I should preface this post with some insight as to where it was that we went for a half a weekend. Guernville, California, a place where urinal spacing etiquette is ignored, men may freely compliment one another on their choice of pants, and threesomes always imply the presence of six testicles. Party on.
It was with cheery morale and ample carbonated cargo that our 3-car convoy traversed the Northern California landscape with Guernville our grand destination. Rolling six men deep and not a damn female in sight our only road stops were to speedily ingest beef and cheese a la in-n-out burger and swordfight in the bathroom, always being careful not to cross streams and consequently rupture space and time. We also talked about football. We love sports and suchlike. Mostly swordplay though.
The bromance intensified once we unpacked at the loveshack / cabin and busted out the brewskis and the guitars. Adequately swooned and sweaty the six of us tightened our chastity belts and made for the Rainbow Cattle a longstanding town landmark. Denim was in short supply and was stretched thin over the undoubtedly shaven and very athletic thighs of the Cattle’s fine patrons. Feeling staunch drinking long island iced teas out of mason jars through pink straws, we swooped on the pool table so all six of us could get to furiously chalking the tips of our cues. What I will consciously omit from this post is the vast medley of drinks we ordered. I shall let my reporting of the subsequent follys convey our collective mindstate. Simply put, gay bar #1 was fucking lovey dovey, aside from denim Dan sexual assaulting Barry with hard stares all night.
Bad Decision # 1 : Leaving Rainbow Cattle
Two bars later we were at the bull pen, the neutral orientation destination. Round after round of drinks had left our 6 man wolfpack divided and I found myself wolfless and free from social inhibitions as well as critical thought.
Bad Decision #2 : Striking up a conversation with the most hoodrat looking motherfucker in the room.
This is the part of my story that gets a little hazy and is therefore composed mainly from secondhand sources. It may have been my persistence, maybe the fact that my ability to enunciate was quickly diminishing but it was probably because he thought I was shittalking his bumfuck city of origin. I had asked my newfound acquaintance where it is he now resides and what brings him to the foreskin of California. He assured me of his roots in the SF Bay Area and that he was from Pittsburgh. For some reason this little bit of geography had me baffled.
Bad Deciscion #3 – “Fuckkkk Pittsburgh man, thats in Pennsylvania”
Sonofabitch clocks me right in the mug. Totally unannounced. No haduken, no nothing. Now despite having a nose seemingly modeled after a ski slope, I assure you it’s pretty much glass. Pinky could blast a thunder fart in the next room over and it would probably get my nose bleedin. And this asshole punched me twice as hard as Pinky’s fart hits. I don’t hit people in the face. It’s jus not my thing. Call it forbearance. I totally had my booze shield paired with my retard strength anyway so thats like +10 strength + 9 defence. My initial responce kinda went like this :
My 2nd responce was:
Bad Decision #4 – Leaving the bar to look for the guy, alone. Finding him…not alone.
I like to think that I drew inspiration for this act from our commander in chief and I was, like Obama, engaging in direct diplomacy with leaders / douschebags from god fucking awful parts of the world.
My first contact / peace offering with this misguided manbrute was an outstretched hand and a “hey man whats youre name?” compressed into an indiscriminate single syllable noise. Again, I must have offended this guy with my incoherent mumbling cause he started throwin hammers again. I was then forced to immediately prepare myself for battle, whilst he immediately prepared himself for butthole.
I can’t properly get into the details of the scuffle cause I feel like I was hardly there for it but I will liken it to a cartoon fight wherein the fighters are entangled in a vortex-like cloud riddled with jagged lines and exclamation points. I can thank Pinky and this Frankenstein looking motherfucker for coming to help clean up my mess.
Two arrests, one cold cab ride, and eleven hours of sleep later I woke up lookin like Don Corleone on one side of my face. The hurt was all over, I was thankful to Joe for chewing up banana and giving it to me to re-eat. Good guy. Mantastic.
Thanks Barry for driving us and doing the dishes. Thank you Cahill for giving me a joy filled ride and taking me out in the Miata. Thanks Joe for being my nighttime lap dog. Ian, for being one passionate and angsty manbear. Thank you Pinky for having a strong right-hand. And thank you Pittsburgh, CA for being the putrid armpit of the East Bay, breeding ground for classless pieces of shit, limpdick tall-tee wearing shit smears.
Senior activity is that surge of momentum that spins the wheel of time ever faster, and realistically, besides graduation that was probably the last time the whole senior class will ever be together again. I’d say that in itself warrants celebration and that we did. Buddy Jilly is shown here gettin CRAZY hyphy in the early morn. This pic tickles me cause it looks like Natalie is the baby and Ally is her hippy mother, Joe thought the same thing. Ian & I were bus buddies, (enjoy my snaggle tooth), I’m pretty sure the last time I was on a bus I didn’t hit my head on the ceiling, ahhh the magic of steroids!
In case you were unlucky enough to not attend or if you were even unluckier being a junior or under let me fill you in: We are shipped off from school to the park in buses and then unleashed to go run around, skate with no pads, jump,jump, jump around, be emo, THE CHOICE IS YOURS!!!
Then began the waterfight in which no one was spared, not even teh teachers. I’d like to think we did the community a charitable service of watering their park lawn with gallons and gallons of fighting water rather than saying Rachel poured bottle after bottle down my hairy asscrack.
Did I mention I went to this celebration sportin my highlands shirt representin the c/o 1999 5th graders cause I like to do it big at events such as these.
