Halloween is today, as you all know, and it’s Friday so there will not only be all kinds of private parties, but your favorite bar in town is no doubt having some sort of scareoke or alternately clever play on words-type-shindig, and there is no better excuse to make out with rainbow bright or Captain Jack, so you’ll need a costume, right? What?! You haven’t seen a calendar and have been so busy looking up “giant foam fist” on your Google that you didn’t even realize that Halloween is today and you can’t wear that clown costume again because now the cops know what they’re looking for?! Don’t worry, friend! We got you! If you’re only empty handed because your friend bailed on your sweet idea for Motley Crue costumes at the last minute, you’re in luck too (and I agree, a sweet Tommy Lee costume just wouldn’t be the same without an equally sweet Nikki). Here are a few easy, inexpensive, and slightly inappropriate costume ideas from us to you:
o Pink bubble gum makes for sweet fake nipples, you can put them anywhere, and people are a little put-off when you put them in your mouth. Eeeew.
o Pick anyone from the recording industry, especially if you’re of the opposite sex. Cross-dressing is a sure fire winner, and a guy version of Jessica Simpson or Lil’ Kim would be pretty easily tossed together and effective. Amy Winehouse is an easy and good one, no matter what sex you are.
o I saw a guy once that came to a Halloween party wearing only a pair of jeans and his sneakers. I said: “what are you supposed to be?” he said “a pre-mature ejaculation” I said “huh?” he said “I came in my pants” ahhh hahahahaha. I think
it’s been enough years that you won’t run into anyone else that saw that guy do that.
o If you can get enough of that scar tissue gum stuff to make your neck look like a vagina, you can be John McCain, or Jarod the Subway guy
o A bra outside your cloths, messy hair, pit stains, crazily applied lipstick smeared all over your face, and a gun, and nobody will ask you what you’re supposed to be because they’ll be too scared of you to talk to you. Cool.
o Find any suit that you have and pair it with a sweet fake moustache and Viking helmet (found at any Halloween store). This says that Vikings, just like normal people, are perfectly capable of getting a real job, too, thank you.
o McLovin’
o Though un-original, nobody can say “no” to a doctor, especially if you’ve got a clever name like Dr. Ben Dover or Dr. Harry Scrotum.
o Dress up as your best friend (a caricature version, you gotta rib him a little) unbeknownst to your best friend, just make sure that he’ll be wherever you go. See if he even notices.
o Nothing says “this only MIGHT be a costume” like an afro wig and tuxedo t shirt
o I saw a guy once that rolled himself up in a sheet, painted his face green, and went as a joint. We were way too high at the time to notice that it really wasn’t that funny.
That’s all I have time for now, because I have to get my own costume together, but any two things that wouldn’t normally go together works, so, you know, just throw some shit on, and get out there. Rock on!
Here’s a few really last minute Halloween destination for you chumps who don’t have anything better to do:
Billy’s Lounge- Pimps & Ho’s party
Founder’s- Halloween party featuring UV Hippopotamus (not the hip-hoppopotamus though) and Oracle
Mega 80’s (see our post on them) Halloween- Intersection
Monte’s – Halloween Slutfest 2008
Bob – Slutfest 2008 continued. Keep your hands off my hockey players, bitches!
Your mom’s Basement- Dungeons and Dragons by yourself while you think fondly on your 2nd grade art teacher and that one picture you painted her with a body fluid that wasn’t pee. Why was she so freakin’ put out by that? Jeez. I will NOT see you there.
1,000,000 random house parties- just jump on a wagon, dude. That’s what we’re doing! Who can say no to a Charles Manson lookalike who smells a little like lawn fertilizer and is twitching uncontrollably? It’s Halloween! See you at Chuck’s!
I really do love you, Austin!
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
"Certainly, in the topsy-turvy world of heavy rock, having a good solid piece of wood in your hand is often useful"
Boy, did we have a weekend. We had one of those weekends that all you can really do once its over is lean back in your uncle Lenny’s duct-tapey EZ chair, un-button the top button of your elastic pants, and give one of those deep, watery, gratuitous sigh/farts of total, serene, pleasure. Sorry for that one, uncle Lenny, but don’t act like you never did that.
So Friday night we made it out of work early enough to get a couple of white t shirts. I got a white tank top and a white T, no-bra (shuddup Bubba, I was braless as promised), KP ended up bra-d but leaving golden tickets like KP’s braless either requires weeks of planning and an elaborate sort of pulley system, or the type of stones that even KP doesn’t have. Gall. Chutzpah, you know? Anyway, we chugged our little braless asses on down to the Intersection and saw us some GWAR.
HELL YEAH WE SAW GWAR AND IT WAS LIKE THE FUNNEST THING EVER!!!
When I saw the ad in Recoil at the beginning of the month, it seemed like something I should probably see once before I hit the old dusty trail and I knew that I wouldn’t be disappointed. Beavis and Butthead never led me astray before, but I didn’t know it was going to be as much straight-up fucking FUN as it was. They’ve got this whole concert thing down. Even though 23 years into it, it felt just a tiny bit half-assed (YouTube “Phallus in Wonderland” if you’d like a visual) at the Intersection, they still put on one hell of a crazy metal show.
Picture this: five oozing, gnashing, blood-soaked space monsters wearing nothing but 37lbs of foam rubber and makeup and t-bars rocking the shit out of you, tastelessly, with the amps turned all the way to 11. It really was that cool. They had this whole little act thing going on, featuring crowd favorite, “band manager” and magician, Sleazy P. Martini running for president on the platform that “90% of yous should be dead already”, John McCain being strangled with his own intestines at the hands of the Ninja Turtle-lookin’ thing aptly named “Bonesnapper,” and Hillary Clinton’s tits being ripped off by Oderous himself. Obama’s head was just swinging from the back of his blood-spurting neck cavity. Me and KP got totally soaked with blood and space jizz (see above picture that KP ganked from Bubba) from the giant dick gun. I can’t believe you weren’t there to see this. If you were (unless you were that guy hanging all crazily from his back skin on a couple of fishing hooks, what the fuck, dude?), it was great seeing you, and drop us a line if you’d like to share your experience, or if you know of any other metal shows like that one where we can get soaked in blood and space jizz ‘cause we will totally go there. It will be like a date, only braless. And way more metal. We want to make coffee more metal. We want to make everything more metal.
