Monday, December 28, 2015

My New Years Resolution (And why you shouldn't care)

O.k. So, I want to stop eating tasty food that makes me happy, stop drinking alcohol (which makes me sociable), and exercise a whole lot more instead of relax before and after a mentally draining job, and focus on the more grueling parts of my fun music career.

That's my new years resolution.

Here is the problem;

There is no problem.

Photo of me on Christmas eve. OK, maybe a little bit of a problem.

I will likely lose a lot of weight for health reasons, and also it makes it easier to prance around on stage as a performer. However, give up delicious rice and potatoes completely? Fuck you.

I will cut down on drinking, obviously, because when I'm drunk too many days in a row, I tend to talk too much and break things, and that's bad. But no cocktails on my birthday or at a concert? Again, fuck you.

And exercise, ah yes. I should go on morning jogs, of course. I should lift some weights after work, sure. But my boxing career (which hardly existed) is over, and I'm not joining the marines anytime soon. So, fuck you.

Working harder on promotion and recording for my music? Well, that obviously needs to improve. Fuck you anyways.

I say "Fuck you" after each bit because people always seem to set these expectations out loud, for the rest of the world. I don't do those things for you, I do them for me. So, I have decided to be a hypocrite and tell you about it anyways.


Because fuck you. That's why.

~Xavier R.

Playlist 12-28-2015

I'm Your Super Glue - Tenement

Future People - Alabama Shakes

Caffeinated Consciousness - Tv On The Radio

Stabbed In The Face - Wolf Eyes

Screen Shot - Swans

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Suppose They Gave a Star War and Nobody Came

You and I both know that the new Star Wars movie is going to make a obscene amount of money, I'd say they'd literally be "raking it in" but that would be wrong; even if they changed all the money they'll make into thousand dollar bills there is still not a rake big enough in this plane of existence to rake it "in" in an expedient matter. The chips have already fallen and they're confident the movie is going to make a billion fucking dollars. With ridiculous cross promotion everywhere (collector's edition Star Wars Band-Aid tins anyone?), TV and internet ads and advanced ticket sales kicking the internet in the head, it's impossible to imagine a world where this movie won't make more than the GDP 27 countries. But a man can dream, no?

Better start cutting yourself kids. This bizarre compulsion to collect tins of Band-Aids isn't going to rationalize itself! 
So if the average American movie ticket is around $8.38 and the budget for the movie itself is $200 million; if less than twenty-three-point-nine million people watched it in theaters it wouldn't recoup its budget. This is obviously flawed math, as it doesn't take into account foreign markets, home entertainment, merchandise and the $4 billion Disney spent buying Lucasfilm in the first place. Though I still think people not watching Star Wars in theaters is a step in the right direction, it's really beyond my capabilities to say what will make the evil Disney empire fall.

In all this how you may be asking yourself why I want the new Star Wars (and therefore Mickey, Minnie, Goofy et al.) to fail. Disney is creatively bankrupt, decedent and a cancer on our culture. Disney, at their most creative just makes Shakespeare plays into movies about talking animals. Now they seem content merely with beating the dead horses named Marvel and Star Wars. They're making their money off of the backs of franchises made famous by people far more creative then them. I just think it's a behavior we shouldn't condone with our money.

Disney must pay for their sins.
Then again, I'm probably going to watch it too. Fuck it, boycott Star Wars or don't, I don't care. All I really want to see is Mickey Mouse cry into a glass of his Macallan '39 and hang a rope from a rafter.

Big Mike.

P.S. By the way, did you hear there are black people in it? Hopefully America is as racist as Tumblr says it is, and our amorphous white male patriarchal systems of oppression will trigger it out of existence.

Sleep tight!

Monday, December 14, 2015

SciFi Sandwich

With the impending release of the new Star Wars Movie, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, even the closet scifi fans are coming out in force (pun not intended). Of course, most will enjoy a movie that is part of the most famous cinematic series of all time, but some will rant about a genre and film series they actually know nothing about, bitching about how anti-White Jewish activist J.J. Abrams (Caster of Black Leads, hater of the Christians, and eater of children) is going to fuck everything up. Fuck it up worse then even the Prequel trilogy, which apparently made hundreds of millions of dollars each for no reason.

"Thanks a lot Disney! Boycott!" One of the many shouts they yell from their mother's trailer roof.
We want your money...and your soul.

It really is a repeating process with these people. First J.J. Abrams is a pig for accepting to direct films in both universes, then he is part of a conspiracy to cast ethnic leads to apparently destroy the white race. Sorry for the changing status quo, everyone.

Oldie but goodie

What is funny to me, is how this type of white-genocide politics and...hoo haw...doesn't exist in any of the universes in which these people are bitching about. Take Star Trek, a classic for many decades, had a multi racial cast because the creators realized that in a future of unity and putting the strongest foot forward, that would come from all sorts of backgrounds. And think realistically; You view any alien species from any book, comic, t.v. show, or movie, and you don't view them as particularly different, except maybe minor differences from genetic variation or maybe the climate of the area that they came from. Sound familiar?

"But having a black lead is playing into being politically correct!"

How? Fucking how? He merely got the god damn part. But of course it's affirmative action, even though he is English...

John Boyega at his audition for his Debut Movie,"Hit The Block"

John Boyega, the focus of these people's spite plays Fin, the storm trooper turned Jedi (I guess?) in the new Star Wars trilogy. What is interesting though, he doesn't even get guff from his capabilities as a thespian. You know, classically trained, theater and screen, critically acclaimed, which I'm sure Jim-bob backwater scifi fan (Dukes of Hazard is scifi, right?) is all green over. It's just the poison of his pigment. (Black, in case you weren't following.)

But let us not forget Hayden Christensen.

You'll always be Darth to me, pretty boy.

Hated for his wooden acting and his general creepiness (he was to be the lord of the Sith, so a criticism I never quite got.), he stands as despised for his roll, despite the massive success of the movies that he starred in brought to the pockets of George Lucas and...uh...whoever else. In all fairness though, mouth breathing scifi geeks and basement dwellers the world over would likely have hated a young Marlon Brando in the roll, because that's just the way they are.

So with either lack of information or a hatred of anything new, which leading character do we all feel would come out on top? Well, here at Spanky's Art House Porno theater, we actually got an exclusive. We Sat John Boyega and Hayden Christensen down, and gave them some peach schnapps. The results? Well...

May the force be in you


~Xavier R.

Friday, December 11, 2015

Let My Insecurities Dictate The Art You Enjoy.

