you guys my left armpit smells kind of like weed. I can't stop smelling it. Does this happen to you? I NEED TO CALL DR. DREW

words, friends

do people still play words with friends? i know very few words and have fewer friends so my interest is purely ironic.

Heyyyyyyy another good tymes greyg

GoodTymez Greyg

\(^_^)/

I'm not sure this could have been worse.



But there is a bit of Mitch Hedberg.

future greg

nice soup strainer.

workin hard

just messin with photoshop...it's slow today

Q/P swap:

The before:

and the after:

Not bad for 10 minutes work...

meme city, usa

population 1: briscoe

have you heard about the deal they have going over at aldi's?

My 90's ska, slightly homosexual, rock band

Sounds like a band Briscoe would say "he used to love in high school," but then we hear it coming muffled from his bedroom. Maybe their #1 hit, "Forgettable Annihilation"

My band's first album

bored at work.....again

So I decided to do this project:

1 - Go to Wikipedia and Hit “Random Article” on the right The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to Random quotations Hit refresh, and the last three to five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days” Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use Photoshop, Paint, or similar to put it all together

Here is mine:

Let's see 'em.

McGrits

UPDATE: I am still bored. Here is another one:

I think this one is almost too good. I promise I didn't cheat.

Aaaaand a third:

IT'S FRIDAY

not that it really matters, but 4 u guys!

Yeeeeessss...

At one point I had given up on this blog, and thought it would never take off.

But some of you have kept it alive, and now, it is a beautiful thing.


My shiny, black, top-hat is off to you all.


Mr. Peanut

Greetings from Nags Head

Welp, here I am, in good ol' Nags Head, North Carolina, home to a bunch of old fogies and Jurassic Putt Mini Golf. I can't really complain about the weather: right around 70, kind of breezy. The wind/waves leave a little to be desired when transferring from the dredge to the crewboat and vice versa, as we are dealing with 3-5 foot swells. Don't worry, this blog won't be full of dredge-n-dick lingo, nor will I discuss the insanely low price of Aldi's wild Alaskan salmon filets.

I'm here to discuss my adventures with Bob. Bob is an old man from the Pitt area who works for a company that has been supplying us with bearings for a long time. His company now makes a product that allows us to monitor these bearings. I'm here with Bob to get this product implemented on two dredges down here.

We fly in Sunday, and meet at a Buffalo Wild Wings in Norfolk, which was a pretty sweet experience. There is a naval base nearby, which led to a very diverse crowd at the bar. All the games were on, and almost every team was represented. There were mostly Cowboys fans, which was awesome when the rest of the bar celebrated after Romo blew the game and the raging Lions improved to 4-0. After that, George says "Hey, I've got a GPS, you can just follow me." What a mistake.

Bob is 65 years old. Bob drives like he's 85 years old. It's 90 miles to the hotel. We're going 55 in a 65 on the highway. I have a bladder full of three glasses of water that decided to hit me 10 minutes into the drive. I'm tailgating Bob to see if I can nudge him somewhere close to the speed limit. Let's get a move on, Bob!

We go for dinner Monday night to a restaurant called Kelly's, recommended by the Nags Head Inn concierge. Kelly's is also supplying the Nags Head in with sweet potato biscuits in the morning for breakfast, which by the way are delicious, so I thought this place could be legit. Well, I was the youngest person in the joint. Bob was the second youngest. It was like the Night of the Living Dead. Geezer Central. I'm trying to distract myself from the old person smell by watching the baseball playoffs, but Bob insists on explaining his wife's undying love for Elvis Presley. True story: Bob's first born son was struggling in the hospital for a few weeks after he was born. Bob wasn't getting much time to see him since he was traveling a lot for work. One time when he had a second to go visit, he raced to the hospital. He arrived to find his wife bauling her eyes out. Bob races over, begging his love to catch her breath, to give him some sort of sign why she is so distraught. "What's wrong with my son!!?? Is he going to make it?!!?!" His wife finally starts to calm down, composes herself, and says three words which will forever be burned into Bob's brain:

"Elvis is dead."

Bob nearly had a heart attack. Ironically, after this story, "All Shook Up" comes on in this 50's-type shag diner, and believe it or not, all these old bags of bones stumble over to a dance floor and tear it up. At one point, the DJ called for a "tush push." They were moving a little slower than the normal tush push speed.

