The wife and I braved freezing temperatures last night to watch game three of the National League Divisional Series in a four and a half hour affair that left our extremities numb. 50,000 faithful at Coors Field were in attendance, an impressive number considering the cold. Some highlights:

• The Rockies organization once again fucked up some form of the post-season. The game started at ten after eight. We arrived at the gates at ten 'till eight, happy we would be catching the first pitch. We waited outside Coors Field for forty five minutes in the cold. No announcements as to why tickets were not being taken. No signage explaining why there was a delay. Chants of "Let Us In," almost degenerate into an angry mob poised to rush the gates and get into the game. My sweet wife even mentioned to me how easy it would be to get away with kidney-punching Phillies fan in the mayhem.
  
• By the time we get to our seats, it is the bottom of the second inning and the Rockies are up 2-1. Fucking Rockies organization. I almost do not enjoy my Rockies Dog and refreshing beer(s).
  
• Our section is fun early on; good fans, good spirits and an overall good vibe. This situation changes as sobriety slips away and is replaced with stupidity. Once polite Phillies fans sitting a few sections below us become raging assholes and start picking fights. One of the fans is a fat white guy who has long dreadlocks. Insults are hurled his way. "Cut your hair, white Bob Marley, " and, "Got any weed?" and my personal favorite (because I said it), "Go home to your bottle of shampoo, hairbag."
  
• The couple in the row below us are stoned out of their mind. Through out the game, the guy eats slices of salami he has smuggled into the game via his coat pocket. No Ziploc. No brown bag. Literally eating slices of salami from his coat pocket.
• The girl below us dances like she is at a rave every time music comes on. Her balance is so off I remark to the wife, "That girl is going to take a spill." Within minutes of my comment, it happens. The crowd is on its feet after Carlos Gonzalez belts a solo shot to right field and the girl takes a head plant into the seats below her, flips over another row, lands on her head again and somehow manages to finish the maneuver with her ass in a seat four rows down. She looks confused, disoriented and possibly concussed. Her boyfriend expresses no concern and casually takes another slice of salami from his coat pocket.
• We decide to head out in the bottom of the ninth as our infant son it at his grandparents and probably needs sleep. It kills us both considering Brad Lidge has been a nightmare closing ball games this season. By the time we arrive at the the car, the Rockies have lost 6-5, unable to cash in two walks.

Upon further reflection, I should have kidney-punched a Phillies fan to make my night more enjoyable. Especially the fat one with dreadlocks.

Labels: colorado, denver, drinking, drugs, l-i-v-i-n, sports, wife

This past year has been rife with big happenings including planting a spawn in my wife's womb and career upheaval. My mentor once said, "The best way to learn on how not to do things is by being around people who consistently fail and learning from their mistakes." My former mentor was once fired from a job for looking at porn on his work computer, but that is neither here nor there. The point is he is right. I have a solid understanding on what not to do professionally provided by a bevy of past employers. I have great examples of unsuccessful parenting skills thanks to former friends and coworkers (i.e. buying your kids beer only if they "drink it at the house" does not keep them "safe"). I am hopeful I have learned enough from these bad examples to forge onward and do the right thing. If I have not learned enough, I look forward to an illustrious career as a bartender and snorting cocaine with my kids.

Labels: babies, bad parents, career, drugs, porn, wife

Friday. The wife and I attend the 2008 Punk Rocks show at Red Rocks. The band lineup includes NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Bouncing Souls, Street Dogs and young Denver skate punks Frontside Five (the Circle Jerks are a no-show). I soon recognize how old I am when I breeze through beer lines in mere minutes. I soon learn that new punk kids like smoking weed way more than old punk kids. NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones and Bouncing Souls are still awesome. The Street Dogs are the opposites of awesome due to an hour and a half set and a fifteen minute dissertation on who the Ramones are and why they are so important to punk music. The only way to make their set less cliche would have be for the lead singer to not remove his shirt before his Ramones tribute song only to reveal a strategically planned Ramones shirt underneath. I conclude that six hour concerts and $7 beers are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Saturday. Enter the annual neighborhood pool luau. We represent a respectable drinking crew and my next door neighbor's classic rock cover band melts faces. Our HOA is awesome because they allow (tolerate) my next door neighbor to wheel an ice-cold keg over to the pool to serve free beer. I soon realize that inflatable monkeys cannot sustain the belly-flop weight of a grown man from a diving board. Post-luau we torch a fire in the backyard pit and the wife provides ingredients for 'smores. Three people fall asleep in their chairs. I conclude that staying up late and drinking until intoxication two nights in a row is not nearly as fun in my thirties as it was in my twenties.