For those of you who were just born yesterday, or maybe you’re so creepy and home-schooled that you thought the end of Harry Potter 7 was too hard to handle, GWAR has long ago, along the veins of Spinal Tap, DethKlok, and Tenacious D, crossed the bridge from ridiculous parody to actually awesome. They were (as they shouted “FUCK KISS, FUCK LORDI, FUCK SLIPKNOT”, I knew that they were right) the grandfathers of this pilgrimage. They were ridiculous enough to be excellent back when only Burt Reynolds was ridiculous enough to be excellent. Back when people were still thinking that they were actually awesome enough that they didn’t have to laugh at it, much less embrace it fully and shoot it out of a giant dick gun onto all of their pie-eyed, zombie looking, blood spattered fans. This is why I love satire the way I do, and this is why you all should go and see fucking GWAR. It was so much fun I wish it were still happening right now.
Official verdict: more excellent than Dr. Phil coming totally unglued on Oprah and calling all of his half-retarded radish-looking Chia pet patients “half-retarded radish looking Fat Cows.” That would be pretty excellent though. That’s right, Dr. Phil, don’t let Oprah push you around any more! You can’t make a ho a housewife! GWAR was still more excellent.
So then (cause we can’t, we won’t, we don’t stop!) we hopped in my little blue (Nu)Porche and made it to Ann Arbor, a little hung over and fully rocked out, in time to tailgate with Kipp and his friends, who might be the GWAR of tailgaters. These dudes do it right. I’m talking satellite TV’s in the back of their HumVee’s, fifty men deep shot gunning beers every beer oclock and beer thirty, and a straight-up sports cooler filled with Jager bombs. They had the grill going, they had the chili, they had a megaphone that said “Don’t Be a Dick” that was manned by a guy that was a total dick. Again, I was surprised at how much fun we had. But once condom man walked by and our boys hoisted that tailgate trophy (I don’t even know if they knew who was playing in the actual game…who cares! Go Blue!*), it was time for me and KP to hit the bricks (conspicuous paragraph break)
and we booked it back to GR in time for the Griffin’s home opener, where they won 6-4, and our own little guy from Muskegon, Abdelkader, totally almost decapitated some guy. You go, Kid! Current Griff’s muscle and part-time Wings enforcer Aaron Downey (though he isn’t Quincy, siiiigh, it was still nice to see his mug) had a few juicy hits, and Oulahen (you single, buddy? I’m looking for a new hockey boyfriend…) knocked some other dude’s block off.
Just so you guys know, now that hockey season has had a substantial kickoff and we’re headed underway, this will likely be an integral but not consuming part of T Shirt Size: Awesome from now on. Griffins games cost next to nothing and you can sit really close (look for us, the two half-sleazy but not totally road-whored-out chicks screaming for blood in section 121), especially on home Fridays when they have $1 beers and dogs and if you hold up a sign that says “Blow Me, Zane” I will personally buy all of your $1 beers and dogs myself. I better see you all at a bunch of these things. They have our stamp of approval for sure.
Oh and dads, you should probably leave your little kids at home, UNLESS YOU ARE THE DAD FROM SATURDAY NIGHT, YOUR KID KICKS ASS. That little guy was like six (not much older than Darren Helm, I think…) and he was fist pumping, air drumming, and screaming “SHOW NO MERCY” all night long. Best. Kid. Ever. If you’re interested, dad, me and KP will totally babysitt him a few times a week just so he can trash-talk people who try to hassle us. “The lady said she wants diet, bitch. Yeah, you heard me grandpa, what are you gonna do?” Please, dad? If my kid isn’t exactly like that someday, I’m selling him to Douglas J. Wednesday I should have my list of sweet last-minute Halloween costumes out, so stay tuned.
*for the record, KP is a State alum and therefore cared immensely about the game. And she was balls deep in Blue territory, but she held her own like a champ. Stef didn’t really care either way, but wore Blue for camouflage, and a place to wipe her run
Thursday, October 23, 2008
"Jocks only think about sports, nerds only think about sex."
OH HOW THE EXCITEMENT OF THE ROAD TRIP CONTINUED WITH OUR TWO CHEEKY HEROINES AND THEIR ENDLESS AMUSEMENT WITH SUGGESTIVELY TITLED GAS STATIONS AND AXE MURDER HOUSES…The Entire Reproduced Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show Done all in miniature….
OK, I can’t in good consciousness finish this narrative and move on to better and awesomer things without first apologizing to all nine of our readers for that brazen display of unabashed nerdiness that KP displayed earlier with all that StarTrek stuff. She has nerd Tourette’s or something and can’t help it and didn’t mean it and PLEASE DON’T TAKE AWAY ALL OF OUR STREET CRED JUST BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T TALK TO ME (stef) BEFORE POSTING THAT. We want you to feel safe with the guidance you receive here at T Shirt Size: Awesome, we want this to be a place that you feel like you can come for a good dose of non-nerd excellence and honest cultural direction, so please, it’s okay, you can come down off that chair you’ve jumped up on, shrieking uncontrollably and incoherently mumbling about “ijasoscared….ahhhh,” it’s okay. She didn’t mean it. Say you’re sorry for scaring the reader, KP.
So I guess back to the road trip, if we still have any readers or even one ounce of credibility left, we were leaving Kansas for Denver and that crazy mutant animal farm and on the wide open road to Colorado (where the beer flows like wine). Turns out, me and KP really liked Denver. Actually, Denver (with the one MAJOR exception of the Avalanche, yeah if you happened to be in Denver on Sept. 26 then that was me with the dark hair and empty beer screaming “fuck the av’s!” down whatever street we found that Oktoberfest on to your lame whines of “fuck Detroit”. Didn’t see Stanley anywhere in Denver, bitch, and I looked for him. Gee...) is an awesome town full of kindly (very kindly, eh KP?) folks who like beards, beer, and live music just as much as we do. But just for you Bubba, who found the word “brevity” in the Microsoft Word dictionary (along with sci0list and skulduggery), instead of recounting cleverly and adjectivally our experience and adventures, I’ll just make you a list and you readers can choose which ones you want to hear about, if any. I hope this is easy enough to read:
The Hostel that was very nice and only $16 per night
Rosario Dawson
Tattered Pages
Oktoberfest
Our Lovely New Pals at North Face (hi guys!)
KP’s Adventurous Side that she didn’t admit to until like a week ago (come on, leave this up)
Omaha
Axe Murder House
World’s Largest coffee pot, covered wagon, and time capsule
The craziest Gas Station Attendant Ever
That should be enough to get you started, just let me know.
