I Didn’t Even Have To Use My AK

Yesterday sucked my ass. Highlights include unbloggable family drama and my ex-girlfriend telling me not to come to Portland. But fuck it. I got today off of work and I’ve been working on my motorcycle for the last couple hours and the shit is going to be tiiiiggghhhht. Plus it’s a good day for you because I got some pho-dev so my post isn’t 100% bitching. I’m going to post the whole goddamn roll.


There was a wall of fire trying to take out the goldfinches in my backyard. Big walls of fire don’t like scratchy birds.


Scratchy birds prevail.


This mother fucker got a lot of face time on this roll. Though here I guess he’s going for ass time.


We’ve got animals that shed. Mom keeps it slightly homosapien and sweeps up some of the hair.



Duncan loves playing with this rope.


Probably because it’s embarrassing to be a Border Collie and suck so much at catching tennis balls.


Pip thought it better to burn out than to fade away.


This is Spunky. In the 5th grade I won the Biggest Badass Ever award or something like that. My Mom is like, “We’re so proud of you, what do you want?” I wanted a puppy motherfuckers, because I’m a badass. Spunky is that puppy.

Ready for her closeup.


Not ready for her closeup.


Spunk pulls some ass time as well. She got a big o butt.


Hella badass/cute


Should have rocked the tripod. Sold it before I got the roll developed anyway.


Nice ignition coils and fancy yellow 8.8mm wires; everything else rusty and scratched.


Duncan finishes out the roll. He’s deaf so he sleeps through pretty much anything.

fuck yeah

i guess I can blog from my phone. the payphone is ringing next to me. if i’m afraid to pick it up the terrorists have already won. fuck it.

Morning Benders was off of the proverbial meat racks. I only saw like sixteen other bloggers from lovebryan there, so I figured I’d let you know how radical it was just incase they forget. It was good to see everybody; I promise I’ll hang out more.

It’s been a rough year kids. When I was five, my dog Misha died and I pretended I was a dog for a week. This year, two of my dogs died. I didn’t go so far as to walk on all fours at school, but they’re missed severely by me and my crumbling family. Plus, two nights ago, Rocky Raccoon said Danny Boy, this is a showdown to my one remaining duck, Pippen. The song didn’t play out–Rocky drew first and Pip fell. The feather trail lead over the fence, into the neighbors yard, along their far fence and toward a shed where he was either eaten or I just lost the nerve to keep following blood soaked down feathers. This post is in memory of Pippen, Tasha, and Jordi.


Tasha was a ruthless killer but also a big pussy. Before we moved to Berkeley, we had a shed. A family of possums moved in under it, and Tasha didn’t eat, drink or sleep for a week. She camped out by the hole and waited for one to poke its little head out. She’d grab it, break its neck, carry it around for a minute, and then go back to the hole to wait for the recently departed’s little brother to make the same mistake. She was uncontrollably afraid of loud or odd noises. Fourth of July was the worst, she’d shake and freak the fuck out all day–especially when the kid next door got firecracker aged.


Jordi was a walking proof of the rigitity of hybrid genes. He was a little sparkplug up until he was about fourteen years old. He knew the sound of my mom’s car from a few blocks away, and would jump up to the front door window for a few minutes until she came through the door. Miguel called him Breath. He had bad oral hygiene. Here he does a wheelie for the camera.


Tasha used to lurk on the porch all day. It super sucks to come home and not have her sitting there.


BFF motherfucker.


Pippen is more to the foreground. This is a baby picture, as you can tell by his raggedy ass young duck feather steez. We raised him from when he was a little marshmallow peep. When my mom would let him out to go chase flies around the backyard, he’d run behind her until he got to the open faced staircase. He’d run under it and shoot his head out to bite my mom’s toes.

Pour a forty out for your animals.

Yesterday I signed a bunch of legal stuff at my new job. I do web development at The Princeton Review now. One of the things said that they respect their employees right to blog, but that if i mentioned some aspect of work i’d have to say that the opinions here are my own and in no way represent those of The Princeton Review or any of its affiliates or something like that. So yeah, these opinions are my own and in no way represent those of The Princeton Review or any of its affiliates or something like that.

It seems crazy that they mentioned blogs specifically in the little legal phone book they gave me. I always thought blogging was a bunch of socially awkward people saying “right now i’m listening to a mix with Elliot Smith and Mariah Carey that i made for my ex but i’ll probably never send,” and hoping for some comments to make them feel a little loved even if only in some cold fantasy digital sort of way. My friend took a class at NYU from like the grandfather of blogging or some shit. People are really into it being some big fucking deal wave of the future type shit. There was a blogger in When the Levees Broke, this thing Spike Lee made for HBO about New Orleans. It’s cache or something. I think the rockstar blogger/media of the future shit is total bs. People are going to get their news and opinions from people they agree with regardless of what medium it is presented in. I watch the Daily Show, you listen to Rush Limbaugh. I read lovebryan, you read http://gopandthecity.blogspot.com/ But I’m definitely not going to try to give my opinion or any news: I’m just listening to a mix with Elliot Smith and Mariah Carey that i made for my ex but i’ll probably never send–and I just figured that people would probably want to know that.

my mom knows a guy from the oakland zoo, which is pretty radical to say the least–we got a full on behind the scenes roll through. i should have brought a proper camera, but the treo shit is just going to have to do. the zoo been totally redone over the last few years. they’ve been taking out cages and putting in more cushy habitat type exibits. he says a lot of the animals could get out if they wanted to, but (for the most part) they stay put. we fed the giraffes, which is insane. they’re like big dogs with foot long tongues. the river otters are pretty rad also. they have to put goldfish in alhambra bottles so the otters don’t get bored and go all OCD like the sunbears in portland. the alligators are sort of frighteningly close to the railings. one of them had a stump instead of a right hand, which apparently came from a deep puncture wound and a later amputation. i’m starting this internet job tomorrow, but i should have applied at the zoo. you should all go. it’s movie priced but parking is $6 so carpool like a motherfucker. shit is tight.

you can take a crosstown bus if it’s raining or it’s cold, and the animals will love it if you do.


Upper left hand corner so stoked on his BGPs.

i’ve been working for the man; AKA my brother. and soon i start some other job. sometimes i write and i don’t feel like doing anything else and sometimes i look at a blank computer screen and my head gets heavy and my eyes hurt and i’m just like fuck this, i can’t write right now. more often than not my head’s been doing the heavy hang over the last little bit. when i get helium head i’ll break you guys off proper; i swear to fucking christ.

until then–chomponthis:
peaceful reese will fuck you up

Recently it has seemed like a large amount (larger than normal) of people are super fucking bummed. So I’m asking the internet if that’s just the people around me, or if it’s everywhere. Are the people around you depressed? Are you depressed? Maybe it’s a conspiracy. Maybe it’s in the water or the air or the soy milk or the refined sugar or something. When I was in Portland I had never seen so many motherfuckers so dejected to be back at school, and I just got a thousand emails with similar themes of depression. Shit is spreading like an STD. So anyway, if this is really everpresent, I guess we should use the fucking internet to start a revolution or something, but I’m too dejected to get off my ass and do it.

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