Sunday. My annual fantasy football draft goes down in the living room. Being as this is the fifteenth year of my league's existence and the same team owners have been in said league for the past six years, I expect the draft to take no more than two hours. Four hours and eight cases of beer later, the draft concludes after much humor, animosity and stupidity (this sums up my fantasy football league perfectly: upon the draft's conclusion one team owner loudly proclaimed, "I have to get going. I am late for marriage counseling.") Steak, potatoes and a gigantic apple pie from Costco are then decimated in less than twenty minutes. I conclude that sports gambling and NFL football viewing are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Labels: chili dog, denver, drinking, drugs, glory days, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, music, sg crew, sports, the greens, weekend that was, wife

My sister has been working as a county social worker for the past decade. Yesterday she was at the jail administering a training class for fellow county employees. While walking through the intake area, a young woman called out to her from the holding cell. The young woman asked my sister her name, where she went to high school and if I was her brother. After answering yes to all the young woman's queries, she blurts out, "Oh my god! I used to date your brother! Tell him I said hello!" Hello back at you, crazy drugged-up bitch I used to date in high school. Be sure to tell your Mom that she still owes me gas money for driving you to softball practice during the summer of 1994.

Labels: a-town, colorado, crime, drugs, family

• Photobombers are people who ruin seemingly nice pictures. Here are some of the best Photobombers from Facebook.
• Sportsmanship is alive and well in female athletics. If it were dudes playing in that game the scenario would have played out something like this: Guy hits a jack. While rounding first base he blows out his knee. After making fun of the guy for blowing out his knee while rounding the bases on a home run, the opposing team feigns fake concern until trainers haul him off the field whereupon the umpire makes the proper ruling of a two-run single. The opposing team will later tell their grandchildren about some moron that shredded his ACL after going yard in a bourbon-soaked haze forty years later.
  
• Peanut butter and jelly. Milk and cookies. College fraternities and cocaine rings.
  

Labels: drugs, link goodness, sports, tomfoolery

• Analytics according to Captain Kirk. In short, the survival rate of a red-shirted crew person on the USS Enterprise is akin to that of a Russian infantryman during WWII.
• A timeline of Black Flag's hair.
• The Montana Meth Project. Gritty, jarring and perfect.

Labels: drugs, link goodness, music, pop culture, war

Moses was tripping balls? That explains the whole wandering in the desert, Egyptian army is chasing us, parting the Red Sea, Burning Bush, Mount Sinai/Ten Commandments and Golden Calf business. That right there describes a fairly strong yet garden variety acid trip. Granted, the Exodus story is not as twisted and psychedelic as Fantasia what with the dancing elephants and hippos, but it definitely ranks up there.

Labels: drugs, pop culture, religion

• Click here to see the reason why I am hooked on A&E's Intervention (pun intended). Naked meth whore's journals are eerily reminiscent of a former coworker of mine who was rumored to be on the pipe. She used to sketch magical spirals and write "NO" repeatedly in her notebooks during board meetings.
• Michael Jackson may be losing the Happy Pedophile Ranch due to some back taxes.
• The Colorado Avalanche made some big moves before the trading deadline netting them Peter Forsberg, Adam Foote and Ruslan Salei. In other 1999 news, American Beauty wins the Oscar for Best Picture and folks are starting to get serious about this Y2K thing.

Labels: colorado, drugs, hockey, link goodness, pop culture, sports

Saturday saw the send off for my buddy Wil who is walking the Earth for the next six months to a year. He will return home whenever his money or his transsexual hooker sugar daddy connections dry up (literally). We procured a limo for his last evening in the city and took a dive bar tour of Denver in style. Some highlights:

• The limo was compliments of one of my work clients who hooked us up with an amazing deal. He gave us a two week old Mercedes Benz limo for the night and stocked it with complimentary beer, gin, whiskey and champagne. The whip was so new that the stereo could only play CDs as the sound system was like the Death Star in Return Of The Jedi and not yet fully operational. We only brought one CD between the seven of us. Said CD was a shitty local techno band and ended up being fired from the limo window by night's end.
• At My Brother's Bar, they have bacon listed as a menu item.
• Number of individuals in our group that ordered bacon: 2.
• Number of individuals that asked the waitress to "Look away" as he attempted to pick up and eat a strip of bacon that fell of the floor: 1.
• The Hilltop, my favorite college-era haunt, did not fail to disappoint (except for the omission of "Ballad Of The Green Berets" from the jukebox which was the traditional way to close all drinking benders back in the day). While walking into the bar a guy came out yelling "Who needs some blow? Some meth? Some X?" While sitting at the bar some troll-looking kid was attempting to start a fight with the a gentleman three times his size. The bartender encouraged smoking after asking if we were cops and than proceeded to light up and "fuck the anti-smoking laws."
• Changing the name of a strip club from Cheerleaders to The Player's Club does not make your joint instantly classier. You still have to wash the vomit and sweaty ass from the carpet.
• Number of individuals in our group that had their wife pick them up from The Player's Club: 1.
• Number of individuals in our group that lost an electronic device sometime during the night: 2.
• Number of individuals in our group that were called by the limo company with the whereabouts of their lost electronic device: 1.

