Tongue Mountain Sasquatch

A friend and I decided late one afternoon to take a little hike.  We had been talking the talk all day, discussing our love for the outdoors and how badly we craved the smell of rotting leaves and the other processes of nature.  Eventually our discussion drove us to action and we were in a car, driving North towards Whitehall, NY.  We had looked up the trail on the internet before leaving, it was 1.5 miles (one way) to a small pond.  The ascent was gradual and by all accounts it should have been an uneventful if not boring evening.

The Internet is Awful

I don’t know where this picture came from, just did an image search for a Troll.  All credit goes to Mystery Person.

What have I become?  When did my life spiral so far into the toilet that I find myself trolling Yahoo! comment sections?  Is it pure boredom or something deeper?  Shit, I dont know.

The Quitters Dream Book—Entry 1

This asshole apparently haunts your dreams if you quit cigarettes

My freind recently quit smoking cigs and has been having some wild dreams.  We decided to record those dreams.  Below is a glimpse into the unconscious mind of a man quitting Cigs.  And later on, I will judge the mental stability of this man based on his dreams, my questions and my years of expertise as a dream reader.

Maybe a little much…my views on the phrase, “Nice guys finish last.”

For years I have heard men sputtering these four words with tails between legs and desperation oozing from their trout-lips.  But even as a self-proclaimed nice-guy who does not get enough poontang, I cannot find comfort in this nonsense.  I meet people exponentially more kind and genuine than myself on a daily basis.  Firefighters and paramedics, pediatricians and volunteers at the local animal shelter; every day I see and interact with kinder men than I could ever hope to be…and almost all of them have sexy girlfriends and don’t need to smoke pot to go to bed happy.

Intensity in Ten Cities

I haven’t written anything in a long time and I just feel like adding a little something to the online archive of nonsense.  Recently, I quit the soul crushing job that I had been secretly lamenting for years.  It was a bold move as I had no alternate employment lined up.  I was winging it and winging it hard.  Money?  Money was not taken into consideration during the making of this decision.  I would be broke and I have been broke before and I will be broke again, this does not bother me.  And, when I was in my boss’s office with the opportunity to turn my back on that shit-stained hellhole forever, by god, I had to seize that shit like a drug-dealers caddy. 

Normandy

We were at the Canadian Memorial because the two girls who had saved our excursion to the coast were, in fact, Canadian.  They had approached us at the bus terminal in some nondescript town a few miles from the coast.  We had been under the impression that the train would basically drop us off at the beach, only to find out later that we were stuck miles away from our destination with not so much as a bus departing for Courseulles-sur-Mer (the name we dragged out of a disinterested local) anytime soon. We cornered a taxi driver and negotiated him down to a billion dollars for the trip before we decided we’d be better off just purchasing a helicopter and flying there ourselves. We loitered outside the building looking defeated when two attractive girls came jogging over to us asking if we wanted to rent a car with them.  It was the perfect plan.  The car was cheap when split four ways, we had tremendous freedom to explore and we had the company of two lively and humorous girls from Halifax.  Good things happen when you’re the fucking worst at planning outings. 

Give me baby let’s go

This was taken from my journal, more or less word for word.  The scene is a bus stop in Liznjan about a mile from my hostel.  The bus stop and I are well acquainted as I could not decipher the bus schedule and the vehicle never seemed to arrive at the same time two days in a row.  At some points it sounds cocky, then dips into self-deprecation…either way don’t judge me too harshly based off my bored ramblings.

State of the Buffalo Bills Address

 

Now, onto the Bills.  The second most frustrating part about being a Bills fan–apart from the decade long playoff drought–is their consistent inconsistency.  Every year they will come out and win Five in a row, only to lose the next eleven; or they jump out to a 1-7 record then win 8 useless games in a row.  When their offense is on fire, their defense is drenched in fire retardant foam and vice versa.

The last two weeks have shown the defense beginning to play up to their potential.  Mario Williams wrist surgery seems to have legitimately improved his play and aggressiveness as he has racked up 9.5 sacks on the season to go along with a forced fumble and 34 tackles. Considering Dave Wannstedt avoids blitzing like a gypsy told him it would lead to his demise, these are good numbers for Mario.  Kyle Williams remains an unheralded  beast in the middle with 5 sacks and at least one explosive tackle-for-loss per game.  Our linebackers remain a weakness, besides Barnett who is, in fact, a tackling addict.  Our safety play is solid and you all already know my feelings toward Stephon Gilmore…the other corner is a massive issue I see the Bills solving in Free Agency.

The offense is the real crap shoot every week.  Fitzpatrick can either be an efficient and accurate game-manager, or a hell-spawn nightmare determined to crush the spirits of Western New York.  He has 20 touchdowns and 12 interceptions–stats that would not typically warrant harsh criticism.  The problem with his turn-overs is they seem to happen only in the most crucial points in a game.  No one is more apt to throw an interception on a potential game winning drive than Ryan Fitzpatrick.  Our receivers are not a huge help to the Harvard boy either.  Stevie is an elite receiver and an extremely dependable receiver, but he isn’t a game changer like Marshall, Calvin Johnson, Fitzgerald or even Hartline and Torrey Smith.  He lacks the big-time height and butt-puckering speed.  And none of the other receivers are filling in that role either.  I see the Bills choosing a receiver high in the draft in 2013…right after a QB project.

The running game fills my heart with glee and the offensive line has performed adequately in the pass and phenomenal in the run.  All with few to none well known names, and the usual stream of injuries that plague every team’s trench warriors. Cordy Glenn is going to be a star left tackle and our guards are tough to criticize, mainly because I don’t pay close enough attention to the O-line during games.  Spiller is our future and Freddie will be the best relief back in the league if we keep him on the roster…which seems likely.

So what does the future hold?  Stuff, mostly.  And for the Bills, I believe that stuff involves a disappointing 2012-2013 season ending in an 8-8 record.  I see Wannstedt being fired and a general emphasis being placed to find linebackers capable of pass coverage and a left corner in the offseason.  Fitzpatrick will remain and probably start next season with whatever young, up-and-comer learning and gaining experience from the sidelines.  The direction of the team will shift into a Baltimore Ravens-esque plan where a strong defense and unstoppable running game will be the primary tools used to achieve victory. Next season is the playoffs.  Did I say that last year, and the year before?  Maybe.  Will I say it again if Im wrong next year? Yes.

A Random Summation of Bonnaroo

Only one jersey can be worn with pride 4 days in a row…

A blanket of humanity stretched a mile back and half-a-mile to the right and to the left. The canvass pulsated and spewed smoke from unknown orifices. A strange colony of organisms, living harmoniously to varied harmonies, with no specific purpose for its existence. The desire to feed itself and to maintain even the most minimal of hygienic standards had been flushed from its multi-surfaced body by incessant perspiration. This was something primitive, something raw; a microcosm for every stoner teenagers vision of Utopia. This was Bonnaroo.

A Very Tremors Christmas Photo Shoot

The sexual tension was immediately noticeable when I walked in the door.  Before I had removed my jacket Coacoa had that lustful look in his eye and Dexter appeared ready to hump and/or murder the next object to make a sound.  I was ill-prepared for the canine orgy Kristy and Ashley had planned for the evening.  But I couldn’t think about such things that night.  I had two critical missions: watch Tremors 3 and take pictures for Kristy and Ashley’s Christmas card.  I may be a sloppy fuck, but I take my personal missions very seriously.