“In Deformation, We Trust.”

More government waste will be avoided with this motto as it will eliminate bullying in all of our schools. Replacing the current motto with this one will remind that one girl with inverted boobs to be proud of her deformation. That one guy who has to pee with his pants all the way on the ground for some reason when at the urinal will now look up proudly at this new motto and put his hands on his hips and sway proudly as he pees. So your voice breaks wine glasses with it’s high pitch-ness, so what that one testicle is enormously out of proportion to the other, so what your front teeth are perpendicular to the rest, so what your freckles hide your normal skin, so what? With my new motto our already deformed nation will finally have a reason to open up and reveal the truth. Now walk forward America and join me in Washington to show the world exactly what we are and who we trust in.

Deformed and elongated middle toes.

I need this motto to feel good about the two by fours I have been walking around on for the last 28 years. My deformed middle two toes stick out way past my big toe making it virtually impossible to wear normal shoes. It was this deformation that gave me two ingrown toe nails after wearing soccer shoes that were not block foot ready. Did you know insurance wont cover ingrown toe nails because it is self inflicted? With my new motto, maybe the shoe lobbyists will finally get off their wasteful and unneeded pedestals and allow for the creation of square foot shoes.

Evolved hitchhikers thumb

I can’t even count the times that I have been hitch hiking and stuck my deformed thumb out to get picked up and no one would pick me up. “FREAK!” “BEHEMOTH!” “RIGHT ANGLE!” They would scream at me as I cried on the side of the road. So what I have to use my first knuckle to push on things? Who cares that the police have to remind me that they do not want knuckle creases on their finger prints? My deformity is my evolution and it is about time that our nation embraced this and what better way than changing the nations motto?

So on this day of eternal thanks and celebration of temporary peace between murderous white people and native american indians, I want to give thanks, nay, give great celebration to my deformities and to all those of the readers of this deformed blog.

Thank You and Merry Thanksgiving!

Put yourself and six other people on a deserted island. One of you finds a tattered box labeled drugs and decide to ingest the myriad of colors inside. As a microcosm of the real world you all came from, the group decides to eliminate that person and 1/7th of the population for no good god damned reason and cage the smiling drug user. Makes sense right?

Loosely translated from a Joe Rogan pod cast.

In The Beginning

I was introduced to marijuana on the New Years Eve of the new millennium. The bong we used had unremarkable, but detailed glass sketching and the owners claimed it was ensured. I fought off the urge to freak out and went to find the over excited giant who was making the room contract and expand like an accordion.

I wanted to like marijuana but every time I tried I would drink three jack Daniel mixer bottles. Two would be a rambunctious night. Three with a sniff of marijuana smoke and I typically woke up beneath the lawnmower and fertilizer on the side of the house, clutching the rake for warmth.

Magical Experiment

To describe externals, you become a scientist. To describe experience, you become an artist.

Timothy Leary

A friend told me he could have magic mushrooms shipped to my house.

They arrived in a glass Nestea container with construction paper hiding the contents. I called upon Bashaw and Rockero to help me find out how good this stuff was.

“Gotta make tea man, it’s the only way for purity.”

Five grams go into the tea.

We drink the green water with baby poopy faces.

Thirty minutes later, nothing…

We split up the soggy tea remnants and chew them down.

Another forty minutes later…

“Maybe we should smoke some.”

We stuffed crushed up mushrooms into a four-foot tall glass pipe and think we are feeling something. We go to the park to play who can throw the Frisbee the farthest while a light drizzle coats our sandaled feet.

It was clear it was not working. As the rain intensified Bashaw announces the end of the experiment and says that him and Rockero are going home. Begrudgingly I concur and eat thelast gram that I had put into my pocket.

Defeated, I returned to the house to find my roommate and friends preparing to watch Blade Runner for a philosophy class. Now two and some hours after the beginning of the experiment, I recounted our efforts to the amazed group who all understood the necessary quantities usually required with magic mushrooms.