Be sure to rubber up in the jungle, Wil. Once you establish your white warlord presence in Belize, we will be down to slaughter cattle with machetes in front of the locals as a lesson not to cross you. In short, be safe and enjoy your adventures.

Labels: bacon, decadence, denver, dj, drinking, drugs, ez, jake, wil

• Mother of year turns tricks while her kids are in the back seat and snorts coke from the stomach of her newborn son while breast-feeding him.
• Today marks the anniversary of Tim Allen being arrested with one and half pounds of yam-yam at the airport and rolling on his longtime friend to get a life sentence reduced only to go on to make shitty situation comedies and Santa Claus related films.
• Members Only jackets for $10. I may have to pull the trigger on one of these badboys and wear it over my Queensryche Operation: Mindcrime concert shirt.

Labels: bad parents, drugs, link goodness, music

Anna Nicole Smith is dead from popping a handful of sedatives and choking on her own vomit. Glamorous. Is anyone shocked? Anyone besides other drugged out bitches with balloons surgically implanted in their chest cavity? It was just a matter of time before Anna Nicole's major organs exploded due to heavy narcotic intake. I am done with the major news outlets already; especially those comparing her to Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn was a smoking hot sexpot and had talent. Anna Nicole had a big rack and a penchant slurring her way through interviews. Marilyn had a stable that was the envy of most straight women of her era: JFK, RFK, Joey D and Arthur Miller. Anna Nicole's stable included a billionaire that looked like an exhumed corpse, a Jewish lawyer that weighs a buck twelve and random strip club patrons that paid her $200 for a champagne room hand job.

Labels: boobs, death, drugs, pop culture, whores

• An astronaut love triangle sponsored by Depends brand adult diapers. Because when hunting down crazy bitches that look suggestively at your man, there is no time for a bathroom break.
• In Malcolm X's auto-biography, he wrote about taking large doses of nutmeg to get high in prison. While its not as glamorous as hand sanitizer, it does the trick all the same (read firsthand accounts of nutmeg highs here, here and here).
• Ron Jeremy gets some behind-the-dumpster action from a random skank at a Saddle Ranch Steakhouse. All this while said random skank's date waited patiently for her to return. And she did. With cum in her hair.

Labels: books, drugs, history, link goodness, pop culture, porn

Today while meeting with a client at the downtown Tattered Cover, an unsavory character with crack pipe burns about his hands stopped me while exiting the store and asked for spare change in exchange for reciting one of his poems. I am opposed to giving street urchins any form of compensation (it is not in my nature to enable) so I agreed to the transaction with the caveat that if I did not like his poem he would receive no payment. He agreed, pulled out his mangled spiral notebook and began reciting prose. The poem was surprisingly good, rife with inflections of loss, pain, happiness, despair and hope. I gave him 47 cents, told him to stay off the rock and to keep working the poetry angle. He said thanks and then told me he had to catch a bus that was taking him to a drug test. After his drug test I am sure he was meeting up somewhere with his nymphomaniac girlfriend that has 'Fuck My Whore Ass' and 'Fuck My Whore Pussy' tattooed on her hips.

Labels: denver, drugs, homeless, whores

The wife and I have been back and forth to the local Petco for all manner of kitty supplies over the past few days. After three trips to the same store, I have noticed that every employee appears to have a serious drug problem. Sunday we rolled in with our new pussy to get some Meow Mix and a litter box. Our cashier who reeked of cigarettes, wore a bad perm and had fewer teeth than a jack-o-lantern asked us for the inane details regarding our feline. Tuesday we patronize the store for a litter box scoop and a spray bottle (or "Instant Kitty Be Good" as I call it) and the same cashier waits on us and proceeds to ask us the same questions as if she has never seen us before. The topper was this afternoon when I took back a food dish. A cashier with a female golf coach haircut smelling of pot waited on me. She had to call the manager over to approve the return. When the manager arrives, I am frightened with her countenance as she looks more strung out than Andy Dick, has pockmarks all over her face and has not one tooth in her head. As I walk out to the parking lot a Petco employee is smoking cigarettes and pretending to be collecting carts.

Labels: drugs, kitty, l-i-v-i-n, wife

The five most obviously drug-fueled television appearances ever. I love me some Crispin Glover on Angel Dust, James Brown full of bourbon (and song) and Richard Pryor in his prime coked to the eyeballs.

Labels: drugs, tomfoolery

I apologize for my neglect of the MB lately as work has kept me busier than your mom after inhaling Poppers at an anal sex convention. I have been catching up after three weeks of ruining my life and the subsequent celebration of ruining my life in a third world country. On with today's link goodness:

• Graphic representation in the form of nationalistic coffins of the mounting death toll in the Israel-Lebanon conflict (updated daily).
• An open letter to a mental case into mini-fridges.
• A Japanese game show that gives contestants a little "How's Your Father" for incorrect answers.

