, Dad Veteran
damn tater devil!




Fidel Castro
idle sac fort
steroid calf
slit rod face




Sarah Palin
I, nasal harp
Rash Lip Ana




Marlon Brando
lard born moan
bad nor normal




Anthony Hopkins
yank this phonon
phony honk stain
oh, thy napkin son

Obama, Chicago, Street Dancing, and Grant Park

True story time!

I'm burning the midnight oil to churn out this important blog post... Actually, I'm just awake and this post has no significance whatsoever. Here's the scoop...

I've been pretty edgy the past few days because I wanted the election to be over with and for Obama to be crowned already. I texted people jokes about voting for butterscotch and tried to appear stable, but inside my stomach was a knot that would surely kill me if this fucking election dragged on any longer.

That was until around 9pm Chicago time, when I checked the election results and saw that Obama was winning, and Grant Park was going nuts. So I put on my press hat, took along my shitty camera, and went to join the ruckus. Who knows? Maybe I would end up participating in some historical history time. And possibly host an Obama victory orgy (No dice).

Got on the L to the Washington stop, and was quickly absorbed by a dozen or so jubilant black youths chanting "Obama!" and "Yes we can!". It was truly a great scene and I had a smile on my face the whole time. Here's a sampling of our trek from the L station to Grant Park.

I was getting high fives and woo!'s from across the street. There was a tremendous sense of excitement and anticipation. We march on.


Stop...dance...march on

My favorite!


Along the way, I saw 50 people camped out on the stairs of the Art Institute. This guy was among them, and from the look in his eye, I could tell that he was their leader. And yes, that's a fucking pizza box!

I had to take 3 photos of this guy because my flash was all fucked. He stood there grinning in the same spot for a good 45 seconds. I also noted the distinct aroma of marijuana wafting around.

There were hucksters at every corner, selling t-shirts and hats. Some guy was selling cardboard Obama stand ups. There was also a guy selling Obama slide whistles. I'm not kidding!

What's going on with the lady in the lower right corner? Is that a smile or is there a scorpion in her blouse?


There was a little pot party going on in a garden along Michigan Avenue. Dudes with dreads were waving a big black flag around. I have no idea what it means or represents. Are they stoned pirates, white skinned Black Panthers, or anarchists who smoke drugs? I couldn't tell and didn't get a picture of them. Whoever they are, I probably don't cotton to their nihilistic bike messenger ideology, and I hope an Obama victory doesn't embolden them. We must end the scourge of honkey dreads.

This guy came up to me and said, "Take my picture, man!" So I said, "Okee-dokee." He was overjoyed.



I turned into the park, only to spot theses two exhibitionists who were more than happy to pose for a picture.

Maybe my memory is fuzzy, but was Abraham Lincoln a squat faced, husky drifter with two black eyes? I forget. The other one has the right idea, though. She's purdy. Too purdy. She's hiding something.


When I finally got to Grant Park, I found it to be fenced off, forcing me to watch the Jumbotron with thousands of others who couldn't get in. This was actually pretty boring, and anti-climactic. There were 40 minutes of wandering before Obama gave his speech. People were standing on porta-potties, climbing trees, and even sitting on top of gazebos to try to catch a glimpse of the action inside Grant Park. A LOT of people were smoking dope and talking on their cell phones. But that speech was cool. Everyone got real quiet when he was talking, and roared when he said something uplifting or whatever. I wish I could have been inside the fence, but my journey was awesome anyway.

On the way back to the L, hordes of people filled the streets of downtown Chicago. You couldn't move, but the atmosphere was still very charged. People started getting tired, and then some cars rolled by honking their horns and everybody started getting psyched again. High fives all around, and more Obama chants.



I'm glad I went, and I'm glad Obama won. Relieved might be the more appropriate word, actually. I'm optimistic, sure, but not 6 hours after the election is officially over, I'm just happy to have it all wrapped up. Now I can focus on my other worries. Like finding the right table cloth for my wedding. And draping it over my wife's cage so she stops squawking.

Beginners Guide to LSD

So you want to try acid, eh? Expand your mind, man?



You want to experience an abundance of tingly thoughts and short circuit some neurons, do ya? Wanna smell the color green and taste a Jimi Hendrix guitar roar? Well, go fuck yourself, pal. If you do LSD, you will end up spending the night on a picnic table with Professor Pigeon. Is that what you want? Professor Pigeon will drone on and on about that time he found a glowing wedding cake in the dumpster. This is not your destiny.


But I can't stop you if your mind is already made up. My role is that of an adviser on your stupid journey of pointlessness.

With that being said, here's some do's and don't do's when attempting to ingest LSD.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DO - Take acid in the company of a WindMilf (wind-mother I'd like to fuck)



DON'T - Wear cargo shorts at any time. Trust me. Just don't.

DO - Brush you hair while repeating, "I am immortal. The milk sphere has been pierced!"



DON'T - Have any guns or weapons in the house. Don't even draw a knife on your fridge with a purple crayon. No weapons. They hold negative connotations and make panic meters sway into the red zone.

DO - Have kiwi cream Oreos and dolphin-shaped chicken tenders ready to go. Any whimsical treat is good. Sprinkles are recommended.


(via Ronald Kurniawan)


DON'T - Take acid during a rainstorm.

DON'T - Take acid when it's sunny.

DO - Call Pizza Hut and hang up. Every hour. But, don't answer any questions they may ask you. They're not real, ignore them.





Still want to trip your balls off? Could be weird. Why not take a spin in a sensory deprivation tank instead? You'll be surrounded by less losers, nobody can see you drool, and samurai sword wielding spiders won't make you kiss your parents.


Uh-oh! Bad trip, man. Block it out. The shadows can't hurt you. Take off your clothes and wash them. Focus on the eels. They will guide you along the path of illumination. The fractals you see are all in your mind. Low hanging trees asking for canned corn? That's weird.


Phew! Glad that's over...

Kaleidoscope Tokyo dream runner sequence initiated

(via Pink Tentacle)


Relax. You're in a safe place, now.





(via Ana Bagayan)


Final Tip:
"Never follow a hippie to a second location."
-Jack Donaghy

This concludes today's lesson. Smell ya later.

Yoda Fleshlight

I could write some pseudo-poignant observations about my life or whip up some one liners to accompany these 2 pictures, but I won't. I'm content to let these photographic achievements speak for themselves...




and...




While you're contemplating what you ever did to deserve this, peep my new favorite site Yimmys Yayo.

Halloween is For Haters

Based on tonight's events, a new personal tradition has been born. From now on, I will ride my bike through the Wicker Park bar district at 2am on Halloween night every year, for the rest of my life.

Why?

Because of the remarkable and hilarious sight of people in costumes stumbling home drunk, tired, and sad. I just saw a bleary-eyed Cruella De Ville hunched over a burrito on the curb. That's why.

2am is clearly the time when the facade of fantasy wears off and the party people wobble back to their apartments to sober up. Faded makeup and stained French maid outfits in tow. It's like seeing a dream unmistakably die right before your eyes. Brutal yet exhilarating.

Until next year...


(via Brendan Donnelly)