If you ever find yourself in Iowa, I’ll just say, before you go right to trying to kill yourself by dressing in black and jumping in front of one of the magnitude of semi-trucks even though the black seems kind of pointless because it’s the middle of the day and everyone can totally see you anyway, just know this: We had a ton of fun in Iowa. There is a lot of kitschy Americana there that is the very fabric of the awesome road trip, and despite the common misconception about Iowa, KANSAS IS WAY WORSE. That axe murder house was so cool and the guy that gave us a tour will be a fixture in all of my short stories from now on, finding that plow in the oak tree was neat and even the people who changed my tire at Wal Mart were a little bit salt-of-the-earthier than normal. Iowa was cool, there, I said it.
OK, I can’t in good consciousness finish this narrative and move on to better and awesomer things without first apologizing to all nine of our readers for that brazen display of unabashed nerdiness that KP displayed earlier with all that StarTrek stuff. She has nerd Tourette’s or something and can’t help it and didn’t mean it and PLEASE DON’T TAKE AWAY ALL OF OUR STREET CRED JUST BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T TALK TO ME (stef) BEFORE POSTING THAT. We want you to feel safe with the guidance you receive here at T Shirt Size: Awesome, we want this to be a place that you feel like you can come for a good dose of non-nerd excellence and honest cultural direction, so please, it’s okay, you can come down off that chair you’ve jumped up on, shrieking uncontrollably and incoherently mumbling about “ijasoscared….ahhhh,” it’s okay. She didn’t mean it. Say you’re sorry for scaring the reader, KP.
So I guess back to the road trip, if we still have any readers or even one ounce of credibility left, we were leaving Kansas for Denver and that crazy mutant animal farm and on the wide open road to Colorado (where the beer flows like wine). Turns out, me and KP really liked Denver. Actually, Denver (with the one MAJOR exception of the Avalanche, yeah if you happened to be in Denver on Sept. 26 then that was me with the dark hair and empty beer screaming “fuck the av’s!” down whatever street we found that Oktoberfest on to your lame whines of “fuck Detroit”. Didn’t see Stanley anywhere in Denver, bitch, and I looked for him. Gee...) is an awesome town full of kindly (very kindly, eh KP?) folks who like beards, beer, and live music just as much as we do. But just for you Bubba, who found the word “brevity” in the Microsoft Word dictionary (along with sci0list and skulduggery), instead of recounting cleverly and adjectivally our experience and adventures, I’ll just make you a list and you readers can choose which ones you want to hear about, if any. I hope this is easy enough to read:
The Hostel that was very nice and only $16 per night
Rosario Dawson
Tattered Pages
Oktoberfest
Our Lovely New Pals at North Face (hi guys!)
KP’s Adventurous Side that she didn’t admit to until like a week ago (come on, leave this up)
Omaha
Axe Murder House
World’s Largest coffee pot, covered wagon, and time capsule
The craziest Gas Station Attendant Ever
That should be enough to get you started, just let me know.
If you ever find yourself in Iowa, I’ll just say, before you go right to trying to kill yourself by dressing in black and jumping in front of one of the magnitude of semi-trucks even though the black seems kind of pointless because it’s the middle of the day and everyone can totally see you anyway, just know this: We had a ton of fun in Iowa. There is a lot of kitschy Americana there that is the very fabric of the awesome road trip, and despite the common misconception about Iowa, KANSAS IS WAY WORSE. That axe murder house was so cool and the guy that gave us a tour will be a fixture in all of my short stories from now on, finding that plow in the oak tree was neat and even the people who changed my tire at Wal Mart were a little bit salt-of-the-earthier than normal. Iowa was cool, there, I said it.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
"I am a graduate of Starfleet Academy; I know many things."
Ok so I have to display my nerdiness in full force today because when I got to work this morning I saw something that made me so excited I peed my pants a little.
For everyone who knows me, I am a HUGE Nerd! HUGE!! My biggest Nerd achievement is my love of Star Trek. The new Star Trek movie comes out next summer but they just released a few photos of the cast and what not.
IT'S AMAZING!!
Now beware, if you are like me, you just might have to change your pants after seeing these pictures. Try to control yourself.
For everyone who knows me, I am a HUGE Nerd! HUGE!! My biggest Nerd achievement is my love of Star Trek. The new Star Trek movie comes out next summer but they just released a few photos of the cast and what not.
IT'S AMAZING!!
Now beware, if you are like me, you just might have to change your pants after seeing these pictures. Try to control yourself.
How extravagant you are, throwing away women like that. Some day they may be scarce
Ok this is the last of the wallowing in self pity that T-Shirt Size: Awesome will do about the loss of Kyle Quincey. For this to work, play the video below but replace the lyrics with the new ones that Stef wrote. Don't forget the Kleenex, it will bring a tear to your eye.
Goodbye, Kyle Quincey, goodbye (to the tune of “Take my Breath Away” by Berlin)
Watching every motion made here in this hockey game
Trying for the camera, void of any hint of shame
Ripping off your gloves, just to blacken some dude’s eye
Punching in slow motion as his chest cavity seems to say, oh Kyle,
Take my breath away.
When I heard you’re leaving I wasn’t expecting much
Figuring you’d stay, though you aren’t even Dutch
Didn’t have a chance to let you know just how I feel,
That day when you saw me, touched my arm and then you said, my love:
“I think you’re in my way,”
through your crowd of whores I saw you
somehow you slipped away
that douche from the Moose thought he caught you,
you turned to hear him say, ow ow ow ow hey!
That’s my trachea buddy! My solar plexus! Dammit! Arhhhhhhhh! Please stop!! Mercy!
Watching every minute of this stupid LA game
Now you’re not a Red Wing, probably you’re filled with shame
Watching on the line without a second of your face
As I change the channel, now I guess I’ll have to say
Jonathan Ericsson
Take my breath away
_______________________________________________
Seriously though, please come back to Grand Rapids, Kyle Quincy (PS: Is it Quincey? or Quincy?), I don’t think I can make it through another Griffs season without you. Rafalski can actually play, and Aaron Downey will be an ass-whooping pleasure to behold I’m sure, but it won’t be the same without you. Be careful of LA, Buddy, and if you ever date Paris Hilton, you will have ruined the entire sport of hockey, manhood, the holiness of the playoff beard, and the entire reputation of Canada. Come back and see me sometime! I’m a sure thing!
PS-if Sean Avery still played for the Kings your desertion would be one thing, but he doesn’t, and that’s a pretty big torch to carry, pal. Never do a GAP ad. Ever. In fact, if you ever see Sean Avery, you know, just hanging around with all his Versace model friends or whatever, clean his freekin clock on behalf of all that is or ever was bad-ass. Damn, I’m gonna miss you, Kyle.
Goodbye, Kyle Quincey, goodbye (to the tune of “Take my Breath Away” by Berlin)
Watching every motion made here in this hockey game
Trying for the camera, void of any hint of shame
Ripping off your gloves, just to blacken some dude’s eye
Punching in slow motion as his chest cavity seems to say, oh Kyle,
Take my breath away.