Allow me to let you in on a little secret, gentle reader. I don't give a fuck how you feel. My compatriot doesn't give a fuck about how you feel either. We're hard pressed as it stands to give one iota of a fuck about what you think or what your opinions are, but we really couldn't give a subatomic fuck about how offended you feel. 

Personally, this little website is for me to put up my half baked opinions and silly short stories up for posterity. I don't really feel any shame or embarrassment for the things I write so I figure fuck it, why not put it up for the world to see?

Xavier and I really do appreciate your commentary, good and bad (Frankly, most of the time it's negative) because it tells us you at least read us. We love people who hate our shit and act disrespectfully because they're fun to fuck with. We're also open to having our ideas challenged if a reasoned debate is your thing. The internet is a great place to engage with creative types, their fans, detractors and hecklers and should remain a place for the free expression of all.

However, something I will never abide by is people who think the world should coddle them and keep them safe from their own insecurities and use this as a reason to call art they don't like whatever "ism" they think will silence it. People like this always say they aren't being "Censors" but that they're just critiquing popular culture. I disagree. The problem with you people (yes, I do mean you people) is you never seem to look at a piece of art on it's artistic merits but how "diverse" it is. As if "diversity" is an artistic statement in and of itself.

If there are "too many" men and not enough women the piece of art is sexist.
If there are "too many" white people and not enough "people of color" the piece of art is racist.
If there are "too many" straight people and not enough gay people the piece of art is homophobic.
If there are "too many" trim, healthy people and not enough overweight people the piece of art is fatphobic.
If there are "too many" cisgendered people and not enough transsexuals or nonbinary zhes and zhers, the piece of art is transphobic.

What would happen if I made the perfect, socially conscious movie about a gay, trans, three hundred pound woman of color? Of course you sloppy, over sensitive clit mounds would still cry foul. If your pet minority has representation, then it's invariably (in your expert estimation) represented poorly or negatively. "It's a stereotype!" you'll cry "We gay, trans three hundred pound women of color don't act like that at all!"

Wait, so you're saying you want the characters in books, comics, movies and video games to act like "normal" human beings? Why then do you feel you can't relate to the characters the people with actual artistic talent create? It's almost as if creating art, or more over, DICTATING to artists what quotas and social-justice-checklists would make you feel better doesn't make for good art.

I've said this to people who whine about the lack of diversity in a piece of art before: If you don't like it, don't consume it, make your own. Get off your special snowflake ass to make art you feel "validates" your "lived experience". If that's too hard and want to critique something you don't like instead; do it on it's artistic merits. I'll be right there with you. Calling something sexist, racist, homophobic, fat-phobic or trans-phobic because it doesn't pass your wholly subjective and arbitrary litmus test though is not a critique, that's just you being a whimpering cunt.

Just because an artist doesn't put gays, black people, fat people, trans folk or women in their art does not mean they hate those groups of people. However, if you do think that then I hate you.

Big Mike.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

"I Sat Rahnd The Haass Wankin'!"

I did it you lovely, anonymous whiners and wankers, I've gotten employed! How cool is that? I feel the light at the end of the tunnel and I'm almost 100% positive it's not a train. Yeah buddies!

In matters of the Porno Theatre, I have good news about writing... but first I'd like to tell you about flash fiction. Y'see, if you look at most of my fiction it's all very brief and vague and I'll admit it kinda shitty. I'm not afraid to admit I've been influenced greatly by the author Etgar Keret and much like my other early-twenties obsessions (Tom Waits, Charles Burns comics, Marijuana) they influenced my work, for better or for worse. Thing is no one but writers give a shit about stories under 500 words.

Even though these vignettes and snippets of stories as they stand today bring me great shame; they will still stand as a monolith, much like a eleven-year-old's boner in gym shorts. While I find these stories personally cringey I still see potential in them. The stories I see room to grow will get my tender love and abuse, and around 5000 more words.

As a matter of fact, I'm working on a burly first draft of a story loosely based on my original short-story entry to the Hallowed Halls of the Great Porno Theatre, in Spanky's name (Sleaze Be Upon Him) and through it's carefully crafted exposition and context will be the story I always meant to write but was too stoned to.

Good times ahead, ladies and gentlemen.

Big Mike.

Spanky of the Art House (Sleaze Be Upon Him)

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Mary Forsberg is a cunt

Not only is she a cunt, she is as selfish as the man she bitterly chastises in death, if not worse.

You see, Mary Forsberg is the ex-wife of the late singer Scott Weiland, the very Scott Weiland I referenced just the other day.

Mary, you see, penned an open letter to rolling stone about the impact of him and his life and death on her and her kids. You can read it here.

My Response To Mary;

While the frustration that he wasn't there and the anger that the finances given from those who didn't appreciate the severity of his issues kept his destruction train rolling, I didn't see you turning down checks and getting a different job to support your kids. I recall you publishing a book still using his surname in bold print, and titling it after one of his biggest hit songs.

I recall you shooting up with him in the early nineties, encouraging infidelity against his first wife, and allowing yourself to get impregnated by a man you found to be so erratic and crazy. You didn't do shit to stop the madness then, when you were riding his gravy train of a dick.

Instead of coming across as someone who should be taking the feelings of her children into consideration, you come across as a bitter woman who is thinking only of herself. It definitely is easier to chastise and berate a person who is gone, instead of when they are here, and not use all the resources they have given you. If you saw he wasn't there for the first child, why would you go and have another one him?

Yeah, he was a drug riddled, whisky swilling rockstar. Not all continue down that path once they have kids, but he did. Yet there you were, not actually doing shit to stop it.

Don't try to tell me that you aren't trying to tear down his legacy for the millions he has touched with his talent and entertainment capabilities. That is exactly what you are doing. Encouraging people to look down on those who exert themselves as an artist, after you have drained him dry, of course.

(s)he without sin cast the first stone.

You have no right to be such a hypocrite, Mary.

The energy you put towards your bitter rant would be better fuel for teaching your kids the values of sobriety and loving those who depend on you, not taking away the only good that your ex-husband gave to the world. You could have just given a warning only on the neglect of a selfish drug addict, and a warning to really care for your kids. But you took it too damn far.

Mary Forsberg, you are a cunt.

~Xavier R.

p.s. I wouldn't say anyone is glorifying this tragedy, I would say that we are just acknowledging his impact.

p.s.s. I hope your kids do well. You also, until they no longer live with you. Then you can fuck off.

Monday, December 7, 2015

Development in progress, still(born)

Below is the precursor for a story I've been working on for the past four years called "My Friend the Machine", of which you will notice in the header. It comes from a dream I had some years ago. I had made this post as soon as I had the dream, and called it "Dreamscape I". It was incorporated into the story I've been developing as a mixture of past memory and fantasy.