Ok, back to the GPS. Here is a map of Nags Head:

It's on a little strip of land called the Outer Banks about a mile and a half wide. If you think you only see one main road in town, you are correct. Every store is off one road, and all residential areas split off it. BOB insists on using his GPS to get everywhere. When we stopped at Radio Shack, and they didn't have everything we needed, the cashier said there was a Staples "a few miles up the road." The only road in town. I remember seeing the Staples on my way in, and even if I didn't, I'm fairly confident I could find it. Bob punches in Staples into the GPS, and it says not available. Searches again, nothing. "Aaah, damn. Let me punch it into my BlackBerry."

Freeze it. A few miles up the road. THE road. The only fucking road that contains any kind of establishment. He even pointed the direction to go. Bob is still not sold. He needs Google Maps to cure his fear of getting lost. I had even seen where Staples was, so I passed this information on to him, and relieving him of his searches. His response:

"Oh yeah? What side of the street is it on?"

I chuckled a little, but then I noticed he was waiting for me to answer. He was dead serious. He was going to use the fact that I didn't know if it was on the left or right side of THE ONLY FUCKING ROAD IN TOWN as justification to search it. Ho. Ly. Fuck.

Today, I'm just dicking around cuz the waters are too rough to get on the dredge. I might go take a nap on the beach. Life ain't Bad. I think I'm gonna drive back and forth on The Road to get some lunch.

Oh, and in case any of you were wondering, I'm beating Greg in FIFA '12 Overall Record 2-0.

Hey gang, I made a VLOG for all y'all. It's taken up the better part of two days (which probably equates to 10 hours of "awake time" as I like to call it). To be safe, I wouldn't watch it at "work" or in "class" or whatever it is all you people "do."

EDIT: Blogger only allows a certain video quality (which sucks) so I uploaded it to youtube, and since it took upwards of 4 hours to upload I'm going to link to it rather than embed it. I know, I know "what is this, some sort of fucking scavenger hunt?" Yes, yes it is.

Hypothetical situation

If Doug E. Freshington, Esq. never comes back from Seoul and just stays traveling forever and then one of us visits him in like 15 years wouldn't this be a pretty good approximation of what you would expect to find?

Doug "my other gun is a tabby" Gallaher

here is some stuff about stuff

Ah well, let's see. Fuckinnnnuhhh... went to LA. Waiting for Ryan to pick me up he calls me and asks if I can go up to Departing because he accidentally went there, I can't so I wait a little longer and watch some dope get pulled over right outside the terminal, making everyone go around him. Then, said dope pulls up to me and that was my first sighting of his Hambleton in LA.

Then we go to his house which is crazy and awesome because the Rolling Stones lived there and Marylin Manson lived there and David Ferino lives there and Charlie Chaplin built it for his mistress who died there and is now this:

Alright I don't know what you people want from me. I'm bored writing this as you probably are reading this. I had fun. Fuck. We did a bunch of stuff - met my friend Matt, faked our way around USC, went to Home Depot where there are a lot of mexicans, walked through hollywood hills where there were a bunch of mexicans, went to the beach where all the mexicans sold melon, like "malone? malone? malone? malone? malone?"

But now I'm back home in Ottawa. My parents are gone and I have the whole house to myself, which is nice, but I keep forgetting that Stella isn't here - like the other day I dropped food and was like "Stella! ... Stella!... Stellllaaaa!!! Stelllllllaaaaaaaa!! STELLA STELLAAAA STELLLLLLAAAAA STELLLLLAAAA STELLA! STELLA! STELLA! SSSSSSTTTTEEEELLLALAAAAAAA! STTTTTTEEEEELLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAA STELLA! STELLA! STELLA! STELLA! STELLLLLLAAAA STELLLSAAAAAA STELLLLLAAAAA! SALSA! STELLLA! STELLA! STELLLLLLLA! STELLA! STELLLLLLAAAA!! SSSTTTEEELLLALAAAAAA!

Is it night outside yet?