When I heard you’re leaving I wasn’t expecting much
Figuring you’d stay, though you aren’t even Dutch
Didn’t have a chance to let you know just how I feel,
That day when you saw me, touched my arm and then you said, my love:
“I think you’re in my way,”
through your crowd of whores I saw you
somehow you slipped away
that douche from the Moose thought he caught you,
you turned to hear him say, ow ow ow ow hey!
That’s my trachea buddy! My solar plexus! Dammit! Arhhhhhhhh! Please stop!! Mercy!
Watching every minute of this stupid LA game
Now you’re not a Red Wing, probably you’re filled with shame
Watching on the line without a second of your face
As I change the channel, now I guess I’ll have to say
Jonathan Ericsson
Take my breath away
_______________________________________________
Seriously though, please come back to Grand Rapids, Kyle Quincy (PS: Is it Quincey? or Quincy?), I don’t think I can make it through another Griffs season without you. Rafalski can actually play, and Aaron Downey will be an ass-whooping pleasure to behold I’m sure, but it won’t be the same without you. Be careful of LA, Buddy, and if you ever date Paris Hilton, you will have ruined the entire sport of hockey, manhood, the holiness of the playoff beard, and the entire reputation of Canada. Come back and see me sometime! I’m a sure thing!
PS-if Sean Avery still played for the Kings your desertion would be one thing, but he doesn’t, and that’s a pretty big torch to carry, pal. Never do a GAP ad. Ever. In fact, if you ever see Sean Avery, you know, just hanging around with all his Versace model friends or whatever, clean his freekin clock on behalf of all that is or ever was bad-ass. Damn, I’m gonna miss you, Kyle.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Ah, sweet pity. Where would my love life be without it?
Newsflash: Kyle Quincy will no longer be playing for a Michigan team. He has been picked up by the LA Kings. Let's all take a moment and reflect on our feelings...
Monday, October 13, 2008
Alright you Primitive Screwheads, listen up! You see this? This... is my boomstick!
"Alright you Primitive Screwheads, listen up! You see this? This... is my boomstick! The twelve-gauge double-barreled Remington. S-Mart's top of the line. You can find this in the sporting goods department. That's right, this sweet baby was made in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Retails for about a hundred and nine, ninety five. It's got a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel, and a hair trigger. That's right. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart. You got that?"
HEY YA STINKIN’ BUMS!! ROCKTOBER UPDATE:
So this month has been no less than awesome so far. Kim (the girl, the legend, the high priestess of Detroit sports and angel of death to all smartassy clowns) and Rick (the man, the legend also, this is some Clash of the Titans shit, we on fiiiire!) got married on Saturday before a beautiful autumn backdrop, adorable and touching ceremony, and supremely fun reception. What is it about hearing a blushing bride, shimmering in her bright white gown with radiance and love, screaming “THAT’S RIGHT, BITCH! WHAT!” when the Wings win? Really brings a tear to my eye, I love you guys.
Also, we rocked out at Pulaski Days, Rocked out elsewhere, and rocked out when Sammy and our new friend Justinn played “Space Oddity” really good the other night at Schuler Books. Oh yeah, and our neighbor downstairs TOTALLY RULES (HI AUSTIN!!!) and KP ate fire, but I was too scared to put it in my mouth so I just touched it with my hand. AUSTIN YOU TOTALLY ROCK! So here’s what’s up for the next couple of weeks:
October 14, 2008 8pm
What: The Thing
Where: Wealthy Street Theatre
Cost: $3.50
Why: I think this will be tons of fun and who doesn't want to see Kurt Russell circa 1982 showing some baddy who's boss?? I rest my case.
Saturday Oct. 18- Electric 6 at the Intersection. Detroit rock hilarity. This ought to be fun
Friday Oct. 24- GWAR at the Orbit Room. I better see you all there!!! God What Awful Racket? Gay Women Against Rape? Who knows what it stands for, but this is guaranteed to be Rocktober-licious. Ladies: plain white tee shirt, no bra. Got that? I will see you all there. If you don’t know Gwar, quit sucking, and let us know if you need a ride. Seriously? Quit sucking though.
Saturday Oct. 25- UM/MSU, we’ll be in Ann Arbor that day trying to break up fights. If you want a ride, we’re leaving at the crack of ass. Thank you, Kipp. First ones there means first ones passed out, right? Then it’s back to Grand Rapids for the Griffins home opener, which you all should be at as well. Dude, Aaron Downey will be playing Griff games this year, and he’s a murderer. Like an axe murderer complete with frilly cuffs and tattered stovepipe hat. Creepy, but I totally love him and wouldn’t let that stop me from touching his pantleg inappropriately at a dinner party in front of his parents.
JURASSIC FIGHT CLUB on the History Channel. I’ve only heard about this, but it really does sound like the coolest show ever made ever and I’ll be whoring myself to anyone with cable just to see it. Premise: computer-generated dinosaurs (from antiquity) fight each other, just to see who would win. AWESOME! DINO FIGHT! I have my money on the aeliosuaur! That’s the whole show, seriously. Watch it.
DARK FLOORS- is the worst/best horror movie of the year, hands down. It has LORDI in it, for chrissakes. Lordi movie = awesome. Anything with LORDI in it is awesome. Especially if there is a haunted hospital, and creepy-ass kid who just wants “the red crayon”. Get this movie, please.
HEY YA STINKIN’ BUMS!! ROCKTOBER UPDATE:
So this month has been no less than awesome so far. Kim (the girl, the legend, the high priestess of Detroit sports and angel of death to all smartassy clowns) and Rick (the man, the legend also, this is some Clash of the Titans shit, we on fiiiire!) got married on Saturday before a beautiful autumn backdrop, adorable and touching ceremony, and supremely fun reception. What is it about hearing a blushing bride, shimmering in her bright white gown with radiance and love, screaming “THAT’S RIGHT, BITCH! WHAT!” when the Wings win? Really brings a tear to my eye, I love you guys.
Also, we rocked out at Pulaski Days, Rocked out elsewhere, and rocked out when Sammy and our new friend Justinn played “Space Oddity” really good the other night at Schuler Books. Oh yeah, and our neighbor downstairs TOTALLY RULES (HI AUSTIN!!!) and KP ate fire, but I was too scared to put it in my mouth so I just touched it with my hand. AUSTIN YOU TOTALLY ROCK! So here’s what’s up for the next couple of weeks:
October 14, 2008 8pm
What: The Thing
Where: Wealthy Street Theatre
Cost: $3.50
Why: I think this will be tons of fun and who doesn't want to see Kurt Russell circa 1982 showing some baddy who's boss?? I rest my case.