I was at the house I use to live in before my current, with a few of my friends, one of whom was merely an acquaintance, another a small child.

As my friends and I carelessly played video games on the couch, my "acquaintance"  friend tried getting our attention several times in vain. Finally, he says,

"You guys, the sky, it's freezing where rays of light are normally suppose to shine through!" Finally, I get up to go check, and sure enough, exactly that was happening. In fact, it was as if the atmosphere was freezing, and the freezing sky was spreading. I say to the others

"Really you guys, you need to check this out." Soon they all were seeing, and all started to panic. Being equally scared but calm as a monk, I say

"Don't worry. Even if it all started breaking and falling towards us, by the time it reached us, it would barely do anything at all." This calmed them, and they went back to their video games. Finally, a news report came about the radio (though we didn't have a radio on) and told us that the atmosphere was indeed freezing over, and that they knew nothing of it beyond that.

This caused another round of panic among my friends (the acquaintance who was the panicking the least), and again I reassure them if the sky does indeed fall, (and right then the acquaintance reminds us of the heat caused by acceleration) it will be of very little danger of us, and by looking at it, might not even hit us. (For right there I'd like to point out that the frozen sky looked frozen in large chunks in every direction, but in between the chunks, weren't cracks in the ice, but seams clear of being frozen.)

The ice did eventually crack, however, and exploded, falling unto the world. They began another round of panic, but the acquaintance and I did not. We instead had very amused looks on our face, which the rest found hilarious, and again went back to their video games.

When it did hit us, it was as a thick bombardment of snow. The sliding glass door was open, however, and the snow spilled in, covering the before mentioned child, who was asleep on the floor. I quickly clear him of it. Afterwards I stand up and tell the acquaintance that this is like one of those post-apocalyptic stories we always wished to be apart of as kids. He laughed and agreed.(After this point, the child never appears in the story again, and the "acquaintance" vanishes to go explore, but doesn't tell us.)

A feeling of accomplishment washes over me. I realize that even in an ending world, I can still keep my cool and direct those around me, despite being just as scared. I do not let it control me. I merely acknowledge its existence.

They go about playing video games once more, until the radio comes on again. It goes on about how the atmosphere has been destroyed, and that the world will reach a melting point and then be destroyed. Everyone looks at me in confusion and horror (a responsibility I hardly want) and I shush them down.

(the following is a bit hazy, and I guess 15%-25% of the filler that is not obvious to be important is probably fictional, in regards to the dream, that is.)

A couple girls come into the house at this point, most likely thinking it is a safe place to be. (now that I think about it as I write, probably because the "acquaintance" told them about our calm demeanor and our resources.) I care very little about this, except for the fact that with them is this redhead, who once I see I fall instantly in love with. Her smile makes all the fear inside me go away. I feel an overwhelming warmth. (It should be mentioned, that my girl chatting tendencies usually point me in the directions of apathy or awkwardness. However whenever I see "HER", which has happened a few times, I become indestructible in  will and thought, until either I ultimately succeed or fail.)

I try try to get her to stay with me. But she wont do it. She says she has a boyfriend to get back to. (who I learn, without being told or ever seeing, is one of my friend Jon's cousin) Uncaring, I tell her to forget him, and stay with me. She playfully refuses, and leaves safety.

The acquaintance returns. I ask him what the outside world is like (as I do so, the sky, and everything else outside, has turned completely white). He looks at me, filled with dread, and says nothing. He was pale as a ghost, and I could tell, that he had just given up. I looked around, and no one was left. Despite my sacrificing of humanity to shine fearless for them, seeing the "acquaintance" so wrecked wrecked them, too. They fled away to die. I was alone.

(I fear that particularly important, but unvital, parts of this last section were lost completely)

Chaos. Disorder. Panic. The streets and skies burned with the fears of people. It's funny, because our habitat around us changed drastically, maybe fatally so. But people didn't have to. People didn't need to behave like this. We could have stayed calm, and found a way to deal with it. But across the globe, there was utter pandemonium.

As I walk into town, I convince those I pass to calm down, and they listen. However it seems some retreat from my calming manner, so my efforts do very little. Eventually I make it to the house I lived in before the house at the beginning of the dream. A couple of my friends are there. I don't bother complaining about the fact that they had left a more secure location that was heavy in resources. I just sit. The radio chimes once more.

"It's all over..." and once again they flee. I don't try to stop them. All but one are never seen again. Though it wasn't technically my duty, I felt as though I had the capability of being a Shepard. Though I still did not let the fear consume me, I felt as though I could have stopped them from being fools. Could have stopped them from running like cowards. Though the enemy was not a directly physical one, I could have led them into battle against it. But I didn't. I failed.

I was in a car with the rapper Jay Z and his mom, and they were driving me to 7-11. I thanked them for the ride, and went inside to buy a slurpee. I suddenly have a used slurpee cup, and go over to the chaotically arranged counter, and tell the man that I would like a refill. (Which is silly, because you refill it yourself.) He mocks me in a frightening manner.

"Oh look at me, I need a refill. Lah dee da dee da." as he does a silly dance. Then glares at me. I realize a lot is terrible right now, so I should be grateful. Not that I didn't understand the chaos. I wasn't grateful, however, until right then. After a moment, he laughs a reassuring laugh. I fill it up my slurpee cup, and the man says something along the lines of

"God gives us this world, and we destroy it. He didn't have to share it with us. He has his friends in the sky, and we destroy them with our airplanes and disease." Though I was in complete agreement, I had the feeling that he might suddenly shoot me, so I say

"Praise to god." or something like that, and leave, without paying, which didn't seem to be a matter. I got back in Jay Z's car.

It was night. The world wasn't a piercing white anymore. The night view seemed normal, though chaos was still quite abounding. The driver of the car was suddenly my friend Jon.

As we went down the street, I saw the redhead again. It instantly became daytime. A normal daytime. I shouted out to her. I told her I could take care of her. She said that her boyfriend wouldn't LIKE that, hinting at violence, and she seemed almost happy about it, though I could detect fear in her. I had a feeling I'd see her again. I asked her for a kiss. She thought on it, but then ran over to the car to oblige. Jon re-positioned his now truck so that her approach would be easier, seemingly o.k. with the fact that I was trying to steal his cousin's girlfriend. He then, however, re-positioned his truck once more, and drove away, mentally telling me we have more important things to do. I suffered. It became night once more.

I was now in my moms car. As we drove down the street, I saw a lion, wandering about.
"Was that a fucking lion?"
"Yes." She replied. I was terrified. Not only for myself, but for anyone who would end up encountering it. Despite this feeling of terror, I wanted to stop and fight it. My mom kept driving.