I must say those 4 and a half hours of water soaked grabass were some of the best and shortest lived memories I shall retain, it wasn’t two blinks later that we were averting the school provided buses and cramming ourselves into Ashley’s dad’s suburban, Ian’s expression is menacing isn’t it?
We got back to school right as it got out and the jealous juniors were gettin out after pushin pencils and sniffing ass all day with plans to head over to the beach to sustain our funtimes. Now I must place a tidbit of blame on myself for not protesting when the Half Moon Bay beaches were suggested and me, feeling how I feel about Half Moon Bay should have ripped out the larynx of whoever uttered its ugly title. As soon as we got in our cars and headed down skyline we immediately noticed our almost tropical San Mateo weather whither into a nipple raising Half Moon Bay climate. Needless to say we hightailed it back to Christa’s pool and I swiftly exposed my tots picked up sommore girls ate some pizza and called it a kickass day.
I haven’t felt this emo in a long fuckin time, thank god for my boys. Rendez vous at five story last night, everybody who’s anybody was there, even Danny who got gangbanged, blinded, and than group raped again by the whole lot of us. He then had Cahill meticulously crafted a duct tape banner on the side of Danny’s vehicle notifying the world of his fondness of the male genitalia.
We went to LaserQuest in Mountain View in our convoy of at least five fine automobiles mashing on 101 bumpin everything from Nikitina to Sinatra, flyin to the moon. Upon our arrival and proceeding at mission control and acquiring my cryptic codename of: Brady I went on to unleash my lasery reckoning upon my unsuspecting brosefs and other small children, needless to say I got second place because I’m boss with a laser.
Aside from engaging in laser massacres and group assisted sexual assault I been chillin with brosef Josef at his pad playin vidya games which I have a genetic predisposition to kick ass at thanks to my momma *Tetris Level 144 Champion 1992*. We also called had Barry call freshman chics and dryjerk in the process. When things ever started to get dull we would trek over to the water tower and Joe would test his balls attemping to climb the damn thing. Savass.
Nat Queen Cole wrote this lil some some for me, I dig.
I have this tall friend named Nick Brady
Whenever we chill, it’s all gravy
He has this great site
And some day he just might
Grow out his brown hair that is wavy
I have this great friend named Nick Brady
A wonderful friendship he’s made with me
He has this cute dog
Who’s nearly as fat as a hog
Although is better off than any dog could be
She’s surrounded by love
Brady gives to all his great hugs
And he’s quite respectful to his mommy
I write this poem for my dear friend Brick
Beacause soon really quick
This senior year will be ending
I’ll miss you a bunch
When we won’t be hanging out at lunch
And I wont see your camera flashing
So lets make sure to keep in touch
And hang out a whole much
And never forget where we came from
This town’s not so bad
And we’ll be pretty sad
But there’s so much in our lives to come
You’re a great friend, Nick Brady
And our times, oh yes, they are gravy
A long day of painful mourning and grieving ended with a tranquil candle lit ceremony at the local safeway where Nick worked. The atmosphere felt upbeat and laughter resounded througout the crowded parking lot rather than the shedding of tears. There were smiles and smirks and pre-sneeze shots. I’m sure the Baron family appreciated the support from the immense crowd, each holding a candle in remembrance of our friend Nick. It’s inspiring to see the compassion displayed by those we love and care about in this time of grief and sorrow. It’s incredible witnessing the vast sea of supporters, unified by our burning lights, raised, guiding lights for our brother, Nicholas Anthony Barron.
Well as a bunch of you already found out, I had a little get together the other day, I have yet to post about the good times because the days following the festivities were plagued with “less the good times” and I felt it would be inapropiate to speak of during these hard times. Not to say that there are no more hard times ahead because of this tragic event that conspired, but I feel that it’s neccesary to restore a sense of normalcy within my viewers; anyway without any further adieu, ( and big words ) I post about my pawty:
Like a true boss, Cahill was the first to show, takin me for a insane little trip in daddies turbo charged Jetta, up and over the humps at speeds that would make your jowls flap. So, he was deserving of unveiling the monsterous 3-foot long sammiches. Than this ‘G’ comes rapping at my chamber door, rockin his pink lady robe and black and mild hangin from his pursed lips…Fantastic! I guess after that people jus kinda multiplied and began consumption process playin video games with hella crazy graphics, and makin me plates which is cool cause a cracka needa eat. So before you could say “Nick-or-ette,” there was already a schmokin section assembled in the patio, and yes I do enjoy saying “patio.” Brett got comfy with my poodle, JoJo sulked over his broken black and mild while dawkness schmoked his black and black. Ruff enjoyed sniffin a whiff of my dirty pillows and Kai got all up in it. Meanwhile, Pinky was nowhere to be found, a search led us outside where we found him, crouched beside a garage talkin all 6’s and 7’s to a gal pal I’m sure. Weird kid. But as I expected, it was damn crackin, the couch was packed and the love was flowin We then sucked it in and put on our scandilous bikinis and hopped in the wah wah. The chickenfights, the power struggles, the poolside posing twas good times. Brett was made bitch by all, including himself, Ally and Reise’s pieces got hella frisky, Randy musta slept through that. Anyway, a song was sang, candles were blown, and amidst all the hub-bub I raised my arms in excitement only to have both wrists sliced off from the ceiling fan. E+A made my cake look pretty darn disgustering , and so and this looks like a scene out of a german shizzer video, or maybe I’m thinking of something else. Sucked to see everyone leave, but at least we got some fantabulous shots out of it, and this one where i’m looking away, this one of jus the honeys, this more than flattering pic of Meg, the guys and of course, me and the super swimsuit model. The sandwich was good while it lasted.