Saturday Oct. 18- Electric 6 at the Intersection. Detroit rock hilarity. This ought to be fun
Friday Oct. 24- GWAR at the Orbit Room. I better see you all there!!! God What Awful Racket? Gay Women Against Rape? Who knows what it stands for, but this is guaranteed to be Rocktober-licious. Ladies: plain white tee shirt, no bra. Got that? I will see you all there. If you don’t know Gwar, quit sucking, and let us know if you need a ride. Seriously? Quit sucking though.
Saturday Oct. 25- UM/MSU, we’ll be in Ann Arbor that day trying to break up fights. If you want a ride, we’re leaving at the crack of ass. Thank you, Kipp. First ones there means first ones passed out, right? Then it’s back to Grand Rapids for the Griffins home opener, which you all should be at as well. Dude, Aaron Downey will be playing Griff games this year, and he’s a murderer. Like an axe murderer complete with frilly cuffs and tattered stovepipe hat. Creepy, but I totally love him and wouldn’t let that stop me from touching his pantleg inappropriately at a dinner party in front of his parents.
JURASSIC FIGHT CLUB on the History Channel. I’ve only heard about this, but it really does sound like the coolest show ever made ever and I’ll be whoring myself to anyone with cable just to see it. Premise: computer-generated dinosaurs (from antiquity) fight each other, just to see who would win. AWESOME! DINO FIGHT! I have my money on the aeliosuaur! That’s the whole show, seriously. Watch it.
DARK FLOORS- is the worst/best horror movie of the year, hands down. It has LORDI in it, for chrissakes. Lordi movie = awesome. Anything with LORDI in it is awesome. Especially if there is a haunted hospital, and creepy-ass kid who just wants “the red crayon”. Get this movie, please.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I went to a fight the other night and a hockey game broke out.
I must disrupt the recounting of Me and KP across America, something far more gravitational has just come to my attention. Ladies? You might want to take a seat for this one.
The Wings are looking to trade Kyle Quincey. I may have a hard time getting through the rest of this…*weep* post.
A few words (sung to the tune of Cracklin’ Rosie):
Kyle Quincy got on board
Makin’ a ride of the AHL
You know, taking it slow
He wanted to go,
Punch a few jaws like a poor man’s Maltby
His *sorry his mom might read this *is called the Twilight Train
He got that name from a girl who wasn’t wrong
She threw him her thong
And then hit the bong
Having a time with the Detroit Red Wings, too
Oh I love my buddy Kyle
Him punching faces makes me happy
He and Wings they go in style
Kyle my boy, you’re a store-bought player
But you rock more than Pantera or Slayer
So hang on to us cause your contracts’ running out!
Play now,
Play now,
Play now, my baby
Kyle Quincey make me smile
And if it don’t last for an hour,
Than that’s alright, I’ll wait all night
in your bushes, right
long as you don’t mind that the camera’s filming, yeah!
Oh I’ll miss my buddy Kyle
Him punching grannies makes me happy
Even for a little while
Kyle my boy they don’t need more defensemen
But you can come with me and stay in my basement
And wait for Brett Lebda’s contract to run out!
Play now,
Play now,
Play now, my baby
Kyle Quincey makes me smile
If he’d just give me three minutes
That’s all I’d need, down on my knees
He’d be saying “please
Seriously can you let me out of these handcuffs?”
Ba baba baba…ba babababa ba bababa ba baba ba….baba ba
Please consider, Dave Lewis and Mike Illich, keep Quincey and trade one of those other defense guys like Rafalski or that one other guy that used to play for the Griffins, he’d probably get you a better trade, and Kyle Quincey owes me one. He does. Skating around here with his army of whores like he owns the place, touching my arm that one time and never making good on it, who does he think he is, anyway? He needs to stay in Grand Rapids so his head doesn’t get too much bigger than it already is, he can learn under the careful tutelage of Chelios and Maltby, and maybe next time when they win the Stanley Cup he can have actually contributed to winning it when he chugs beer out of it. Plus, I’m in love with him. Oh, Kyle, don’t stray too far…
And when wind whips through the hole where what giant D-bag Assistant Captain for the Manitoba Moose’s upper bicuspid used to be, the wind will whisper…Kyle.
The Wings are looking to trade Kyle Quincey. I may have a hard time getting through the rest of this…*weep* post.
A few words (sung to the tune of Cracklin’ Rosie):
Kyle Quincy got on board
Makin’ a ride of the AHL
You know, taking it slow
He wanted to go,
Punch a few jaws like a poor man’s Maltby
His *sorry his mom might read this *is called the Twilight Train
He got that name from a girl who wasn’t wrong
She threw him her thong
And then hit the bong
Having a time with the Detroit Red Wings, too
Oh I love my buddy Kyle
Him punching faces makes me happy
He and Wings they go in style
Kyle my boy, you’re a store-bought player
But you rock more than Pantera or Slayer
So hang on to us cause your contracts’ running out!
Play now,
Play now,
Play now, my baby
Kyle Quincey make me smile
And if it don’t last for an hour,
Than that’s alright, I’ll wait all night
in your bushes, right
long as you don’t mind that the camera’s filming, yeah!
Oh I’ll miss my buddy Kyle
Him punching grannies makes me happy
Even for a little while
Kyle my boy they don’t need more defensemen
But you can come with me and stay in my basement
And wait for Brett Lebda’s contract to run out!
Play now,
Play now,
Play now, my baby
Kyle Quincey makes me smile
If he’d just give me three minutes
That’s all I’d need, down on my knees
He’d be saying “please
Seriously can you let me out of these handcuffs?”
Ba baba baba…ba babababa ba bababa ba baba ba….baba ba
Please consider, Dave Lewis and Mike Illich, keep Quincey and trade one of those other defense guys like Rafalski or that one other guy that used to play for the Griffins, he’d probably get you a better trade, and Kyle Quincey owes me one. He does. Skating around here with his army of whores like he owns the place, touching my arm that one time and never making good on it, who does he think he is, anyway? He needs to stay in Grand Rapids so his head doesn’t get too much bigger than it already is, he can learn under the careful tutelage of Chelios and Maltby, and maybe next time when they win the Stanley Cup he can have actually contributed to winning it when he chugs beer out of it. Plus, I’m in love with him. Oh, Kyle, don’t stray too far…
And when wind whips through the hole where what giant D-bag Assistant Captain for the Manitoba Moose’s upper bicuspid used to be, the wind will whisper…Kyle.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Hey Bandit! This is Little Beaver... Put your foot to the floor, we got your backdoor and I'm clear!