Labels: death, drugs, link goodness, open letter, perversion, war

• This is your brain on drugs.
• 24 beers a day for 8 years.
• According to a new theory, modern humans are descendants of inbred chimpanzees. This makes what I see on Cops make much more sense.

Labels: drinking, drugs, link goodness, science

On 4/20 at 4:20, students with an affinity for weed at CU Boulder decided to have a smoke out at Farrand Field. While they were taking pulls of hippy lettuce and barking at the moon, video surveillance caught them doing what they do best. My comments:

• It is called shampoo and a hairbrush, cheeba monkey. Give them both a try.
• College usually takes seven years when you are majoring in law, medicine or burning out.
• C Thomas Howell ala Red Dawn enjoys some kind. WOLVERINES!
• A Pearl Street Mall regular.
• Experts claim that marijuana is the gateway drug. In this instance, let us hope it is a gateway to a long and glamorous career in porn.
• Tonight on a very special Doogie Howser: Doogie tries smoking grass.
• Um, yeah.

Labels: boulder, college, drugs, pop culture, porn

• Meth addict attempts suicide via nail gun. Hijinks ensue.
• A photo journey through the post-nuclear wasteland of the former Soviet Union. Inspired by the twenty-year anniversary of the Chernobyl disaster.
• In my life, I have found there to be only one indisputable truth: Journey's Escape is the equivalent of musical panty remover.

Labels: cold war, drugs, history, link goodness, music, panties

I am in the midst of contemplating some major career decisions. These past six months have been the worst of my professional life and that includes my first year out of college when I was laid off twice and commuting fifty miles daily in a car with no air conditioning. Needless to say, I have been sending out resumes with the subtlety of a self-immolating Buddhist monk. I have started a morning ritual of meditating in my car before I go into the office to put myself in the right frame of mind. The ritual goes as such: I take a deep breath and think about starving children in Africa whose villages are torn apart by famine, disease and death. I take a deep breath and think about young female amputees scared for life by land mines and the memories of having sex with zealot soldiers consumed with hate just to survive a civil war. I take a deep breath and think about heroin addicts living on the streets who were born into unloving, drug infested homes where they were physically, sexually and mentally abused. Then I call myself a pussy, put my experience in perspective, sack up and go into the office dreaming of the day when I will finally get rid of that fucking car without air conditioning. Recent developments have me hopeful this will happen very soon. Now on to more important things; like Eastern European broads wrestling in their panties. Spoiler: The match is decided when the brunette puts the blond in a nasty head-scissor lock.

Labels: career, data slaughterhouse, drugs, perversion, war

Hair metal dissertations that tug on the old Steelheart:

• Mr. Sun on the Scorpion's Rock You Like a Hurricane.
• Izzle Pfaff on Whitesnake's Here I Go Again.

The Here I Go Again video filled my pubescent years with countless hours of masturbatory fodder. Tawny Kitaen's ruby tresses flowed in the wind as sheer linen robes exposed her bulbous breasts and buttocks while she stretched and gyrated her limber body all over the hood of David Coverdale's car. It was a sight to behold. Unfortunately for Tawny, this was the zenith of her career. Soon after she defiled that black muscle car, her life and looks degenerated in the magical world of happy dust, prescription medication and attacks on her ex-husband with a shoe.

Labels: chicks, drugs, music, tomfoolery

• Quote of the day: "She had such a great smile, back when she had teeth."
  
• Video of a break dancing hand.
  
• A sculpture dedicated to The Birth of Britney Spears's son, Sean Preston. The installation is said to be an idealized portrayal of Britney in delivery with a distended belly, lactating breasts and a posterior view that depicts widened hips and reveals the crowning of the child's head. According to the artist's interpretation, Britney gave birth on all fours (which is fitting, I suppose, because I am guessing that is how she conceived) stroking a bear (wolf?) head. Are bears (wolves?) symbolic of fertility and childbirth? If so, I am going to start rethinking some things.
  
• I am using a hockey analogy for this link. Every team has a collection of diverse players with specific skills; a select few are pure goal scorers and play makers, others are defensive specialists, muckers, grinders, etc. The point is a good hockey player knows their role and is happy to contribute. You are nothing more to the human team than talking boobs, Jessica Alba. The sooner you accept and embrace that, the better off we will all be.

Labels: boobs, drugs, hockey, link goodness, pop culture, sports

• The rise and fall of an Indian reservation drug dealer. Jake digs the bear claw tattoos prominently displayed on homegirl's sweater puppies. He would. The guy does shit like this on the weekends.
• A dissertation on the NBA logo. The article argues whether the logo should be redesigned to reflect the current culture of the league or remain the way it is. I say redesign the logo to something that is indicative of the modern NBA; a tattooed kid with cornrows that cannot play defense and has no outside shot but can dunk like a hungry police officer at a coffee shop.
• Good to hear that Hank has not lost his edge.
• Tanith Belbin has made me a fan of Olympic ice dancing. There. I said it.