Out of the blue, a cop car was on our tail.
"Shit, it's the cops." My mom says. His sex lights start-a-blinking, and my mom begins to drive faster.
"Mom, maybe you should pu..."
"No! We can't let them see there is a black man in the car until we reach a public place." I thought to myself, that I knew all the cops in town. They like me. They wouldn't hurt me. Now three cops were on her tail.
We now find ourselves, my mother and I, at the library, when it use to be under the city hall whilst the current one was under construction. There was a shoe section, where one could literally check out shoes. The cops found us as we looked about the shoes, and didn't question or search us, but in fact searched the shoe boxes and shoes around us. Frantically. After awhile, one of them finds a shoe as big as a computer, and laughs, saying
"Who the hell could fit into a shoe like this?"
"My friend Joe could." I say.
"Well he must have some big fucking feet. Hey, look at this picture frame." He hands me a picture frame, and I look at it, then hand it back.

"Anyways, sorry to bother you Mr. Rhone." And they leave. My mom and I sit there, confused, exhausted. She begins to talk, and in the moonlight I see a red dot on her head. I shove her face backwards.
"A laser!" Then blue ones appear on mine. We both take turns dodging the lasers, though no shots are being fired.
"The picture frame! It must have been so that they could target you through the windows easier!" She yells at me. We hide behind some crates. Though I can't hear it, I can feel that the building (which, now that I think about it, wasn't in public at all, but completely deserted ) is being surrounded. There is peace. Then machine gun fire tares through the walls and windows.

I retain my courage, and develop overwhelming determination, and vow a way out of this. I must see the redhead again. I must.

Then I woke up.

There reason why that dream was incorporated was because of its apocalyptic themes, which are prominent in the story itself. Though obviously in the story it is pieced together differently. Also, I chose to absorb a different short story I've been working on into the fold as well, which actually helps fill in some of the plot points I have been struggling with. So I hope you enjoyed this tidbit, and I shall be able to start posting under "My Friend The Machine" by the beginning of next year.

~Xavier R.

Friday, December 4, 2015

Musicians and Drugs

I made a comment during my entry yesterday, about how I left my physics studies to do drugs and play music, and how I would talk about it later. Coincidentally, one of my personal heroes and one of the most iconic rock front men of the past several decades, Scott Weiland, died in his sleep last night while on his tour bus, touring with his band The Wildabouts. Scott Weiland was also the original lead singer of the rock band Stone Temple Pilots, and the rock super group Velvet Revolver. While it is technically only speculation that he died of drugs, with no other known causes, and the fact that he did drugs on and off again since the early nineties, it is hard to not speculate.

I say "did drugs on and off again" instead of "struggled with", because starting to use drugs is usually self imposed, though the struggle can come eventually. They are known to either take the edge off, or put the edge on, whichever is needed for a given circumstance. That, and they can be fun as fuck to do. Problem being, long enough use can actually change the chemical make up in your brain, to where it is a constant nagging, in a way that becomes an actual disease. It is a disease, by the way. Just caused by unhealthy habits. Same as with a lot of cases of diabetes.

Scott Weiland, 10-27-1967 to 12-03-2015

There seem to be a couple different tie ins to drugs coming from musicians. So I figured I would elaborate on the ones I am familiar with.


Now, by no means do I think that doing drugs can ever make you creative, otherwise every feckless stoner and junkie would be a genius musician. However, drugs do alter your perception in one way or another, which gives alternative viewpoints and ideas to those who are already musically inclined, opening new approaches to otherwise plain ideas. Now while I would say a large number  musicians are known to be occasional drinkers and smokers of the sweet jungle,  some of the most prominent innovators of most genres used harder substances to push themselves to create something new, and altering your perception of reality can certainly assist with that.


Many people love to make music, but some use it purposely find popularity for money, sex, respect, or whatever the case might be. Not all these people, however, are very outgoing. Music, and the arts in general, are known to be heavily pursued hobbies and careers of those who have very introverted personalities, though it is by no means exclusive. Though, contrary to extroverts, introverts gain their energy by being alone, and being within themselves. However, when you become a rockstar, privacy becomes secondary, and you are not only constantly admired, but also chastised. Both take heavy tolls on your energy levels. However, hard drugs and heavy drinking nullifies the negative effect of being sociable when your personality doesn't warrant it.


Probably the simplest of reasons to understand. Some of the biggest and best of all time, were heavy drug users, and even have glorified it in their creation. A young, impressionable mind is likely to follow suite with that whom he or she sees as successful within the thing they strive for the most. Often, these impressionable people then understand its use, and continue.


Either being on the road, or playing shows in their locality, music ties into a partying lifestyle, usually for those observing it, but the musicians themselves are often wanting into that fray. The high of playing a show for a good crowd of people can be enough for many, but often many musicians want to further that high, and thus dig themselves deeper into debauchery.

If drugs didn't have a heavily positive physical or mental effect, people just would never do them, because even the most hapless individual knows that they are dangerous. However, trying to show them to people who haven't ever used as being only destructive with no pleasure is not only dangerous, but I think wrong, because once they learn to the contrary, the lessons learned about negativity become of little to no consequence. Instead, people should be taught immediately that they do feel pleasurable, but the negatives are so powerful its just not worth it. Because Drugs are fun. They are really fucking fun. Some make you calm, some make you feel like a superhero, while others make your blood and brain feel like one giant mushy orgasm. Mix that with the high of creating music, and its an easy path of enjoyable destruction. One could be easily swayed to continue using because of how fun they were if they were only yelled at about them, instead of sat down and talked to.

And while I would never get on someones case for tokin' that herbage or enjoying the occasional cocktail, as I myself enjoy a nice tumbler of whiskey, but just remember some of these awesome cats;

Frankie Lymon, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Tim Buckley, Elvis Presley, Keith Moon, Sid Vicious, Bon Scott, Darby Crash, John Bonham, Phil Lynott, Hillel Slovak, Andrew Wood, Steve Clark, Kristen Pfaff, Shannon Hoon, Bradley Nowell, John Baker Saunders, Layne Staley, Dee Dee Ramone, John Entwistle, Rick James, Michael Jackson, Jay Reatard, Paul Gray, Amy Winehouse, and even Whitney Houston. Some of the greatest musicians to have ever lived.

Real fucking dead from drugs.

~Xavier R.


I feel people have the right to do as they please, as long as it doesn't outwardly effect others in an immediate way. I just feel some of those things are really, really stupid.