KP AND STEF ACROSS AMERICA! ACTION! ADVENTURE! AX MURDERERS, BEARDS AND MANY-APPENDAGED FARM ANIMALS
T SHIRT SIZE: AWESOME GOES NATION WIDE!*
Brief synopsis (you can skip if you like):
Our original plan was Munich, Germany for this week, to be present and show some freakin’ respect to our Bavarian brothers during Oktoberfest, but, as you can tell from my use of the word ‘original’, it didn’t happen like that. So we set our sights on Austin, TX for my rock n’ roll boyfriend Jack White and the Austin City Limits festival, and then Texas went all underwater and stuff and was in the newspaper (some people lost all their sporting equipment! How awful! Can you even imagine? All your hai lai and boxing equipment, lawn darts and poker chips, gone! I know, right?), now we’re on the fence. LP is KP’s kid sister and she got a job in the famous hub for the wild wild west, Dodge City Kansas so she enlists KP and me to help her move. To Kansas…to Kansas…ROAD TRIP!
*and if you’re wondering if we bought a keytar,
yes, yes we did.
Day 1 and 2: St. Louis, MO
So there we are at 3:30 am, pulling into the Comfort Inn (or wherever) after a very long, marathon hike from Kalamazoo to St. Louis that we didn’t even get started on until 8pm Michigan time. The GPS malfunctioned a little, and there were three of us in two cars. A scary wrong turn, KP seeing ghosts of blonde haired women, some police calling, then some more wrong turns. Much shit talking and searching the airwaves for name stations (ie: Max, Bob, Dan, Jack, etc.) was done on the phone to keep us focused. We made it. Thank you, Red Bull, corns, and Camel Lights.
Here’s what you need to know about St. Louis, MO. There is a GIANT beer factory there. I mean giant like it has it’s own gravitational pull, giant. You can take a tour where they brag about how delicious their not-so-delicious beer is, and then when it’s done you can sample the beer to see how not-so-delicious it is for real.
P.S: those horses have enormous balls, this portion of the tour is not for the faint of heart. Seriously? Those balls are huge and I bet they do that on purpose to emasculate all the sissy Coors drinkers. Big babies.
We saw the arch at night, Stef argued over whether that river was the Missouri River, the Mississippi River or the Nile, we had some not-so-delicious-but-well-deserved beer at a sweet oyster bar where there was a guy that looked like Dwight Yokam (Actually he looked more like the naked cowboy in NYC but Stef had no idea what I was talking about when I said that) and played the steel guitar and we were the only people in the joint. That is all you need to know about St. Louis, MO. We saw a magical used bookstore too, which was nice. Not a lot to pump your fist about in St. Louis, MO.
Day 3: Kansas Bound
Nine freaking hours in the car, which was pretty alright until we passed Wichita. Then I wanted to kill myself. Here’s my impression of Kansas after you get off of I-80 en route to the famous Dodge City. Ready? It’s like this:
there is absolutely nothing in Kansas and no reason to go there ever for any reason unless you either are really into masochism and hate yourself, or if you’re brave (and bored, Kansas means a level of boredom that I’ve never even experienced before, I was hoping for a tornado just for something to do to see if KP’s evacuation plan works) enough to visit Lisa and bring her a chocolate strawberry and some corns. She’d really like that. If you’ve just been drafted to the Kansas City Chiefs, consider being traded immediately to somewhere better geographically, like the New Orleans Saints or the Denver Broncos. More on Denver later. If it is your “career” you need to worry about, consider the New Orleans Saints, or the Denver Broncos. Do not consider the Detroit Lions, even if the only other option for you is the Chiefs. If this is in fact the case, consider a career change. I hear ex-football guys do quite well in used car sales or personal securities.
So we made it to Dodge City. Finally. The setting sun provided a breathtaking background to the meat-packing plants and kill yards that modern-day Dodge is known for. All this talk about meat-packing is getting me a little riled up and we’re in the famous gateway to the west, home of Gunsmoke, Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Big Nose Katie the soiled dove (apparently, according to her plaque),
so let’s see some freaking cowboys! Right? We were boot-pulling, calf-wrassling, move-along-doggie, dude-ranch, licking BBQ sauce off of our fingers ready to hog-tie this town for what it was worth. I wanted to meet Sam Elliot. KP wanted Peter Fonda. I wanted to see Front Street and lose a poker game to a stranger with a curly moustache and whiskey breath, aces up his sleeves and the business end of a Smith & Wesson Peacemaker. Here’s my impression of Front Street:
Talk about a bowel-dropping letdown. A shattering, really. It wasn’t that there was nothing going on (even though there was nothing going on, despite it being Friday night and a small town smack-ass three-hours to anywhere middle of nowhere, shit, if it was my job to be at a slaughter house with a chainsaw, knee-deep in cow stomachs for 18 hours a day in a place like Dodge, all I’d want to do is self-medicate), there was just nothing there. Nothing. No cool old-timey (and pivotal to the growth and formation of this country, mind you) general stores and saloons, no wild sharp-shooter sheriffs fingering their pistols, no cowboys. Nothing. There was a statue of a giant bull and a wax museum that was closed. That was it.
While me and KP attempted to form choppy sentences around our slack jaws and wha? Wha?’s our surprisingly well-versed and knowledgeable tour guide (ps- Kristen and Ryan, while our impression of the city is less than sterling, you guys were great. Thanks for the spaghetti!) explained that during the seventies (as if Dodge had anything going for it even back then) the city tore down all that history because the buildings were “old”. Duh. Drive to Wichita and go to the local Barnes & Noble and find a dictionary (they are in reference, by the way, under the sub-heading of “dictionaries”) and look up the word “HISTORY” (hiss-tor-ee) and see what it says. Shit, use the Oxford or the Webster’s College, or even the Webster’s for kids. I guarantee the word “old” will be in every description.
Why the hell would you guys tear down a great piece of American history just to build a downtown equivalent of a strip mall full of dry-cleaners and un-busy Chinese restaurants? Come on! This is Gunsmoke for chrissakes! Own that shit! Dodge City, in addition to having the two largest meat-packing plants in the country, boasts also a summer full of giant rodeos and Frontier Days. Where the hell is all that cool stuff? Imagine: a young goat roper new to the circuit, no older than 18, thumbs hooked casually in his Wrangler’s, fresh from FriedChickensdale, Oklahoma or something, living out his life-long dreams of being a rodeo star and arriving all starry-eyed to the famous Dodge City only to see, well, this:
How I weep for the little guy, I really do.