Labels: drugs, jake, link goodness, music, sports, tattoos

Twenty-five strippers and their respective mug shots. These dancing ladies of the evening were busted for all manner of illegal activities including cocaine peddling, prostitution, lewdness, exposure of sexual organs and the improper solicitation of alcohol sales. I respect the attitude of dancer number three, I appreciate the lifeless cocaine-addled eyes on dancers number six and fifteen and I am certain dancer number twenty one is smuggling plums. After browsing through this gallery, I think I would pay most of these women to keep their clothes on rather than take them off.

Labels: crime, drugs, liquor, sex, strippers

• A woman is still planning to marry the man who shot her in the crotch and held her hostage in his family's garage for six days. That is what I call the definition of stupidity, er, unconditional love.
• One mayoral candidate on how to motivate homeless people to do constructive work in the city: crack cocaine.
• Taking my personal demons out to lunch at the Olive Garden.

Labels: drugs, link goodness, tomfoolery

• Carrot Top is shredded. Regardless if he is cut out of wood or not, he is still a closeted homosexual. He is wearing scary man mascara, for the love of baby Jesus.
• An Australian model could face a maximum of 15 years in an Indonesian prison for being caught with ecstasy. Based on her picture, I would pay to see her in an Indonesian prison reality show. The program may only air for two hourlong episodes but it would be the best thing to happen to television since the moon landing.
• After overhearing a conversation in the company break room, I thought a filmmaker had finally captured my dream on celluloid: a menage-a-trois sex scene involving bacon. I was disappointed upon learning that it was a menage-a-trois sex scene involving Kevin Bacon and another man. One dick in the room is one dick too many.

Labels: bacon, crime, drugs, gay, link goodness, pop culture, sex

A gold spray paint huffing bender leads to the greatest mugshot ever.

Labels: drugs, stupidity

An eating disorder expert was caught doing whippits at a local supermarket. Two things bother me about this:

1. A 49 year-old woman is doing whippits at a local supermarket. She is 49 years old for the balls of Jesus. She can afford to do better than a cheap inhalant high at the grocery store. Have some respect for yourself and get hopped up on goofballs or drink a bottle of cheap vodka like McCormicks.
2. How does one become an eating disorder expert? Is there an accreditation process? Do you have to spend a month with Lara Flynn Boyle to become qualified?

Labels: disease, drugs

A great story about Dock Ellis, the Major League pitcher who threw a no-hitter on acid. I miss the good old days of professional baseball when hurlers high on amphetamines would put one in your ear-hole just for stepping into the batters box.

It's such an important aspect of the game [hitting a batsmen]. All hitters know they're gonna get hit. They just don't know when. The kicker for the truly good hitters is, you cannot hit me as many times as I'm gonna hit you. They take that hit to get six hits. But you gotta pop their ass so you can get an 0 for 4 on them one day. Don't get cocky now, motherfucker. The challenge is on. So let's get it on. Other guys might explain it differently, have different reasons, but that was mine. Right about the time I left, it changed. You can't throw at anyone without getting thrown out of the game. The announcers today say it ruins the game. They never talk about the fights that Cincinnati and St. Louis got into 30 years ago. Barry Bonds? I'd hit him at least once a game. 'Cause he's got all that shit on. Yeah, let's see that shit stop the ball from hurting him if I hit him on the motherfucking elbow or something. I'd hit him just to see, does it work?

Labels: drugs, sports

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

• A chimpanzee in a South African zoo has taken up smoking.
• Liberian soldiers wear wigs and womens' clothing believing it will protect them in battle.
• The DEA has released the 2005 Drugs of Abuse handbook. Especially enjoyable are the chapters on Hallucinogens (8) and Inhalants (9).

Labels: drugs, link goodness, monkeys, tomfoolery, war

When you fiend for a hit of crank outside the safe confines of your meth lab, do not panic. The local K-Mart provides the ingredients and an ideal place to cook up; a public restroom.

Labels: drugs, stupidity

The MB will be experiencing down time for few days as I ditch Yahoo! Web Hosting* and make the transition over to Joyent. Until then entertain yourself with this:

• Four men steal a goat, beat it to death with hammers, butcher it and then trade the goat steaks to a drug dealer named Smalls (he uses the meat to feed his fighting pit bulls) for crack.
• German artist Gunther von Hagens wants to build a corpse art factory. The girlfriend and I will be in Chicago the same time his exhibit Bodyworlds is showing. I will have to talk her into going to see it (Read: Vanilla Stoli).
• A woman digs up the remains of her ex-boyfriend to spite his family. She adds insult to injury by drinking the beer and smoking the cigarettes that were buried with him.

*After being a loyal customer for just under five years, Yahoo! Web Hosting failed to inform me that my package was lowered five dollars nearly six months ago and did not bother switching me to the lower rate automatically. After emailing Yahoo! about this oversight, they responded with an auto-generated email thanking me for my inquiry. In short, Yahoo! Web Hosting sucks the sweat off of a dead donkey's balls.