Playlist 12-4-2015 (R.I.P. Scott)

Modzilla - Scott Weiland and The Wildabouts 

Between The Lines - Stone Temple Pilots

Sex Type Thing - Stone Temple Pilots

Big Machine - Velvet Revolver

Headspace - Velvet Revolver

Thursday, December 3, 2015

In your private time, tell yourself you were born to control affairs. In your public time, control affairs.

Sometimes too many ideas are floating around at once. Too many, because not enough dedication can be given to a single one idea to complete or master that idea. There is no need to feel down because you can't be any sort of unrealistic renaissance man or woman. Do something, or write something, or make something, then move on. Once you achieve it, achieve something else. There is no need to expend so much energy on so many things if you know deep inside you will not complete them. Lets be realistic.

There are many who all at once are brilliant writers, musicians, athletes, and thespians. However, they mastered each thing individually. Once they have each thing mastered, simultaneous improvement for each can then happen. Because they are masters.

Get it?

My father, who was a great man but plagued with many flaws, would completely disagree with me. He also is someone who would ignore my ideas on how to travel the cosmos (a whole theory involving quantum mechanics for particle disbursement and rearrangement, of which I spent many years of study, and was developing a proper thesis on until I discovered music and drugs...another entry) and say that these things can be done with pure will power and brain waves. He was also a man who died from his inability to go out and actively improve himself. It was a sad day when he died, but it was very motivating, as I was following a similar path, despite obvious talents.

I tried too much to do too many things. Then I became good at a few. Then I would focus on them, but do too many things with each talent and end up waking up drunk Sunday morning mad at myself, declaring to the universe for the next week not to be the same, only for it to all reoccur. Its so silly.
However feeling this way, one could only fear that one would be destined for a mediocre existence.
Not true.

There is nothing wrong with living a modest life. It is being humble, that gets people in trouble. If a guy would rather be a mechanic or a baker instead of a rockstar or an astronaut, good for them. As long as they appreciate what is happening and how. When someone is humble, they dismiss their own greatness to let others feel big? Even if they know on the inside, others will not, then not accept it when those cries of acknowledgement are shouted out. That is their own fault. Then scheming to do this and that, but not accepting to do great to be great. That doesn't work.

Now over saturation of popularity can bog even a modest persons mind, feeling they have to strive to be famous. Most don't want that, and will judge a false pretense of greatness, thus, wanting to do so much all at once. Whichever way you get there, it is full circle. So sit and focus.

Sit and focus.

Or stand and focus. Depending on what you are trying to do.

This is the cog. We all fit. Or we do not. Do we want to do either?

That also gets me thinking about the additional media coverage and absortion that exists that didn't a generation ago. If one could succeed at what they wish, despite all the extra distraction, would that make one even greater then one set out to achieve?


~Xavier R.

Playlist 12-3-2015

My Generation - The Who

Sound and Color - Alabama Shakes (a new favorite. If you try any, try this one.)

Elite - The Deftones

Hey Joe - Jimi Hendrix Experience

Saturday Night's Alright - Elton John

Friday, November 6, 2015

Amidst my feverish nightmares, I was king to the people who dwelled in the earth

Once again, by the will of the god(s) up above, the devil(s) below, or whatever deity or lack thereof, I have risen from the ashes of mental and physical sickness and failure to be given another chance to succeed at what I wish. Too many times have I told myself and the universe that never again would let myself slip into darkness, only to do so over and over.

I feel like I will have no more chances to fuck up. So I don't plan on it.

That being said, I have resumed my work and it shall be published soon. 


~Xavier R.

Playlist 11-6-2015

Wednesday, October 28, 2015


*So I had actually meant to post this god damn entry on the 24th, and have some of the things mentioned within done by now, however in my severe retardation had forgotten that it had been prepared, so I did not, nor have said projects been completed yet. So I do apologize. I've been doing some awesome unrelated things, like being a fucking Rockstar. So yeah.*

walking away from a sound check, like a boss

Oh gosh, quite the plethora of activity is happening behind the scenes here. Reformatting. More music, forums, extra pages, merch, and just so GOD DAMN a flush with short story ideas that I've already gotten married and then divorced for extra inspiration.

We might even do this full time. Hmm.

*Peers into the future*

...Never mind

Regardless though, a lot of revitalized love and erotic massages are going into this. We even have a Facebook page, of which you all need to assimilate to and add. I SAID ADD. I was even considering opening an actual porno theater. Except it seats one. And it's in my basement. And the screen is my cellphone. How's that any different from me already watching Brandi Love get pounded by her pool boy on my cell phone you may ask?

It's not.

I pity the fool that doesn't rub imitation butter on his/her nipples while watching porn.

So mini posts aside, it will be a glorious hole of musing. A glory hole, one could say. Always with a happy ending.


~Xavier R.

Playlist 10-28-2015

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Robert Kirkman's Fear the Walking Dead Awesome Show, Great Job!

Right off the bat, I want to let you know this is probably going to be spoiler laden. I'm going to talk mainly about the spin-off Fear the Walking Dead and it's older sister The Walking Dead proper to a lesser extent as well, so there. Consider yourself warned.

Lame title or not, I believe Fear the Walking Dead was a great show, Maybe even better the The Walking Dead was ... there you go. You can leave now.

Seriously though, having just finished the 6 episode miniseries I've got to say it has the potential to be better than the original show if given the chance to get as far into the sunset of humanity it's counterpart in the south has.

First, let me fill you in if you haven't seen either show... The Walking Dead is based on a comic written by Kirkman following a Georgia sheriff's deputy Rick Grimes who wakes from his coma to find that the dead won't stay dead, and the world has gone to shit because of it. 5 years later, the group led by Rick has lost countless members, suffered harrowing experiences and nearly lost their minds and humanity. Fear the Walking Dead however is set just as the world is about to end with a new group of people in probably the worst place to be in the event of the zombie apocalypse: Los Angeles.

Now, if you've been paying attention at all (in the last decade especially) the zombie apocalypse seems to follow the same patterns and story notes. I believe that's why the genre as a whole feels a touch saturated. The characters always seem to do the same shit, and because they obviously don't know what we do, seem to make the same dumb mistakes over and over. They refuse to believe it's happening, then they fail to kill an undead loved one, the whole group is compromised, they hole-up in a mall. they fire a whole bunch of bullets, attract more zombies, get trampled by a herd, make a failed attempt to escape, get eaten alive. All zombie movies follow this plot line or some variation thereof. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The Walking Dead in both it's forms are no exception to this rule. After all, in order for us to really identify with these characters we need to see them experience their shock and disbelief as their world crumples around them, see them make dumb mistakes and get brutally punished for them. Where TWD has a great advantage as a zombie story over it's movie counterparts is it continues on. The characters learn from their mistakes long enough to make new ones. The story goes on so long that the group is put into situations unfamiliar even to us, and this is what keeps us invested.

