3 Men Mountainbiking

i fucking love mountainbiking. yesterday i mentioned it briefly but holy shit it was awesome. i was 20 minutes outside of philly with some bros and we fuckin attacked these trails. it was a strenuous mountain path; lots of winding uphill, followed immediately by rock-laden downhill. and when i say rock-laden, i mean there's huge fucking stones in the ground you have to navigate while trying not to steer into trees at 20 mph. Plus it was muddy. and freezing. and we had collectively eaten some 7 or 8 cheesesteaks the night before that created an entirely new challenge. but holy shit my friends it was awesome. successfully going through a patch of boulders and slick mud is intense, unlike hiking which becomes slow and tedious. mountainbiking is like riding a wild stallion that knows every inch of the forest, but really the stallion is you, and it's an incredible adventure. why the fuck don't more people do this? i really can't think of a more interesting form of exercise other than sea-kayaking, hang-gliding, or, you know, sexy times. does anyone want to go mountainbiking? i'd also like to arrange a game of ultimate frisbee. still waiting to hear back about that one.

HEY MAMA YAHHH

HOLY FUCK america i just ate like 4 cheese steaks in the past 24 hours, then took like 12 bong rips, then fucking partied righteously in your face, and then to top it off went mountain biking on fucking mountains like i hadn't been fucking shwasted only hours earlier. Mostly i blame my friend greg spatzles for these transgressions, but fuck it felt so real. like the real thing. if i was any more hard i'd be this guy.

Julia is 7 minutes late for Jazzercise!

By Guest Columnist Samantha Wishkillsy

Look at this. She just leaves these clothes where she drops them. Now where did she, JULIA?! COME AWN! Ugh, now Peppy and Squawkey want food. JULIA, CAN YOU FEED THE BIRDS? BRING THE BIRD FOOD DOWN? CAN YOU BRING THE BIRD FOOD DOWN? FROM UPSTAIRS. THE UPSTAIRS PANTRY. IT'S IN, IT'S IN THE UPSTAIRS, Oh, I'll go get it myself, COME AWN WE'RE AWREADY LATE!

Ms. Nipperson, she's Julia's instructor at the Jazzercise clinic. We been goin there for two years. JULIE? JU-LAYY. Now the birds are flippin' out, Jesus Christ JULIA WHERE'SAT BIRD FOOD AT? I'm having heart palpations.

Hold on, okay, cup a cawfee. I got time for one cup, we're late anyways. Ms. Nipples can just wait. Ugh, with that squawking. Why did we get these birds? They hate each other. Oh and now the cat's in the living room perfect. BEBE, OFFA THAT, GET OFF. I'm tellin ya'.

This picture is of Julia when she led the marching band. Look she was so chubby there. Ugh and all sweating in that white suit my gawd. I'm relaxed now, it's like we're awready late so what's the rush? If she's gonna learn, if she's not gonna know when to show up, when she has to be there, then I don't what. What she learned. Unbelievable.

JULIA.

My therapist says I need to stop yelling so much. Says I'm damaging my noyves. Imagine that. When Julia won first place at Mathletes I screamed so hard I got a blood clot in my throat. They had to go in there with a hacksaw to get it out, I'm tellin' ya it was this big. It's really just been me and Julia since Michael left back in two thousand.

THAT'S IT, I'M WARMIN' UP THE CAR. IF YOU'RE NOT DOWN HERE IN 30 SECONDS I'M JAZZUHSIZIN' WITOUT YEHS. YOU CAN JAZZ TAP YOUR WAY DOWN TO THE ORPHANAGE, FORGET ABOUT THE IGUANA THIS CHRISTMAS, I'M SERIOUS. Huh!


Samantha Wishkillsy is a stay-at-home mom and teacher's aid in King of Prussia, PA.

Goodbye Horses

Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.

