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Mantastic Bromance Turns Violent at the Russian River : That Time I Got Punched in the Face

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.

Acknowledgements :

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.

Aint That a Beach

It’s been way too long since I’ve felt hot sand under my feet, it’s been way too long since I’ve eaten a big schweaty wiener prepared by Malchow. I cut school that day so I could go to work early, get my hours in, fatten up my favorite leather wallet, and get off at noon so I could get to the beach boy-eeeeeee. I do have an affinity for our convoys that we travel in, I enjoy Cahill’s superior driving capabilities, and his turns sharp enough to cut yo mutha. Than again, I am partial to the ruggedness, the brauns, the compensating factor of Kyle’s big blue jeep. It was the last day of a freakish hot spell in San Mateo in the middle of fuckin February, but of course over in the asscrack of the Bay Area we could see our breath over in Half Moon Bay. So anyway after we downed our wieners and Kyle his sandwiches, we got to work on our goddamn dam and made fiya.

Malchow really is a hit with the ladies, he knows that the quickest way to a womans heart is through the wiener. Hah! So thats enough of the piere jokes. K wait, one more. K, done.

As if the land and the air wasn’t cold enough, I got in the water cold enough to make my balls retreat into my anus, but surfing on that tire was worth it. Same with the sail. I tried taking a bite of this big hunka wood and it hurt my teeth real bad, I wouldn’t recommend it.

Malchow was on Baywatch in case you didn’t know. Resemblance?.

What does this look like to you, and NO, you wouldn’t find em here.

Long story short…Ya’ll can’t do likeNBHQ. click here to see all the pics from the beach. And click here to see some BETTER pics

And the video:

– Cheney Got a Gun
– Lego Computer
– Simpsons House
– Weird lookin buildings
– Top 10 Baseball Fights
– Cool Guitars

Voila

May I start this post by informing you all that I type this on my brand new box, put together with my bare hands. So last weekend was spent with the boys: J-Boy and I-guy up at Russian River. We spent our time driving my momma into a tizzy gettin thizzy and sippin on that potent oil. Brandy was our poison of choice and we did what damage we could to our brain cells and kidneys lickety split, Joesef on the other hand showed his true womanly colors and coughed up his first swigthrough his nose, but hey, what do u expect.

In the evenings we spent a lotta time shredding about 4 years worth of newspapers and lighting them on fire, People Magazine was spared.

Illicit tasks were carried out in the yard, tasks I am far to chaste to partake in myself were carried out reguardless, with the aid of some hot tunes no less. I love that song.

I tried to look like death in this picture, I’d said I succeeded, Ian fails, and once again, Joe is a —-.

So it’s cool to be on a bed with and a man and lay, even my poppa says that okay, but girls are better play, and Joe is a bitch if I do say.

Hope you enjoyed that stupid rhyme scheme and thats all the talking about Russian River that I can handle.

Last night I was working on this very post when I heard a rapping at my bedroom window, I knew without a second thought that it was Emily & Ashley on the other side…for months I have been the subject of their well executed pranks, everything from chalkings, to car saran wrapping to downright threats. This latest attack however, takes the win, lady pads covered in ketchup lined my walls…the pungent tomatoe-ey aroma was quick to suffocate any and all fresh air out of my walkway not to mention the visual atrocity of feminine hygeine products that have no place on a boys wall. I don’t think I am alone in thinking that had to be the nastiest prank of all time. Thanks beezies.

Yeh and I got some videos up:

– Updated TheSpace
– Worlds Fastest Rapper
– 10 Weirdest Places
– NES Songs
– Jack Bauer Facts