The first season of FTWD being only 6 episodes long, and catering to an already established audience, it has a chance to really speed up the whole process of establishing their world. Let me elaborate.

In FTWD we are confronted with zombies almost immediately. At first accounts of human eating monsters are hand waved away. Then a character who seems to only be on screen because he knows what we know warns ominously of what's to come is ignored as well. By the second episode however all parties are well aware of the danger they are in and make attempts to leave.

Then there's the denial that what appears to be undead cannibals isn't, but they're just sick people who can be treated back to humanity, TWD's second season spent it's whole time on that goddamn farm suffering to this lame plot point. FTWD only has one character fall prey to this deadly delusion, but it's his story ark to reconcile those 6 episodes. He's not collecting them in a fucking barn like a bunch of rabid animals for an entire 16 episode season.

A short episode list also gives us a couple really good characters, and by "good" I mean "competent". Truth be told all the characters are good, in that they're well written and acted, but only a handful seem to know what's going on and how to act appropriately. The character I mentioned above; a teenager who's been paying attention to reports of the dead walking online and is already mentally prepared for the end of the world before the main cast of characters even realizes they're in danger, an old El Salvadoran man who has no compunction about harming or murdering others to protect the ones he loves, and a real bastard of a man with a ruthless streak and a voice like Keith David but smoother. We're guaranteed to see more of two of them in the coming season and I couldn't be happier, their pragmatism is going to prevent another debacle like Hershel's Farm.

Another reason FTWD has an advantage over TWD is it isn't based on a comic book. This is true even to people who dont read the comics. Though some might say the comic book is better then the book, this isn't the point I'm making. The point is if you're developing a TV show around a property that's already established on another medium but hasn't concluded yet you're going to run into problems. Either you diverge wildly from the source material or you add filler (Damn you Hershel's farm!). FTWD doesn't have to do either, there for it can be as fast paced as it needs to be without worrying about running out of comic book.

TWD is one of my favorite shows, if not my absolute favorite. It has an amazing cast of characters and a world rich with experience and narrative tension, especially after season 3. I just feel that given it's fast-paced six episode mini-season format and it's lack of narrative ham-stringing, FTWD could very well surpass it's parent show.

That's my opinion, bitches.
Big Mike.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Laughter Causes Cancer

Everyone who has ever had cancer has laughed at least once, aloud or to themselves. So there is no reason that we can't, or even shouldn't, venture into studies where the outcome may be an all but shocking conclusion;

Laughter causes cancer.

My hypothesis is that if you laugh, then it is possible that dangerous cells will reproduce with a raging mitosis and eat you away. So, in this possibility, the more humorous of us face a potential risk that exceeds the risk of the possibly endangered others.

My conclusion from my hypothetically evidence;

The jollier you are, the slower and more gruesome your cancerous anguish will be. My advice; do not have a sunny disposition on life. Do not let your own brand of humor be heard. Especially if it's Dark. Because if you joke about cancer, you will get cancer.

And that's possibly 100% guaranteed.

~Xavier R.

Playlist 10-23-2015

No One Knows - Queens Of The Stone Age

About A Girl - Nirvana

Reptiles - Them Crooked Vultures

Pardon Me - Incubus

Doin' Time - Sublime

Thursday, October 22, 2015

DEMOCRAT-cy, American style.

You know, I've been avoiding even really acknowledging the shit show that is the lead up to the 2016 presidential race because it's a fucking gouache affair. I was disillusioned with Obama by 2010 and I didn't even give a fuck enough to vote in 2012. That's right, I was above voting and I'm a better person then anyone that gives more then a cursory shit about who the president is going to be a year from now.

But just for the fun of it let's give this old chicken a choke, shall we? My great friend Xavier already gave a good run down of the funny-as-Auschwitz clown car that is the GOP primary field so I wont mention that here. No, instead I'm going to address the fiefdom of the Democratic voter. The CNN debate just recently happened but I wouldn't even need to see it (I haven't) in order to tell you what needs to be said.

The corporate media favors Hillary because she's a corporate shill and someone with a twat. She doesnt have anything to offer America but more of Obama (War, an open gitmo, hand sitting on the drug war, pandering) and is basically going to run her campaign on her being the first president with a vagina. That's it. She'll just trick idiot skirts and men with penis-guilt into voting for her purely on the merit of her wrinkly genitals. The fact that she wasn't for gay marriage until it was politically convenient for her, that her donor list is just a list of big banks or that she's never met a war she didn't like won't dissuade these dip shit progressives from voting for her because cunt.

Speaking of dip shit progressives, what the fuck Bernie Sanders? You never had a chance to become president in the first place, but couldn't you at least show some dignity you simpering pussy? Yeah, I sure wanna vote for a guy that's going to let any two-bit millennial snatches with ratty hair just interrupt him during a speech to spout their slacktivist hashtag garbage. You can tax the rich all you want Bernie, it's still not going to prevent me from fucking your wife (which is funny when you think about it given the fact my dick isn't black) so you should just cut your losses and go back to Vermont, you bitch.

Was there others in the debte? Does it matter? Who fucking cares who else is in this pathetic fucking primary? Oh, you do? Why don't you suck off a loaded shotgun and swallow? I bet you don't even own a pump action, you gun controlling piece of human garbage. Then you should just slit your wrists like a woman instead.

Fuck you,
Big Mike.

Trump for president.

Joe Biden Will Not Be Running For President

Uh, fuck you! Fuck you! And you over there...fuck you too!

Despite my almost instantaneous hatred for just about every politician, something about this kind of upset me. Watching an old man want to give up that much power because he was this tired is very unusual. I am still navigating those feelings. Or maybe I am just hung over.  Ill figure it out soon.

That being said, despite our urges to force our own doctrine down the throats of others like some, uh, cock of doctrine, or, uh, whatever, it seems more and more important for us as a nation and most importantly a species, to unite and go fight aliens or whatever.

That's pretty much what Joe was going on about in the Rose Garden.

Pretty Much.

~Xavier R.


Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Apocalypse, Eventually! (And other such Egregious Platitudes)

You're going to burn in hell for your dirty thoughts.
You're going to burn in hell for your clean ideas
You're going to burn in hell for your wicked world without a god
You're going to burn in hell for your righteous world with a god

You're going to hell
You're going to burn there

You're going to burn in hell for making fun of my ways
You're going to burn in hell for being good to differences
You're going to burn in hell for your hate and your spite
You're going to burn in hell for your love and your peace

You're going to hell
You're going to burn there

You're going to burn in hell because they say so
You're going to burn in hell because they say not
You're going to burn in hell because someone somewhere thinks so
You're going to hell. You're going to burn there

The end.