Riding the wave of the future

This is how I imagine Quinn on his post-grad-stumble-around-the-country-and-land-on-other-people's-couches-slash-spare-rooms tour 2011. The people behind him are running him out of the towns he has been to. Better hide out in Ottawa for a while.

Guess what I did at werk today?

That's right bitches. 370 second on expert. None of y'all can hang with the sweeping skills of WC Smitty. I implore you all, attempt to beat my time on expert. Will not happen. Actually I'm pretty sure everyone on this has macs. Except Briscoe and A. Sit. Briscoe, no problem, he simply doesn't have the cognitive capacity to sweep at this high of a level. You think dredging and dicking will help you sweep for mines, Kelly? Not bloody likely.

Now A. Sit. That is a different story. To be honest, I'd rather you didn't attempt to beat me in this as the record has shown that you are better at everything we both do/did (i.e. music, magic, et al.). So don't try. Thanks.

Also, tomorrow is the oldest octagoon's birthday (Kristin). Here is a vintage LBB pic featuring everyone's favorite recurring love interest, MC Balderson!

Happy birthday Kris!

......Aaaaaaand here is my favorite picture of all time

Seriously in love with this man right now.

-McGrits

i think someone we know could use this operation....but whom?

okay so i'm just going to post on this everyday, i mean, it's not like anyone reads it anyway

I could be talking to myself right now.

Hello?

Well Hello.

What's cookin', good lookin'?

Oh my, you really are too kind.

Well, forgive me if I am being to forward, but you are the prettiest thing I have seen in quite some time.

Oh, I bet you say that to all the Smiths.

I have never met a Smith like you before.

Oh dear, you are too much.

And on and on and on. Is that really what we want this to turn into? Some weird, psuedo-sexual narcissistic playground for me and Q to root around in? No one wants that. Have any of you talked to Quinn lately? The last thing that kid needs is more one-way outlets for his thoughts. He needs human interaction. Face-to-face, two-ways. Here is a random sampling of a conversation I had with Quinn yesterday:

"so many people doing so many thingsyou know? its like what can someone not do that someone is already doing because on the interent it is like everyone does everything and everyone has to know about that because it is the information superhighway but it is also like who reads all this stuff all the time? or do things float to the surface for the average person because i'm sitting over here and you're over there but between us is alot of space do you follow?

i am dead inside."

Chilling. I am legitimately concerned for the welfare of the great state of Colorado. God speed, John Denver, god speed.

Let's get this together. I miss peanut, what are you up to man? Hey $it Money Millionaire, where you at son? Doug E. Freshington, how about a post before you leave the country forever. Kristin, how is the life of a coffee shop manager? Is your entire staff still of the lesbian persuasion? Come on people.

More later. And that's a threat.

-Smits McGrits

If by scheme you mean tremendous opportunity to make fat cash, then yeah, it's a killer scheme

So Greg, Kelly and I are trying to get together some capital for a verrrry lucrative investment deal. All we need is around $100k to start. I'm telling you guys, this can't miss. Unfortunately due to the confidential nature of the securities which are being custom-bundled to serve our interest, we can't disclose any details except to say that we can promise 10-12% annual returns. Guaranteed motherfuckers. Pony up.

Here is what we will need from our friends:

Kristin:

I think it is high time we started cashing in on that coffee shop of yours. Since you manage the books, it shouldn't be too hard to raise somewhere in the neighborhood of $20-30k. Remember, 10-12% annual, so you just have to hide that shit for a few months, you'll have it back in dividends alone in no time. Think of it as an investment in your shop.

Q:

We need you to cozy up to those rich-ass-heck ski types. This may require you to get off your lazy ass and GTFO of Denver. Hit up all the resort towns in CO, cozy up to a cougar with a penchant for red headed step children and pilfer that old bat. I expect between $5-10k in a month or two (conservative estimate) with a steady sugar mommy income to follow.

Dennis:

Continue to "get cash daily." Send said cash to Greg. Profit.

Peanut:

I am sure you are already scamming someone out of money out there, just redirect the funds from coke and pricey North Hollywood hookers and send it to Greg.

Kyle:

Get the fuck out of Wheaton. Jesus dude, what is with that?