I was offered a conciliatory sample of the tall four-foot glass bong. As I prepared to inhale, the glass turned into a giant bird beak and fused with my mouth. I laughed hysterically and lifted the behemoth glass piece into the air letting the nasty water fall onto my face and floor. It had begun.

The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

Hunter S. Thompson

The rain was pounding down outside and my last few coherent thoughts wandered to Bashaw and Rockero driving 80 miles back home.

Ring …. Ring … Ring

Calm, collected, “Bashaw, how’s it going.”

Too calm, too collected, “Good. How ‘bout you?”

“I think it’s working. My face grew a beak and my toes are much longer. Dude, where are you?”

“Ya we’re pulled over on the side of the freeway. It’s definitely working.”

Bashaw and Rockero later explained that they drove for quite a while in silence. Each of them battled with the idea that they were moving down the highway at high speed, in the rain, and the effects of an unusually high amount of magic mushrooms were permeating their spines. The first words exchanged were “I think we should pull over. We’re not going to make it.” Sanity briefly
prevailed.

Relieved that my friends were safely parked on the 405, I spent the rest of my night taking pictures of myself slowly falling down the stairs, locking myself in the bathroom, pressing my body into the corner of the wall and the floor, and imagining three dimensional space giving way to my mind pressure, allowing me to transcend space, but not time. Apparently, I was making noises the whole time doing it.

There Must Be a Better Way

“I’ll do anything twice that isn’t gay.”

A Fresnonian koala

A sometimes wise Englishman explained to me that the atomic spin property of the THC molecule is what determines how good a strain of marijuana is. More left spinning, more effect. If you isolate THC, then slam it with ultra violet light, you convert right spinning THC into left spinning THC. Simple. Incidentally, the Englishman explained, THC is soluble in acetone and ultra violet lights can be purchased on ebay.

Now ignore the fact that acetone is used to strip paint, and ultra violet light was determined to give you cancer. If I told you that I could take four grams of your good weed, and turn it into two and half grams of outrageously awesome weed, would you do it?

The Lowest of My Life

Moderation in all things — including moderation.

Benjamin Franklin

My colleague invited me to his wedding in San Francisco. Two hours before the ceremony, I headed to the Men’s Warehouse to get a moderately expensive and extremely flashy pin stripe suit. The wedding went off without a hitch and everyone was very merry.

At this point, an aging, overweight black lady, who was not a member of our party, coerced me outside and offered some quality drugs. I follow her and her very large male friend into what I later learned was the worst part of town. Chatting away, cracking jokes, spinning my jacket – I was cock of the walk. As we walked down a very long hallway to the apartment, I had a vision of the TV show “The Wire”. At the front of the hallway was the landlord, hidden behind a steel grated window. He said nothing.

The apartment was no more than a bed, a bathroom, and a kitchenette.

I was immediately pushed hard to the bed by the towering male. He slapped the girl hard and told to sit next to me. We then did drugs, which were not that great. Then the large male jumped up. He grabbed my collar and pulled me up, demanding I give him my ATM card. The girl attempted to intervene and he backhanded her back onto the bed. He got my card. I even gave him my pin. He left and told us to stay. I know I should have ran, but I didn’t.

I stayed, trying to grasp the moment.

Who was this girl? Did I owe her any help? I felt bad for her. Did she do this often? Fish guys out of bars with her horrible looks and bring them to this den of depravity?

The guy returned in more of a rage than ever since my card only allowed $300 to be pulled. He stormed around the tiny apartment and beat on the girl some more.

I ran.

I left my new jacket and its contents and ran. I desperately tried to urge the landlord to do something. He just groaned something and turned around. I ran outside and called the police frantically. I shouted horrible directions into the phone and they were there in minutes. They attempted to extract information from me as I bounced up and down, looking around, as if the big guy was running for me. I pointed to the building and said which apartment. They told me to go to the hotel and they would be in touch. I made a few more drug addled phone calls to friends in southern California purely to freak them out and provide no details but only concerns. I made it back to the hotel where the police came and gave me everything but the jacket and the photos that they erased on my camera.