Either a major media outlet, politician, or religious doctrine wrote that treatise on redemption (?)

Take your pick.

Yay, God! Kill everyone!

Hello and good day. It just so happens that I am going to tell you about an evil monster that lurks in the shadows yet attacks under the sun. His name is Kigaboocha, and he eats naughty children.

Kigaboocha was spawned amidst a swamp surrounding a small meth-amphetamine cultivating town, located in the south of some particular country. The combination of swamp gases, insects, backwater Satanic revivals set to Country renditions of jazz songs, and probably a crocodile, formed what came to be a hideous monster standing a gargantuan 7' 3''. It had disgusting antennas sprouting from an eyeless visage and a mouth that held teeth made for tearing open armored trucks.

When this beast came to the shore and stumbled into a backyard playing host to a small child's birthday party, it was greeted with the anxious and terrified squeals of many wee tots. The monstrosity reassured them he was friendly. As soon as such words came to fruition, a piece of newly shared birthday cake in hands, the abortion of god sprung out towards the buffet table, claws and fangs bared.

You see, a child had complained that he didn't get all the creme puffs he wanted, but his mother would not let him have anymore. Moments after that verdict, the little one tried to pull on the table cloth so the creme puffs would fall to the ground and easily reachable. The accursed leper pounced without thought, clenched the child in his mouth and bit down, chewing and gnashing at the small, weak frame with sounds so awful that the screams and noises that came from the nubile wretch seemed to come out as "Kigaboocha." The creature and his horrified onlookers would soon adopt the name for him. The crowed dispersed as if in a breaking riot, except for the boy's mother. She tried but failed, to destroy Kigaboocha with her purse. Kigaboocha now knew his purpose.

So, not saying what method you should use to get your kids to eat their veggies or do their homework, or perhaps practice their flute, but uh, you know. There are ways. There are always ways.

I can't draw pictures of monsters. So, yeah.

Some parting wisdom;

50% of all people are 100% of 50% of people.

~Xavier R.

Playlist 10-21-2015

Sunshine Of Your Love - Cream

Ace Of Spades - Motorhead

Next Episode - Dr. Dre

Pearl Jam - Animal

I like Big Butts - Sir Mix A lot

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

The Holy Mountain Saga: The Parade of Blood and Teeth, part 2

This is part 2 of many to a story I'm writing. If you haven't already you can read part 1 here. Thanks buddies!

Sarah pondered on the day ahead of her. Another uneventful day in this boring old town, She was saying silently to herself, but sighing out loud. She closed the door, turned and looked out past her modest chain link fence and out into the street. Just off the ancient sidewalk, the cracks and dents of which she had mapped and memorized her entire childhood sat her mom's old station wagon. It was old and ugly, but like the ancient sidewalk or even this boring old town in which she lived, it was a part of her; her mother drove her to school in it, to recitals, to the mall. Until her mother died she never really understood how many memories this ugly old car held in it's dated upholstery. Her mother had died 3 years ago, and she couldn't bear to get rid of it even now. Regardless of how ugly and old it was.
As she got next to the driver's seat she looked back at the house she spent her childhood, at her dad's truck and smiled unwittingly. At least my car isn't that ugly. Her dad's work truck was a big red beast from the sixties, it had an endless amount of compartments in the container in the back and had a goofy caricature of himself in a kilt on the side. Her dad was silly, definitely eccentric as evidenced by the dozens of bobble-heads on his dashboard. He was on-call so he was painting his figurines in his study, how he loved to do those war games with his friends every Sunday. Recently though he had to cancel the get-togethers because he had work late at night.
Getting into the car, she changed her idle thoughts from her dad onto the day ahead. She turned the ignition, heard the radio fuzz into focus and smiled because she was just in time to hear the soothing, deep voice of Everett Klein. Everett was the local talk radio celebrity, he gave the weather, national news and interviews with local people. His dry wit and paternal take on the gossip-about-town had always been apart of Sarah's mornings, her day would feel incomplete without it but it was his voice that gave her a warm blanket feeling. Good morning Mount Vernon Everett hummed smooth as molasses through her car speakers.
Sarah pulled out into the empty street and made her turns out of her neighborhood towards the dip in the center of town where the park was. In the park was a pond where she could see the eccentric old folks feeding ducks. Half way up on that fat, flat topped mountain she could see the radio tower from which Everett was broadcasting. The tower was situated up the mountain trail, long after holy mountain road ends as it makes it's left turn into Mount Vernon's thoroughfare. Today's going to be another lovely day Everett said lovingly.  
She makes the left turn towards her work and witnesses the morning routine of the small business owners in full swing. Gladys, a woman in her mid thirties and the proprietor of the small corner grocers looks tired as she opens the shutters and writes on her chalk sign the specials of the day Ranier Cherries, $2 a pound. Ernest, the friendly old man in a white beard that runs the second hand book store lifts his flat cap as he sees Sarah drives by showing a completely bald head. Sarah waves back, just in time to catch eyes with the businessman next door to Ernest, Herbert. Herbert, a tall, slim man in his fifties with a pencil thin mustache and a greasy crop of hair was the town's real estate agent. Herbert only stared back at her with icy-blue eyes, Sarah instinctively pulled her hand down and stared dead ahead. Herbert was never hostile to her, but he always gave her the creeps anyway, especially as a child. Sarah was on the final leg of her journey to the diner where she worked and took time, as she always did, to look at the ornate church kitty-corner from her job, it was a Tuesday so she didn't have an after church rush to spy, but she always liked to look at it anyway. Every time she looked at the ornate spires and stained glass windows of this classically roman catholic cathedral she saw something different. The height of the building, the gargoyles and other ornate decorative flourishes, the pure size of it all seemed to betray a sense that this palace of god was too big and too old for a town this small.
Sarah parked her car and looked across the street from the church. The library, a building almost as big and ornate as the church, gave her the faintest sense of apprehension; not fear, but a feeling that somewhere in the deep recesses of that old stone building was something other-worldly. Her mother loved the library and they would spend their Sundays there as a family, Sarah would wonder the many floors of the library and still, to this day felt like she didn't, couldn't have explored it all. The librarian, Lorraine, a stern blue hair presided over it all like a monarch, the queen of all the knowledge in the world. She'd be cold at first, but once she could see curiosity, a respect for knowledge in you, she'd lighten up and before long she'd gleefully help you with anything you'd be interested in learning.
Sarah got out of the car and headed slowly towards the front door of Helena's diner where she was greeted by the owner writing the special of biscuits and gravy on the chalk sign. Helena had already lovingly drawn them on her board: the biscuits, golden brown and flaky covered in white gravy thick and full of crumpled sausage and was halfway through writing the words in flowing, lovely script before she noticed her employee walk by towards the door. “Good morning, Sarah.” She spoke warmly and smiled at her. Helena had been the best friend of Sarah's mother long before she was born and naturally felt like an aunt to her as long as she could remember. The two apparently were very talented artists as girls and there was a heated rivalry between the two but as they grew up the competition gave way to a close friendship. As adults they had spent many hours painting the pictures that adorned the diner. She loved working for Helena but even if she wasn't a waitress there she could effortlessly envision herself spending as much time as possible at Helena's diner, not just to be with the second closest person to her mother, but to look at their beautiful paintings.
Uncle Ollie, Helena's husband and the cook at the diner, grinned lovingly at Sarah and offered her a wave. “Coffee's on the counter” he said, nodding towards a plain paper cup in a cardboard sleeve as he stirred a pot of his famous sausage gravy. The diner had drip coffee, but Ollie knew Sarah liked it cappuccino style from Ike's coffee hut near their home, and would get it for her the mornings she worked. She loved him for it, his mischievous sense of humor and the silly faces he'd draw on the lid made her love him more. 
She hung up her coat in the back and turned on the radio to hear Everett purring some anecdote about the local amateur baseball teams. She could smell Helena's world renowned cherry pie being baked fresh for the pie case up front as she sipped the best cappuccino in Mount Vernon. She couldn’t help but smile. All was right with the world.
Helena came in and sashayed gracefully behind the counter and poured herself some coffee, she bumped hips with Sarah and asked “How's your dad doing young lady? I haven't seem him some time.”
He's good, he's been working nights” Sara said, looking down at her coffee cup lid, Ollie had drawn a cat's face winking back up at her.
Working late huh? I wonder at what.” Helena said, almost as if she knew what her father was up to, or atleast wasn't all that curious.
I'm not sure, but he's been missing his war gaming get-togethers” and with that Sarah noticed with her peripheral vision Helena giving an oddly knowing look towards Ollie.
Ollie chimed in just after. “Yeah, it's a real bummer, Sarah. You need to tell him to stop working so hard!”
Sarah looked at him and he was smirking his usual smirk, Helena had started off towards the kitchen to pull her Cherry Pie out of the oven and spoke up over the kitchen din “Sarah, be a darling and open up.”
Without much hesitation she headed towards the front, snapped on the 'Open' light, flipped the hours sign on the door that also said they were open and in fact were open until 7 o'clock. She was about to turn around when she heard the sound of screeching tires just out of sight and then, there it was, her dad's work truck careening down the street. Loudly turning the corner between the Church and the Library he was speeding towards the only road leading in and out of Mount Vernon. Sarah was drawn outside with concern for her dad's uncharacteristically reckless driving.
She walked out into the morning air, crisp with autumn scent, and followed with her eyes her father's truck until she could only hear it drive into the distance. As she turned around to go back inside she looked down at the ancient sidewalk and saw what she could have sworn was a tiny puddle of blood off the curb, inside of which was a pair of tiny pink teeth.