Back to the action: me and KP sitting in the back seat of Kristen’s car wiping tears of epic disappointment out of our eyes and struggling to come to terms with the fact that, along with the wild wild west, the macho man is but a relic of better times. This means bar time. For real. Here’s how all that went, we arrive back at Lisa’s new pad and they decide that they don’t know where any bars are and don’t know any cowboys and don’t trust the Mexicans or something, so we’ll just drink at home. I’m already crushed with fatigue and disappointment to the point of submission, and KP is road-weary from nine hours of eyeball-bleeding boredom but trying to hide her anguish for Lisa’s sake, so we give in. We know how to get a party started, it’s me and KP, right? Me and Ryan get in the car (nine PM, mind you, not late at all) to track down some margaritas, only to find that Wal Mart sells no booze, had no mixers, and no liquor stores were open past eight. So sorry for bailing like we did, Lisa, but we were out of there by six am. Verdict?
D O D G E C I T Y S U C K S.
KP pontificates:
Words on Kansas (written on our way the hell out of Dodge):
*sighs * alright, Kansas.
little towns in the middle of nowhere?
that’s just how it is.
(shakes her head in disgust)
Witchita to Dodge City,
started to get excited.
Front street.
This is front street.
My heart hit
the floor.
All the Gunsmoke, all the Wyatt Earp,
red pink sunset over the milo,
Did you see that cow?
It’s leg, is just
flopping there.
It is so sad.
But after three hours of dawn over the prairie and a highway that doesn’t curve and no coffee or decent radio stations and a mood that could be best described as “cranky”, we did find one of those sweet road-side stops with a sign for “five-legged cow”. You know we had to stop. We actually waited for the place to open, paid the man six dollars and it was worth every penny. If you find yourself ever on I 80 in the middle of Kansas en route to Colorado, do yourself a favor and visit this roadside haven of bizarre, macabre, and weird. That guy was visibly crazy.
Here is a (bulleted) list of things that we saw at this particular trap:
Raccoons
Foxes
A box of giant, real live rattlesnakes, kept indoors
A two-headed calf, dead
A five legged cow, alive
A SIX legged cow, alive
The worlds largest prairie dog, plaster
The worlds cutest piggies, alive
Exotic chickens
Peacock
Buffalo
Wart-hog pig tusk thing, gross
Jackalope, dead
Coffee cup shaped like a lady’s jubbly
Widdle goaties and birdies
Two truckers from Jersey who were about as weirded out as we were
KP wasn’t afraid of the gigantic, sticky black cow tongue as I was, and she was way more into feeding the little goats and piggies and things, but she’s just cool like that and I’m a little nervous around animal mouths. But we made it, we hit the Colorado state line only a short time later, headed for adventure, mystery, the hottest server ever, and Oktoberfest. More to come when KP and Stef hit DENVER. Never go to Dodge City on purpose, please.
T SHIRT SIZE: AWESOME GOES NATION WIDE!*
Brief synopsis (you can skip if you like):
Our original plan was Munich, Germany for this week, to be present and show some freakin’ respect to our Bavarian brothers during Oktoberfest, but, as you can tell from my use of the word ‘original’, it didn’t happen like that. So we set our sights on Austin, TX for my rock n’ roll boyfriend Jack White and the Austin City Limits festival, and then Texas went all underwater and stuff and was in the newspaper (some people lost all their sporting equipment! How awful! Can you even imagine? All your hai lai and boxing equipment, lawn darts and poker chips, gone! I know, right?), now we’re on the fence. LP is KP’s kid sister and she got a job in the famous hub for the wild wild west, Dodge City Kansas so she enlists KP and me to help her move. To Kansas…to Kansas…ROAD TRIP!
*and if you’re wondering if we bought a keytar,
yes, yes we did.
Day 1 and 2: St. Louis, MO
So there we are at 3:30 am, pulling into the Comfort Inn (or wherever) after a very long, marathon hike from Kalamazoo to St. Louis that we didn’t even get started on until 8pm Michigan time. The GPS malfunctioned a little, and there were three of us in two cars. A scary wrong turn, KP seeing ghosts of blonde haired women, some police calling, then some more wrong turns. Much shit talking and searching the airwaves for name stations (ie: Max, Bob, Dan, Jack, etc.) was done on the phone to keep us focused. We made it. Thank you, Red Bull, corns, and Camel Lights.
Here’s what you need to know about St. Louis, MO. There is a GIANT beer factory there. I mean giant like it has it’s own gravitational pull, giant. You can take a tour where they brag about how delicious their not-so-delicious beer is, and then when it’s done you can sample the beer to see how not-so-delicious it is for real.
P.S: those horses have enormous balls, this portion of the tour is not for the faint of heart. Seriously? Those balls are huge and I bet they do that on purpose to emasculate all the sissy Coors drinkers. Big babies.
We saw the arch at night, Stef argued over whether that river was the Missouri River, the Mississippi River or the Nile, we had some not-so-delicious-but-well-deserved beer at a sweet oyster bar where there was a guy that looked like Dwight Yokam (Actually he looked more like the naked cowboy in NYC but Stef had no idea what I was talking about when I said that) and played the steel guitar and we were the only people in the joint. That is all you need to know about St. Louis, MO. We saw a magical used bookstore too, which was nice. Not a lot to pump your fist about in St. Louis, MO.
Day 3: Kansas Bound
Nine freaking hours in the car, which was pretty alright until we passed Wichita. Then I wanted to kill myself. Here’s my impression of Kansas after you get off of I-80 en route to the famous Dodge City. Ready? It’s like this:
there is absolutely nothing in Kansas and no reason to go there ever for any reason unless you either are really into masochism and hate yourself, or if you’re brave (and bored, Kansas means a level of boredom that I’ve never even experienced before, I was hoping for a tornado just for something to do to see if KP’s evacuation plan works) enough to visit Lisa and bring her a chocolate strawberry and some corns. She’d really like that. If you’ve just been drafted to the Kansas City Chiefs, consider being traded immediately to somewhere better geographically, like the New Orleans Saints or the Denver Broncos. More on Denver later. If it is your “career” you need to worry about, consider the New Orleans Saints, or the Denver Broncos. Do not consider the Detroit Lions, even if the only other option for you is the Chiefs. If this is in fact the case, consider a career change. I hear ex-football guys do quite well in used car sales or personal securities.