OK, that upfront cash plus what we have already should get us going. Our fucking troubles are over everybody, you just gotta trust your oooooold pal Smits McGrit$. And also Kelly and Greg. I know, I know, Kelly has the classic weak jaw of an untrustworthy coward. But listen, I am vouching for him, and so is Greg. Have you seen Greg's jawline recently? He looks like he could take a bunch from Teddy Roosevelt himself. That is a trustworthy man.

Anyways, you can send money and other assets to:

Greg Omolecki c/o Ponzi Inc., LLC

P.O. Box 421

Chicago IL, 60614

Later Octogoons,

McGrits

I take it no one is writing on this

because all you people only care about me. That's okay, I always figured I was the most important person in the house. Sure I had the smallest room, but face it you all lived through me and wish you were having sex with all the girls I was having sex with.

Anyway, I recently "moved" to Denver (read: sleeping on my sister Emma's couch) - it's been about the same as Chicago. She goes to work in the morning, I feverishly masturbate for 2.5 hours, then find a coffee shop, then suffer a panic attack in said coffee shop (Penn St. Perk)'s bathroom as to where my life is going. The weekend/s have been fun - PhIsH is here this weekend but I decided I hate hippies more than ANYTHING, especially vagabonds. Otherwise we head up to the mountains and go on hikes that are probably better than any hike Kevin has ever been on with that woman of his.

I did have a glimmer of hope, however, when I decided to randomly email an editor from Maxim magazine. The conversation went as such:

Dear Ms. Radvan,

First, I want you to know that I know this is a total shot in the dark. I stumbled upon an article about great summer internships, which I know is probably completely over, but with “desperate times call for desperate measures” constantly ringing in my head I thought I would try my luck.

I recently graduated from the University of Illinois and since then have been fending off questions regarding my future with “I’d like to write for a magazine,” to which people just nod their heads and tell me they have leftover LSAT books if I need them. I’m not dumb enough to think I would get a real job with Maxim, but I think that if I were hired at any level and given a small shot I would succeed. For the duration of college I was the Managing Editor and Head Writer for the only entertainment/comedy magazine on a campus of 40,000 people. Not only did I oversee the entire operation, but also published several articles on line for a wider audience.

Again, I understand this is a shot in the dark. Even more I know this isn’t the “right way” to apply for jobs, and probably won’t get an email back seeing how you are a real person with a real job, and all I’ve done today is accidently water my sister’s fake plants. But I would be happy to send my resume, writing samples, or even describe my coffee-making skills at your request.

Anyway, thanks for your time,

Quinn Myers

-----

Hi Quinn,

Nothing wrong with a shot in the dark! Unfortunately right now we are only taking on editorial interns for the fall semester. If there was a way you'd be able to be able to receive academic credit go ahead and email me your resume.

Good luck with everything!

Stephanie

Stephanie Radvan
Editorial Assistant Maxim Magazine
415 Madison Ave.
New York, NY 10017

-----

Hey Stephanie,

Unfortunately, the only way I could receive credit is if I some how convinced you that Internet University of the Internet was a real school... and maybe that I was Justin Long.

However, I was thinking that on the outside chance of this working, I would send you my resume. I guess just in case there happens to be an opening anywhere - I do have plenty of janitorial experience.

I also think I should add that I'm not some dude/writer who sees Maxim as a place to work with hot girls and thinks "I want to go to there." I'm mostly attracted to the humor, style of writing, and the overall way Maxim portrays pop culture.

Thanks again for your time,
But just getting a response kept this day from being a total failure, so thanks!

Yours,

Quinn

------

Buuuuuuttttt I haven't gotten an email back. Who knows though, maybe she will remember me and pass me on and I will write for the magazine AND BE THE HAPPIEST RICHEST MAN ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

myers, out.

someone else right something... for Pete's sake.

Worst...blog...ever

Seriously.

I miss you guys

Now townies live here. They smoke meth inside of me all day. One townie moved into the hole behind the bathroom toilet and tamed the raccoon who lives in my walls.

Fuck townies.

Come back....................

Love,
LBB

...Aand, I'm stoned

...off some dank medicinal shit. Briscoe, you would love this stuff. Smells like buttered popcorn, tastes like Mary Jane's snatch. I've been getting it from this medicinal dispensery called the KushMart. And they also have hash, which is soooo choice.

