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6.21.2005

Star Wars (on drugs?) 

Before you ask: no, I was not drunk at Star Wars. Believe it or not, the ability to operate a camera is not always intertwined with one's state of sobriety.

But these pictures might make you feel like you're on drugs.

Really, I didn't even take most of these pictures. We had two cameras there. And somehow, all of the pictures ended up being blurry. I don't know why.

Anyhow, here they are:

fray
And your ticket taker for this evening...

line
Moments before everyone was engulfed in a nuclear furnace.

sign
I'm on the right... dancing or something. I dunno.

blog
Taking precious time out of sitting around and doing nothing to entertain you people. What was I thinking?

briantroy
Brian's pain hoagie.

obi
This guy wins the award for most Jedi-like. He spent like 10 minutes telling me how he made his Obi Wan lightsaber out of garden hose or something. And I listened.

mefray
Fray and I, though, were voted to have the best costumes. Fray went as Anakin and I was, of course, pit-stain Padme.

costumes
Yeah, you can't see shit here, but these girls' costumes were more King Arthur than Star Wars. Hell, they were more Martin Lawrence in "Black Knight" than Star Wars. "Looks like the Renaissance Fair costumes are getting double duty," Brian noted.

marioluigi
Insert the obligatory "moustache ride" comment here.

brianpain
Brian's pain hoagie redux.

darth
I always knew Darth Maul's saber was made for people on ecstasy.


Now wasn't that fun? And now you're all thinking I won't update again for awhile. But take some advice from Brian:

sweat


Don't sweat it.

6.18.2005

Dave Matthews Strikes Back 

We interrupt this extended leisurely break to bring you an important bit of news:

A few months ago, I exposed Dave Matthews for the fraud he is in one of my more hard-hitting investigative pieces of high-brow journalism. The response was phenomenal and I'm glad I could do something to get the word out.

Unfortunately, these are dangerous times. We live in a world where the threat of Dave Matthews is always upon us. We may have only been attacked once, but Dave Matthews is a relentless force that can clearly operate via independent cells with little to no communication between each other.


Frightening fecal findings
Anti-Dave intelligence wires had picked up an increased level of communication, or "shit talk," as it's called in these circles. No real cause for alarm though - these sorts of things usually happen around the time of a new album coming out. An album which itself was a big pile of dookie thrown at consumers. Increased chatter, in this case, was no real cause for alarm...

...until a field agent stumbled upon this:

shit flavored shit


That's right, Ben and Jerry's "harmonic blend of raspberries and brownies." Does anyone else see something wrong with this? Dave Matthews encourages us to "lick global warming." I doubt he'll ask us to lick global defecating anytime soon. He'd rather we just sit there and take it. Sick bastard.


The risk
We've always been under the suspicion that Dave Matthews' activities may be supported by foreign countries, particularly the Axis of Dung. But while state sponsored Dave Matthews activities were to be expected, we never thought Dave Matthews would find a corporate sponsor to do his bidding.

As a result, I've been given no choice but to upgrade the Dave Matthews Poop Terror Alert System to an unprecedented off-the-charts warning of "Shitstorm '05." Civilians should be on high alert.

shitstorm '05!



How to protect yourself and your loved ones
The best thing to do is prepare for and expect the worst. Dave Matthews can strike at any time and he operates under the guise of a legitimate performer. Keep on top of his travels by keeping a copy of his tour dates handy. It's the best warning we have to a potential location for a strike.

Keep plenty of supplies on-hand, including toilet paper, disinfectant, duct tape, and any other emergency cleaning products you can find. Remember, the days before a Dave Matthews show comes into town are when these products usually sell out. You don't want to be stuck, so make sure you stock up early to ensure your safety.

Also, owning a Washlet wouldn't hurt your cause.


How can I help?
Times like these always bring out the best in us who hate bad music. It's quite amazing how a common hatred of having diarrhea dumped on us can bring us so close, and it's important that we use this time of bonding to spread the word. Let everyone know the truth about Dave Matthews.

You can help to publicize this by posting these fliers I have created. Let the world know that Dave Matthews is pooping on them. Download a copy here and get to printing and posting before it's too late! I've also made a copy available in black and white so you don't kill your printers.

Alright, alright. Brace yourselves. I know y'all want more pics of Dave Matthews spraying shit on stuff, so here we go...

noah's ark

hindenburg

civil rights


Alright, I'm going to hell for that one. Enjoy, assholes.

6.01.2005

The Low 

I used to live in low income housing. When I was fifteen. With my family. On purpose.

No, we weren’t poor. Just cheap, I guess.

It all started as a joke. To kick off another year in high school, I had to tell the class what I did over the summer. What was the biggest thing that happened? Well, me and my family moved from a nice, fancy house to an apartment complex that housed some interesting characters.

Like the guys in our building who were busted by the cops for running a prostitution ring. Or the guy behind my apartment who attempted to kill himself with a gunshot to the face. That’s right, I said ATTEMPTED.

Imagine being on the phone with a special female and ending the conversation abruptly with: “I just heard a gunshot, I’ve gotta go.”

That's right, it's a real deal-closer.

So anyhow, it became fondly known as low income housing, AKA “The Low.” An apartment that housed a family of four and a dog quickly became a prison cell where you couldn’t escape anyone or anything.

The Mexican children who lived above were, for a majority of my stay there, engaged in hurdling exercises on a daily basis, stomping above as they trained for border-hopping. These daily jumping routines were only cut short by the beating supplied by their current father. Never have I supported child abuse by a stepdad so wholeheartedly.

Sadly, this whole “low” joke wasn’t far from the truth. A mere few months into our stay at this palace of decadence, the government bought East Lake Club Apartments and turned it into – you guessed it – low income housing.

The Low was a humble abode that was nice and centrally located with plenty of free parking spots. When you have a bunch of buddies who want to do something on the weekend, it made for a good meeting location where everyone could park their cars and pile into one. Plus it was right behind the movie theater. Living in Hell has its benefits, you know. But you still have to deal with the daily torture.

I could tell a million stories. But sometimes the simplest and easiest ones are the best.

Like with my dad. Moving from a big house to a small apartment led to a large amount of crap being placed in a garage just a few steps from the apartment. Housed in that tightly packed-garage was a second, fully-functional refrigerator and a full weight set.

On a relatively daily basis, pops would go out to the garage, open it up, and pull the weights into the street. And proceed to work out. In front of everyone in the complex.

The local Mexicans who ran the prostitution ring called him “Big Guy.” It’s nice to know that out of all the characters in the neighborhood, my family was one of the most respected. High class recognizes high class, obviously.

Imagine driving home to your humble abode and finding a man in the middle of your road lifting weights. He's wearing a sleeveless shirt that simply says “JAM,” with no further description available on the backside.

That's right. It was that kind of sight.

And, as I’m sure you can tell, the Low, as well as my shameless family, provided enough material for me to go on for days. The Low was and is a life changing experience. Every locale I’ve lived in since has since acquired a name based on the Low: the house I lived in before the Low is the Pre-Low, the house back home now is the Anti-Low, because it’s pretty fucking sweet, unlike the Low. And then there’s the often asked about “Temp Low,” of which myths and legends swirl. The Low is that kind of place - it leaves an impact on you, good or bad.

But it’s a good lesson to be learned: Don’t think that bad neighborhoods are just for shady characters - like that “50 Cent” you kids listen to. In fact, even future white collar criminals such as myself have, at one point, lived next door to a whorehouse.

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2003 - 2005
Reverend Hughes