Labels: death, drugs, geekery, rage, technology

On almost every corner I drive past nowadays, I see a Walgreens either in operation or being built. Within a two-mile radius surrounding my home, there are four Walgreens. Is this country so screwed up that we need prescription medication outlets on every corner? (The obvious answer is yes, but the question is rhetorical you thick motherfucker). I have only been inside a Walgreens three times:

1. In 2002, to fill a prescription to treat a nasty cold.
2. In 2002, to fix the prescription from my first Walgreens visit. An incompetent pharmacist messed up my dosage and gave me two enormous bottles of pills that could have lasted through a nuclear holocaust.
3. In 2004, my lady and I were hungry and in a pinch we patronized the closest store for a sack of beef jerky and some bottled water.

If I had any money to invest, I would put it into prescription medication outlets. Keeping people sick or under the illusion that they are sick seems to be a growth industry.

Labels: drugs, pop culture, wife

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

A righteous image gallery of meth addicts at the beginning and than during the zenith of their addiction.

Labels: drugs

Before going on a three-day bender, get a babysitter. Better yet, do not have any children. Without responsibilities and another life to take care of, you can wallow in your selfish existence, hang out in garbage-infested alleys and smoke the rock until your heart explodes.

Labels: drugs, stupidity

Me: I am going to post this.
Monica: Yikes. Anna Nicole is a train wreck. That is almost too bad to post. The Joe Namath fall from grace, now that was funny. Posting this would be like kicking a three-legged dog or getting footage of Courtney Love stoned and flashing her junk. Been there, done that.
Me: Good point. But the posting well is dry. I would apply this same logic if I ever needed a slump buster and was forced to pick up trash like her at a strip club. Inner monologue would go something like this: "Sure, she is a disaster. I mean she works at a strip club, a place where drug addicts, perverts and sex abuse victims work and hang out. But damn, I am in a serious dry spell here. I will just give her a handful of painkillers. Maybe then she will not cry after sex. Much."
Monica: Fair enough. I just do not understand the allure is all. Of course, I do not have a penis either.
Me: Sometimes it is just as simple as "Hey, look at those fun bags!"

Labels: drugs, im convos, mons, pop culture, strippers

An excerpt:

Using makeshift or poorly made crack pipes can cause oral cuts or burns. If shared, these pipes can also help spread blood borne diseases, particularly if the group includes drug users who also sell sex. The transmission of both hepatitis and HIV is of concern in this situation where pipe passing from mouth to mouth could cause direct contact with bleeding lips and cracked gums.

Instead of enabling crack addicts with safer crack pipes, maybe we just need to get them some Chapstick instead.

Labels: drugs, pop culture

Thailand is wondorous place where one can buy a brick of hash for cheap, engage in group sex with fifteen underage prostitutes and watch orangutans kick box each other to the death.

Labels: drugs, monkeys, perversion

Sometimes life is a kitty being rescued from certain death and other times it is cocaine-induced infanticide in the bathroom of a ramshackle sports bar.

Labels: dead babies, death, drugs, kitty

All I want to do is smoke up, baby. What is with this annoying neighbor kid? He keeps asking to drive my car? Here are the keys, kid. Now leave me alone let me burn this bowl in peace and quiet. What is the worse that could happen with him driving, anyway? Oh, right.

Labels: bad parents, drugs, inner-monologue, stupidity

This link about the trials and tribulations of a career roadie is fantastic. Some excerpts:

• "I started doing so much cocaine, my dick was completely useless. So when girls would come around and say they were willing to do anything to meet the band, I just started throwing meat at them. That's what they had to do to earn their backstage pass. I'd make them strip down and stand in the corner while we pelted them with the deli tray. After a while, it became like this daily event. All the bands would stop sound check and gather round, just to watch me throw meat at some chick."
• "He asked me if I wanted a drink, and I said 'Sure,'" she recalls. "Then, out of nowhere, he puts his hand up my dress and, not even knowing me, sticks his finger in my asshole. I didn't even flinch, though, because I knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of me. And right there he said he knew I was his girl."
• Motorhead guitarist Phil Campbell offered him a hamburger. "I was starving because I hadn't eaten for a long time, so I said, 'Sure,'" Hickey says. "And because my nose was so torn up from all the speed I'd just snorted, I couldn't smell." He could taste it, though, and high as he was, it only took him one bite to realize that Campbell hadn't given him a hamburger at all, but rather a patty of shit stuck between a bun. "That was my appreciation for being so dedicated to the band," Hickey says. "A shit sandwich."

