Arvada, Colorado tax dollars hard at work. Are you enjoying your fancy steak dinners on my dime, cocksuckers? Feel free to contact the AURA Board of Commissioners to discuss this matter with them directly. I also urge you to ask Mr. Urban how his daughter got the nickname "Spices" when she was in high school.

Labels: a-town, colorado, corruption, politics

You may remember Silvia Johnson, the pride of Arvada's parenting community. After learning life altering lessons from her previous legal misadventures (read: giving teenage boys free dope and sucking them off), Silvia filled an SUV with adolescent children and gave the wheel to a young, unlicensed driver. Hijinks ensued.

Labels: a-town, bad parents, colorado, silvia johnson

In my hometown:

The Arvada Police Department reports that Bandidos and High Plains Drifters distribute significant quantities of methamphetamine in Arvada.

Good to know that outlaw bikers are in Arvada distributing some crank. Word on the street is that No Excuses (a strip mall bar in Arvada Plaza, located across the parking lot from the KFC) is slinging white crunch out the back.

Labels: a-town, drugs

I have heard many urban legends on how to pass a breathalyzer test while intoxicated. My favorite came from a friend in high school who was convinced that sucking on a penny after a night of hard drinking would magically erase the alcohol on your breath (it is a suburban thing, holmes, you would not understand). Whenever he was leaving a party befuddled, he would pop a penny in his mouth, start sucking on it and confidently strut out to his car to drive home. Unfortunately, he was never pulled over so his theory was never tested. It could have been worse, I suppose. He could have been stuffing his own feces in his mouth in an attempt to foil the test.

Labels: a-town, drinking, tomfoolery

Arvada, Colorado is the place where I grew up, attended school, played little league baseball, rode my bike to the swimming pool during the summer and went to Cub Scout meetings. It is also the place where I developed a penchant for whiskey, made a living on girls with low self-esteem and watched alcohol-fueled punks fight almost every weekend. It is the same place where Silvia Johnson, self-proclaimed "cool mom," just got busted for providing teenagers with drugs, booze and sexual favors.

Yeah. That is my hometown.

Labels: a-town, bad parents, childhood, colorado, drinking, drugs, silvia johnson

I just ran into my neighbor outside. In the process of exchanging pleasantries he mentioned that he is on medication for high anxiety. He works as a chef at a locally owned pizza restaurant and I am having a hard time believing he has that much to be anxious about. Unless they just hired a guy from Little Caesars who has more experience.

Labels: a-town, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways

Over the weekend I celebrated my ten year high school reunion. Festivities spanned the entire weekend, capping off with an adult prom on Saturday evening. I chose only to subject my lady and I to the Friday night homecoming game and post-homecoming game drinks with former classmates. Here is a breakdown of said evening:

• Number of former classmates I did not recognize due to an excessive weight gain: Three.
• Number of former classmates I did not recognize due to an excessive weight loss: One.
• Number of former classmates who had to, "Go get something out of their car" then came back smelling like marijuana: Three.
• Number of former classmates who had just "Gotten something out of their car" that thought my lady went to our high school and graduated with us: One.
• Number of former classmates I had to convince that this website was not pornography: Three.
• Number of former classmates that look like Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan: One.
• Number of former classmates that look like Lou Ferrigno: One.
• Number of former classmates that were wearing a trendy GAP-style stripped shirt: Five.
• Number of former classmates that are working in real estate: Four.
• Number of former classmates that are working in real estate that got pissed I did not use them to sell my town home: Three.
• Number of former classmates I told, "My lady is only in it for the dick" to: Two.
• Number of former classmates I told "You did not like me because I am white" to: One.
• Number of former classmates I gave my business card to: Twelve.
• Number of former classmates I gave my business card to that I expect to hear from: Zero.
• Number of years I hope to see the majority of my former classmates in: Ten.

Labels: a-town, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, wife

I lived next door to some shady neighbors growing up. My parents are clean and meticulous people, so the house to the west of us was an eyesore, the proverbial yin to our yang. The neighbors were a poster family for dysfunction; drug abuse, domestic violence, unsupervised children, cross-dressing (yes, you read that correctly) and lacking in diligence for basic lawn care, car detailing and home improvement (crimes which in my father's mind should be punishable by death). Sometimes the dysfunction spilled over into our driveway, as the unsupervised neighbor kids would hang out with us while we washed our cars or played basketball. We did not mind much; they were nice kids and could not help that their father was inside shooting smack and wearing their mother's nightgowns. Still, you knew it was just a matter of time before the girl became a sexually promiscuous drug addict and the boy started hanging out with juvenile delinquents and stealing car stereos. My neighbors were a sad but necessary lesson to learn about life; no matter how safe you think you are, you are always close to danger.

Be careful working for Dick Cheney, Inc, cousin Mark. Kuwait City might be safe, but do not trust the neighborhood. Once I get your address a crate of contraband smut and whiskey will be imminent.

Labels: a-town, family

Joseph Goebbels has nothing on Dick Cheney. Dick reminds me of a crazy old man in the neighborhood I grew up in who threatened to shoot any kids that stepped on his lawn for retrieving an errant ball.

Labels: a-town, childhood, politics

My weekend was filled with disturbing programming flashing across the television. On Friday night Monica brought over her fella and some Chinese food over and we all watched Monster. I thought Charlize Theron engaging in lesbianism would soften the disturbing nature of the film (even if said lesbianism was with Christina Ricci who is hot if you are into elf sluts with big foreheads) but I was dead wrong. I have three words for you: tire iron sodomy. (I was guilty of this hot-chick-doing-an-uncharacteristic-sex-act fallacy during Requiem For A Dream, too. I heard Jennifer Connelly took a double ended dildo up the chute and that sounded like something I would enjoy watching. First, I had to endure a smack addict's arm amputation (his limb became black and gangrenous due to his love of the vein candy) and an old woman being committed to a mental health facility for her eating disorder and addiction to diet pills. When the scene finally arrived, it was more disturbing than hot).

Saturday morning I made myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and turned on the Olympics in the hopes of catching some Women's Beach Volleyball (Holly McPeak. Yummy). Instead I get the a broadcast of the Gymnastics Trampoline. The competition goes as such: an athlete (use the term athlete loosely) does tricks on a trampoline for an Olympic medal. We need an international competition forum for this? There was a kid named Jimmy in my neighborhood who would have dominated this event in the early eighties. That fucking kid was a wild man on the trampoline. His signature move was jumping off the roof and going into a double flip. I was waiting for a tandem Gymnastics Trampoline event when two competitors had a seat war or played a game of crack the egg. You know this event is not taken seriously when commentators had this exchange:

Announcer #1: Oh! That miscue on the back flip there is going to cost him.
Announcer #2: Yes. What kind of experience do you have with this event?
Announcer #1: Well, I have been jumping on trampolines since I was eight years old.

Labels: a-town, childhood, lesbians, mons, movies, pop culture, sports, weekend that was, wife

This morning I am awash in the inappropriate sexual habits of a slut teacher. I never had a hot teacher educate me nor did I ever want to have sex with or envision any sexual situations with the old hosebags that taught me. The closest I ever came to a having a hot teacher was my high school Sociology instructor. She (who will remain nameless lest some vagabond I graduated with feels the need to post it under my comments section) had a tremendous rack but a disturbing case of thinning hair. We all theorized that she was smoking when she was younger and attempted to envision her that way instead of the wrinkled, dried up husk of menopause that she really was.

Labels: a-town, pop culture, sex, slut teacher