So we made it to Dodge City. Finally. The setting sun provided a breathtaking background to the meat-packing plants and kill yards that modern-day Dodge is known for. All this talk about meat-packing is getting me a little riled up and we’re in the famous gateway to the west, home of Gunsmoke, Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Big Nose Katie the soiled dove (apparently, according to her plaque),
so let’s see some freaking cowboys! Right? We were boot-pulling, calf-wrassling, move-along-doggie, dude-ranch, licking BBQ sauce off of our fingers ready to hog-tie this town for what it was worth. I wanted to meet Sam Elliot. KP wanted Peter Fonda. I wanted to see Front Street and lose a poker game to a stranger with a curly moustache and whiskey breath, aces up his sleeves and the business end of a Smith & Wesson Peacemaker. Here’s my impression of Front Street:
Talk about a bowel-dropping letdown. A shattering, really. It wasn’t that there was nothing going on (even though there was nothing going on, despite it being Friday night and a small town smack-ass three-hours to anywhere middle of nowhere, shit, if it was my job to be at a slaughter house with a chainsaw, knee-deep in cow stomachs for 18 hours a day in a place like Dodge, all I’d want to do is self-medicate), there was just nothing there. Nothing. No cool old-timey (and pivotal to the growth and formation of this country, mind you) general stores and saloons, no wild sharp-shooter sheriffs fingering their pistols, no cowboys. Nothing. There was a statue of a giant bull and a wax museum that was closed. That was it.
While me and KP attempted to form choppy sentences around our slack jaws and wha? Wha?’s our surprisingly well-versed and knowledgeable tour guide (ps- Kristen and Ryan, while our impression of the city is less than sterling, you guys were great. Thanks for the spaghetti!) explained that during the seventies (as if Dodge had anything going for it even back then) the city tore down all that history because the buildings were “old”. Duh. Drive to Wichita and go to the local Barnes & Noble and find a dictionary (they are in reference, by the way, under the sub-heading of “dictionaries”) and look up the word “HISTORY” (hiss-tor-ee) and see what it says. Shit, use the Oxford or the Webster’s College, or even the Webster’s for kids. I guarantee the word “old” will be in every description.
Why the hell would you guys tear down a great piece of American history just to build a downtown equivalent of a strip mall full of dry-cleaners and un-busy Chinese restaurants? Come on! This is Gunsmoke for chrissakes! Own that shit! Dodge City, in addition to having the two largest meat-packing plants in the country, boasts also a summer full of giant rodeos and Frontier Days. Where the hell is all that cool stuff? Imagine: a young goat roper new to the circuit, no older than 18, thumbs hooked casually in his Wrangler’s, fresh from FriedChickensdale, Oklahoma or something, living out his life-long dreams of being a rodeo star and arriving all starry-eyed to the famous Dodge City only to see, well, this:
How I weep for the little guy, I really do.
Back to the action: me and KP sitting in the back seat of Kristen’s car wiping tears of epic disappointment out of our eyes and struggling to come to terms with the fact that, along with the wild wild west, the macho man is but a relic of better times. This means bar time. For real. Here’s how all that went, we arrive back at Lisa’s new pad and they decide that they don’t know where any bars are and don’t know any cowboys and don’t trust the Mexicans or something, so we’ll just drink at home. I’m already crushed with fatigue and disappointment to the point of submission, and KP is road-weary from nine hours of eyeball-bleeding boredom but trying to hide her anguish for Lisa’s sake, so we give in. We know how to get a party started, it’s me and KP, right? Me and Ryan get in the car (nine PM, mind you, not late at all) to track down some margaritas, only to find that Wal Mart sells no booze, had no mixers, and no liquor stores were open past eight. So sorry for bailing like we did, Lisa, but we were out of there by six am. Verdict?
D O D G E C I T Y S U C K S.
KP pontificates:
Words on Kansas (written on our way the hell out of Dodge):
*sighs * alright, Kansas.
little towns in the middle of nowhere?
that’s just how it is.
(shakes her head in disgust)
Witchita to Dodge City,
started to get excited.
Front street.
This is front street.
My heart hit
the floor.
All the Gunsmoke, all the Wyatt Earp,
red pink sunset over the milo,
Did you see that cow?
It’s leg, is just
flopping there.
It is so sad.
But after three hours of dawn over the prairie and a highway that doesn’t curve and no coffee or decent radio stations and a mood that could be best described as “cranky”, we did find one of those sweet road-side stops with a sign for “five-legged cow”. You know we had to stop. We actually waited for the place to open, paid the man six dollars and it was worth every penny. If you find yourself ever on I 80 in the middle of Kansas en route to Colorado, do yourself a favor and visit this roadside haven of bizarre, macabre, and weird. That guy was visibly crazy.
Here is a (bulleted) list of things that we saw at this particular trap:
Raccoons
Foxes
A box of giant, real live rattlesnakes, kept indoors
A two-headed calf, dead
A five legged cow, alive
A SIX legged cow, alive
The worlds largest prairie dog, plaster
The worlds cutest piggies, alive
Exotic chickens
Peacock
Buffalo
Wart-hog pig tusk thing, gross
Jackalope, dead
Coffee cup shaped like a lady’s jubbly
Widdle goaties and birdies
Two truckers from Jersey who were about as weirded out as we were
KP wasn’t afraid of the gigantic, sticky black cow tongue as I was, and she was way more into feeding the little goats and piggies and things, but she’s just cool like that and I’m a little nervous around animal mouths. But we made it, we hit the Colorado state line only a short time later, headed for adventure, mystery, the hottest server ever, and Oktoberfest. More to come when KP and Stef hit DENVER. Never go to Dodge City on purpose, please.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Mad Libs: I ________ (noun), will ________ (verb) everyday at the gym for at least ________ (number) minutes
Pulaski Days begin today!! It lasts all weekend so we better see you there! Here is just a basic breakdown of the events.
Friday: Check out all the halls on the West side. They will all be having live music and Polish Dinners. Yummy! Then stick around for some beer and some good old fashioned drunkeness.
Saturday: If you're up early enough you can make it to the parade at 11 am. Its on Michigan between College and Diamond. Then repeat steps taken on Friday night.
If you need a place to go, we will let you know what halls or whatever and you can crash it.
PS: Mad Libs are way fun!! Stef and I enjoyed choosing inappropriate words whilst on our road trip last week. Here's a taste!
.JPG)
Friday: Check out all the halls on the West side. They will all be having live music and Polish Dinners. Yummy! Then stick around for some beer and some good old fashioned drunkeness.
Saturday: If you're up early enough you can make it to the parade at 11 am. Its on Michigan between College and Diamond. Then repeat steps taken on Friday night.
If you need a place to go, we will let you know what halls or whatever and you can crash it.
PS: Mad Libs are way fun!! Stef and I enjoyed choosing inappropriate words whilst on our road trip last week. Here's a taste!
.JPG)
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