Labels: crazy, drugs, music, pop culture

What is it going to take for you to go away? Do you not realize that you have no talents other than being an STD dumpster? I know you are the heiress to the Hilton hotel fortune and all, but there are plenty of other wealthy American industrialist trust fund children out there that we know nothing about and care to know nothing about. Lets think this through, shall we? If you continue through life with your current popularity rating (taking into account you will not overdose on coke or die from starvation by age forty) you will become addicted to plastic surgery after your youthful glow disappears and your skin starts looking like an old catcher's mitt from years spent in tanning beds, you will suck down vodka and pills for breakfast and give weekly interviews to Diane Sawyer and People magazine discussing your heroic struggles with an eating disorder and substance abuse. Do we really need that from you, Paris Hilton? Blubbering confessions in tabloid media from an aging barfly with the propensity to shoot a night vision sex video when stoned to the gills? Talk about a fucking nightmare.

Labels: drugs, pop culture, sex

If you are thinking about taking LSD first consider this scenario:

You are sitting in a booth at the neighborhood IHOP and it is three in the morning. Patrons in the restaurant look like zombies from an all-night eatery of the damned. You are staring at the syrup rack because there is something "fucked up" going on with the strawberries. Your idiot friend is sitting across from you, cigarette hanging from his mouth with a two-inch ash and is pounding the table because demons are coming out of the knots in wood.

I now urge you to reevaluate your decision. If you are still going to drop Acid at least do something productive while under the influence. Like draw pictures. Or pitch a no-hitter.

Labels: art, drugs, sports

Update on Big Lurch; The MB's favorite aspiring rapper who smokes angel dust and eats bitches lungs.

Disturbing Aside: I forgot when I wrote my initial post on Big Lurch. Instead of sifting through my blog archives due to my laziness, I decided to Google "eating a bitches lungs." I chuckled as I hit enter thinking it was a long shot at best. The MB is the number one search result. The internet is magical.

Labels: crazy, death, drugs, music

"I don't know nothing about God; but I'll take your word for it."

Labels: drugs, quote of the day, religion, sex

The worst job I ever had was slinging furniture and boxes for a moving company in the dead of summer. The work was hot and shitty and the majority of my coworkers were drug addicts. Two guys actually smoked meth in the morning before their shift and called it coffee. It could have been worse, I suppose. At least I have no experience with elephant vasectomy.

Labels: career, drugs, science

If I ever had a prosthetic leg and a beef with a heroin dealer, this would be me. Of course, if I were truly committed to beating someone with a prosthesis, I could develop a mental disorder and freeze my leg in dry ice so they cut it off.

Labels: amputation, crazy, drugs

Monica: I am sure I will be fine. I will just be drunk for four days. How else do you do a wedding in Cheyenne, Wyoming?
Me: Maybe you should get some pills. Preferably some 'ludes. Or a sack of goofballs. Or some Black Beauties...
Monica: Yeah, I have not decided which drug to risk the Interstate Commerce With Intent to Sell ticket for. Oxycontin?
Me: Sprinkle in some morphine. Because nothing says Wyoming like painkillers.
Monica: When livestock outnumber people 10-1 do as the locals do.
Me: Load up on mind-numbing medication and wait it out?
Monica: Right.

Labels: drugs, im convos, mons

Chicago Cubs power hitter Sammy Sosa has been caught swinging a corked bat. That does not mean he caught a rare venereal disease from a transsexual prostitute, it means he is a cheating bastard. In Major League Baseball, corked bats help balls travel further, thus, they are illegal. I feel sorry for Sammy and hope he can regain his composure and respect before his next steroid injection.

Labels: drugs, pop culture, sports

Some people like shooting the smack. Others cannot put down the booze. This woman is addicted to babies. After fifteen children, she plans on trying for more. Her uterus has seen more action than Vietnam during the Tet Offensive. Quoth Monica, "Her cervix is probably down to her ankles by now."

Labels: babies, drugs, mons, vajayjay

A former meth addict does not want her frightening countenance to be used in an anti-drug campaign because she is worried of shaming her children and grandchildren. Like a true addict she does not see the obvious shame of embarrassing her family for years with her drug habit. After seeing the before and after shots of the aforementioned base-head, my plan to steer clear of methamphetamine use is still firmly in place (at least for today).

Labels: drugs

Jake: The Gremlins kid was caught stealing a Deep Purple CD?
Me: I know. That makes it even more tragic.
Jake: How lame can one person be?
Me: Very lame. He was on the downhill slide after Gremlins 2, really.
Jake: Well yeah. But you figure that is as bad as it should get.
Me: True. You know you have hit rock bottom when you are lifting classic rock CDs from Tower Records.
Jake: There is always meth, though. He could still fall further.
Me: It is either meth or Hollywood Squares.
Jake: Or huffing silver spray paint and getting picked up on Cops with no pants and stained undies.
Me: Whippits?
Jake: Whippits are amateur hour, Matty. It is all about the metallics. Nothing kills brain cells faster. Even gasoline.
Me: Well that is plain silly. Everyone loves a good a bag of gas.