Not sure what the rest of you think about this blog. Blogspot.com is pussy-weak, but I suppose this has already begun, so no turning back? If anyone wants to post or change the template or anything, just sign in using the LDBP email account. Hope to see more posts than just Q and myself, because then the blog has no credibility.

Tonight is Jeff's joint birthday party with some half-asian chick who is cravin' some diiiiick. You might remember him as my friend from Peoria who has been living out in L.A. for the past two years. Some of you might remember him as a strange bearded abductor who took yours truly away (kidding). This birthday babe, Aisha the Half-Asian (I wonder if her father thought that a name like "Aisha" would make her sound more Asian? And if so, when did he devise this plan? What trimester was it in? Was it pre-conception that he had always wanted a 51% Asian daughter; and despite what he viewed as shortcomings racially, devised a plan to bag a 100% Asian bird, then name his first born daughter something Asian-sounding like Aisha?) this birthday babe, she chose a pajama-theme. So, I'll report on the number of morally-bankrupt girls that show up only with lingerie, and how many of them get into the pool with it on. My figures will be very accurate, as I will be keeping a close eye on them.

I'll be wearing some sort of gold and black floral smoking jacket I bought at a vintage store, the Buffalo Exchange, in Chicago. Slippers, silk pajama pants, etc. The plan is to not get too drunk early, but I can get hammered late because I live next door. So, I've got that going for me, which is nice. In general, the nightlife has been pretty righteous.

Not sure when I'll be returning, too early to tell. If I return soon it means that I was a total bozo with my cash flow and didn't get on my game like $it Mon Mil. But maybe I can whore myself out, it seems to be a popular choice of career here. I could whore myself out to a thousand fat chicks for 50 bucks a piece, or 50 really fat chicks for 1000 bucks a piece... 


Hamilton

...Aand, I'm naked

I figured I'd start this off, because from the looks of it (6 views) most people clicked on Ryan's link, looked at the page and continued living their lives. I however, don't currently have a life and thus have the time to sit down and explain to you all something about other things. I'm not actually naked right now, but only a thin piece of silk is separating my butthole from Kelly's pillows - I decided to fart on Greg and Kelly's pillows because this morning they woke me up while re-enacting scenes from last nights Curb and giggling like little school girls. I was like, hey, its 7AM and I have to decide whether or not to get out of bed in three hours.

So yeah, I recently moved into the Briscolecki residence. It's been pretty sweet, but kind of boring. I'm sort of looking for a job, and sort of watching bits and pieces of Despicable Me everyday, and sort of masturbating in every corner of the apartment (it started out as every room, but there's only like 7 distinct rooms here, so come on, knocked that out in like three hours). I'm also taking a class at Second City, which is great and funny and motivating me to not let my brain waste away - but I'm also convinced that they have ingeniously monetized a way to lead desperate people that are kind of funny into thinking they have a future "writing" for "showbiz." But what the heck do I know, you know? There are also a lot of improv-y people there - you know those people that, like, wear "Geology Rocks" shirts and say things like "Uh well, I prefer long form comedy sketches, it's what I did in college, and because you know the joke is able to really evolve" while I quietly see how long I can hold my breath before passing out.

Anyway writing this has made me realized I need to go do something. Like eat, or poop, or go outside. I'll leave you with my typical daily to-do list:

1. Wake up (on deflated air mattress).

2. Think about sleeping more.

3. Stare at ceiling.

4. Walk into kitchen.

5. Walk into TV room.

6. Walk back into bedroom.

7. Forget why walked into bedroom, walk back into TV room.

8. Channel surf for 10 minutes.

9. Play a word or five with friends

10. Repeat steps 3-9 for 4 hours.

11. Remember that I had walked into my room to get my computer so I could look for jobs or do something on the internet that would make me feel like I had done something.

12. Go get computer.

13. Get on Craigslist.

14. Get angry at Craigslist because all the jobs require something I don't have, like skills or experience or minimum time commitments.

15. Wait for Kelly or Greg to get home like an abandoned puppy or beaten housewife.

16. Eat dinner and watch Greg and Kelly play 100 games of FIFA.

17. Spy on the neighbors before falling asleep.

Yours truly,

Quinn