3 3 3 3 3 3 

Hell yeah buddy! Can you feel that tension mounting? I'm sorry for this taking so long but these things don't respond to being rushed (much to my consternation). Regardless of the spotty pace at which I write this opus I do feel a definite momentum building. Come what may, I'm glad you read it and I'm excited for you to read more.

Big Mike.

Saturday, October 17, 2015


Holy shit, this place looks a lot better now, don't you think? I took me a bit to throw together... but I think it was worth it. kinda Halloweeny, eh?

Just wanted to check in with you all, see how you're doing. Good? Oh, how lovely. I've been busy grinding on Route 6, training my Nidorino and Kadabra to really kick some dicks... I'm worried though they're going to start disobeying me if I don't get the next badge soon. 

If you're returning to childhood as I am, maybe you've been told by your father that he never wants to see your face again, maybe you feel the horrible memories of your childhood flooding back. Because you are a disappointment to a man who never really raised you in the first place, you'll never have his approval. He looks at you and sees nothing but his own failings and he hates you for it. What ever the reason for your sad, blubbering regress, make sure you give PokeMMO a shot.

You get yourself some roms of the Gameboy games (I chose Fire Red, Crystal and Soul Silver), put it in the folder and fire it up. It looks pretty darn good on computer, better then it did in my Pokemon blue playing heyday at least. and the first thing you'll notice is the once near-deserted looking world of pokemon is now a wash in people wanting to be the very best, like no one ever was. You can battle and trade with them. It's a good time to be had by all.

So we passed ten thousand views on the blog recently, I'd like to thank you all for this. We only have 8 followers (most of which aren't authors) so I'd like the thank them especially for tirelessly refreshing the blog hundreds of times each.

I'd never have thought this would have happened to be honest, the fact that anyone would visit this site accidentally confounds me. Xavier and I started it on a goof in 2011 and named it in reference to a joke that bears not repeating. We started strong, talked about our lives, our taste in music and movies, even gave you some fiction. We busted our nut and disappeared up our own assholes... Near radio silence for 3 years... then Xavier and I reconciled; refreshed, older, wiser and a little drunker. We've nearly doubled the output we had from 2012 to 2014 and I think, for what it's worth, that 10,000 views is a good omen. Here's to the future!

Praise be to the God Emperor Trump!

Big Mike.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump!

I really wish I could stay interested in the more fickle current events, but I suppose that in and about itself is a little redundant? I am not quite sure. Really, how much can people really listen to all the brogurt Donald Trump spews?*

*Disclaimer; Every time I mention Donald, Trump, or Donald Trump, I get a nickel. I mean, Donald Trump, also known as Donald Trump, is so damn annoying. I mean, Donald Trump built Trump towers, there's a duck named Donald, and Donald Trump has a wife that's so hot she's hideous. Now that's playing the trump card.

Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump, Donald Trump,  Yay! I made enough to buy a Brillo pad and scrub my cock off.

Suddenly the motivation is gone. Is it weird that I kind of hate Mexicans now? Damn Obama.


~Donald Trump

Donald Trump - Mac Miller

Up Like Trump - Rae Sremmurd

I Wanna Be Like The Donald - Tusk

Big Bad Don; The Ballad Of Donald Trump - Ron MacCloskey

Donald Trump Song - T Moody