Holy Shit I sometimes want to be out of my fucking mind. I think this is the calling card of the true artist. To be slightly to seriously insane. To have some part of you detached from what we acknowledge to be the normal functioning human society. And then you can go and stand on that madness peninsula, and look back at all the normal stuff, and then try to relate to it in ways that produce artistic specimens. I really think I am painfully normal when it all comes down to it, and that most of the perceived insanity comes from heavy self-medication and me realizing I should be crazier. I think all art is tinged with madness. Even the symmetrical banality of lame architecture is born of some crazy inner vision the architect shat out of his brain. This kinda plays into my whole anti-math/chaos theory, because even though you can find the presence of math in virtually every work of art known to man, the real standout qualities in most of that shit comes from a completely different territory in which math pisses its pants and logic vomits profusely. I think I would benefit from being hyper-schizophrenic for a day. At least long enough to write a really good paragraph about it. Nothing too inspiring ever came from Bob in accounting. I like waking up and not knowing what happens next. Does this mean I'm on my way to being an artist? Will I ever feel comfortable calling myself an artist? Is this even a worthy pursuit? Is anything? Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.

home frendz

right now i live in philadelphia. it's hilarious. but sometimes i go back home to scenic long island. the past few times have been quite fruitful for their hangings-outs and general tomfoolery that takes place when i reconnect with my high school friends who have mostly remained a tightly-bound network of bros and duders for some odd years roundabouts. this thanksgiving was exactly the sort of shit-show i'd hoped it would be, featuring a fully-fleshed-out cast of supporting characters from my highschool the likes of which have not all been in the same bar in a life-age of the earth. but it fuckin' happened at katie mc's and, to a lesser extent, j.t. carrington's, two of my favorite huntington village bars rivaled only by the shamrock and valencia tavern. in the course of my drunken pre-holiday festivities, i must've said hello to like twenty people from my grade, which consisted of only about 70 back in the day (roustabouts). it was ridiculous in so many ways, and the cherry on top was the boys who once fancied themselves part of the "in-crowd", now grown fat and apathetic to the world in a cruel twist of fate (i'm probably also going to get fat at some point but it's nice to point out the failings of others).

gotta give it up for my home frendz though, an amazingly tight and well-oiled machine of a circle of friends, occasionally succumbing to issues of misguided diplomacy and in extreme cases treachery, but overall an excellent assortment of fellows who tell it like it is and know when to party and when to chill the fuck out. chill, cops. chill chill chill. throw it out the window man, throw it out the windowSHIT he's got his light on it FUCK ok everyone chill everyone calm down fuck i'm makin' a run for it.

FREEZE!

JOSH RUNNNNNNNN!!!!!

BLAM

BLAM

BLAM.

Yeah my friends are pretty great.

introspective stoned 1 am post

i am basically the same as i was ten years ago. twenty even. as much as i am here, i am right back there, examing trinkets in gift shops i don't remember. my body is growing, my cells are regenerating, i emit and absorb energy, but essentially i am exactly where i was before any of this started. i think i have always been this sort of consciousness, a presence that was brought to this particular dimension at birth and then honed into a human essence over the years and now i am able to look back upon this cyclical infinitypersonality and see the unbroken chain of it all and pretty much it is this: i am usually running, it's late at night or early in the morning, the sun isn't quite out yet, and i am urgently trying to get somewhere. i have always had this direction and drive and a self-manufactured sense of purpose even though i've tried convincing myself of the meaningless of it all. and i will probably always be this consciousness, running towards something of it's own design in the predawn before the rest of the world is revealed. and this is perhaps the case for everyone, each person a runner in their own right, until finally the sun comes up and the next realm is entered. there's a reason a drop of water looks like a tiny planet right? animal collective is really good.

- baz luhrman

self-indulging drunk 3 am post

bitch i don't want to be famous

jes wanna keep shit feelin painless

and yo i dont mean frozen just lame-less

like a muthafuckin x box arcade set

thats my rap. ill fuckin punch ya lights out. 

really though i don't think i want to be famous. all these formerly innocent celebs like LiLo and Britney be tawkimbout how once they got famous they "let all the wrong people in" to their social network and got taken advantage of in a not funny way. i don't want these random doucheswabs infiltrating my life. i mean, it's not even like i run the risk of becoming famous in any caliber, but assuming i did and people be all like "aww shit son it's da splunka!" then i don't want the soulcrushing leeches banging down my door. also i don't want to be the coke king of san diego or something like that. it's seems like the idea of celebdom to which i might have once aspired is now revealed as a shallow world of ass kissing popularity contests and unwinnable grappling towards the peak of a mountain of "talent". 

fuck famous bro, i just want to be drunk and happy. and baked. like, herb-encrusted kenny rogers roasters, if you know wha'm sayn.

fuck all that hyphy shit. I WAS BORN ON THE STREETS.