Labels: drugs, im convos, jake, movies, pop culture

Reporters for High Times Magazine are convinced that Jesus was the ultimate dope pusher of the first century. According to these baked cheeba-monkeys, Jesus and his apostles would heal the masses with an extracted form of cannabis oil. We had a guy that liked to cure the masses with narcotics at my high school. His name was Kurt. Everybody liked Kurt because he always had good drugs and was always willing to share. I am sure if Kurt said he was the Son of God, half of the student body in my graduating class would have agreed with him just to keep scoring free dope. The same situation could be true for Jesus. Picture a group of stoned apostles sitting on a boat on the Sea of Galilee, smearing cannabis oil all over themselves convinced that Jesus was walking on water. "Dude, check out Jesus. He is walking on water."

Labels: drugs, glory days, history, religion

I wish we had this club at my high school because I might have actually joined and formulated a positive opinion about organized clubs into adulthood. Instead we had the garden-variety student council and pep club scene with kids promising another pop machine in the cafeteria should they be elected to a meaningless political post. Some one (read: my buddy Tim) should have dedicated a club to Satan, Lord of the Underworld. It would have been more constructive for me to talk about Lucifer within the safe confines of a high school classroom with a faculty adviser present mediating discussions rather than what I actually did; discussing the Prince of Darkness over a three foot bong in a stoned kid's basement, listening to Slayer's "South Of Heaven" on the stereo, smoking Camel Wide cigarettes and drinking stolen whiskey.

Labels: a-town, drinking, drugs, evil, glory days, music, pop culture

There is nothing I love more than the ingenuity of a teenager in search of a buzz. Lighting bus shelters on fire and getting high on the fumes seems to be the pinnacle of ingenuity.

Inhalants never seem to go out of style with the kids. I spent countless hours in my formidable years assembling model cars in the garage and I took a pull off the glue bottle bottle every now and then but that was as far as it went for me. The kids I went to school with, however, were inhalant fiends. There was the kid who enjoyed huffing gas from the lawnmower can in his shed. There was the kid who used to douse screwdrivers in cans of paint thinner and then inhale the fumes from the tips of said screwdrivers. There was the kid who was found dead in his room after huffing too much gas from a spent SCUBA tank. Lastly, there was the freaky goth bitch that sat behind me in life science class who used to get cheap highs from the nail polish and Liquid Paper stashed away in her ESprit bag (inhalants were the least of her problems as her mother had a penchant for test driving her teenage boyfriends. Rumor is they were both on Maury a few years back). I am guessing all those kids (save for the dead one) have graduated on to meth.

Labels: a-town, death, drugs, nostalgia, pop culture

At my high school we did not need slut teacher aides that molested male students. We had plenty of easy girls that would have sex with you if you gave them a bottle of Boones Farm Wine and a joint. That was the deal closer. Take my junior year Pom-Pom squad for example. Three girls got knocked up in a span of six months. Two were sisters, ages 18 and 16, and they got pregnant within two months of each other. I think their mother committed suicide. Even though my high school was chocked full of depraved chemically dependent sex fiends (myself included), I do not think any of us were caught doing this.

Labels: drinking, drugs, nostalgia, sex

After taking most of the summer off like the Colorado Rockies, I have come back to the world wide web, more cut, more shredded than Rocky Balboa did to face Clubber Lang for the second time in Rocky III. In case you are Ray Charles and have not noticed the sexy site overhaul, The MB has a new look that is bound to make you question fundamental web designing truths. I hope you enjoy it.

In my absence, I have been ridiculed and ostracized due to my flight to free agency in my roller hockey league (Read all about it here). A young punk named Mark thought it was wise to open his ballwasher and question my actions. Not only are you unaware of the situation as to why I left the Slashing Hyena Organization, Mark, your claims are unwarranted and untrue (especially the part about me being a star athlete). Keep in mind, my friend, that if I had not the left the club, there would not be an open spot on the roster for you to fill, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it. That being said, I intend to destroy you and eat your face when we meet out there on the rink. Then, in the manner of a true hockey player, we will get drunk on cheap beer when the smoke has cleared and you are putting your arms back into their sockets.

Speaking of eating bitches, I give you Big Lurch.

Labels: /mark, big lurch, drugs, hockey, murder, music, pop culture, summer

Today marks the twentieth anniversary of John Belushi's overdose via Speedball. The autopsy and police report from that day can be seen here. His last days on earth went something like this:

Belushi sits fat, naked and bloated on the toilet of some random, fleabag hotel in Southern California. He is hanging out with a dirty crack whore who he met the week prior and has been up for the past three days with her mainlining whiskey, pot, coke and smack. "Hey, I got an idea," remarks the junkie whore. "We should start speedballing so we no longer feel the depression of coming down from our high(s) anymore." Belushi agrees. "Great idea. We will be so high. Fix me up!" Hijinks ensue.

Labels: death, drugs, pop culture