I have never been so ashamed and have never tried those sort of drugs since.

It’s as Easy as Going to the Grocery Store

Certain cough syrups can make you really high. Drink an entire bottle of Robitusson and you’ll know what I mean. Nico and I tried this one night. We visited a friend who I never usually visit and all I could say were a few mumblings and then I ran to the bathroom to begin the hardest shit of my life. Sweat, tears, and groans for what seemed like 40 minutes. I exited the bathroom to eyes of shock. The party later that night only served to bring my anxiety to a maximum level and I was not sure how to respond. When confronted with conversations I felt like my brain was about to explode because I was thinking too hard or they were asking too many questions. I have no idea what happened to Nico but I know I will never do that again.

Or As Easy As Going Online

I desperately wanted to do mescaline after reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and figured out that it came from the San Pedro cactus. Turns out you can get these online. Three days later a 12 inch piece of live cactus is delivered to the door. Staring at it, I pondered how to extract the Mescaline. Apparently there is a lengthy and difficult process to do it. So I opted to circumnavigate these problems and eat the entire thing. I diced it up and covered it in salad dressing and spent the next four hours slowly ingesting this enormous plant. No results.

And in Summary

If you don’t think drugs have done good things for us, then take all of your records, tapes and CD’s and burn them.

Bill Hicks

These times have passed me and my only drug now is the pain I endure during hours of bike riding at ridiculous speeds. Maybe equally as dangerous. I have no regrets from these tales nor the others that avoided these pages. You walk through life attempting to define yourself through experience and interaction and failing to do these things will make for a boring individual. Now whether it is drugs or skydiving or broccoli, get out there and put yourself in an unknown situation.

Internationally

I have written about a few adventures during a magical Europe trip during the summer of 2004. Going into this trip I was toting a multi year on-and-off relationship that I was not entirely excited about but nonetheless I had to obligingly extend the invitation to my girlfriend to come along with us. She excitedly accepted to be with us for the first two weeks.

Two days in, she and I are walking through the illustrious Hyde Park in London with a heavy cloud of tension following us around. I knew all I had to do was survive two weeks and a few countries with her without causing any waves, and then I could end this thing once and for all. Breaking up now was not an option, in whatever country.

As the cloud of tension began to show signs of British rain, her womanly intuition called me out.

“Luke, is there something wrong?”

Silence.

“Luke, I know you too well. What’s wrong?”

After considering my excuses and distances to the nearest exits of this enormous park, “I’m not happy and I don’t think we should go out anymore.”

Every game show buzzer in the world went off and the collective groaning of the crowd echoed through the Royal Albert Hall. The next five days staying in cramped hostels with a shared suitcase and backpack with your recently made ex-girlfriend were disastrous and not how you celebrate the beginning of a two-month trip through Europe.

Internationally and Biologically

Roughly the same circumstances as the last one but adding the excuse of biological conflicts make for an even more horrendous breakup that I do not wish upon anyone.

Retardedly

At the age of 18 I had my virginity stolen from me. I had no idea what I was doing; she was pulling my clothes off; her parents were in the other room; she wouldn’t turn the lights on; she rode me hard and fast on top; and after two minutes I embarrassingly climaxed with no sign that she got any pleasure out of it at all. With no words we went to bed and I contemplated crying or screaming rape.

I got over this and things were good during the latter part of my freshman year at university as I bragged about my hot older girlfriend who was still in high school and who would drive out to visit me on demand.

As the summer began, she was moving to Germany for six months and I decided that things had to end civilly. She left on a Sunday and my university friends and I had planned a trip to Tijuana on the Friday night before. She wanted to hang out during our final weekend but I decided it had to end before hand to accommodate underage drinking south of the border.

On the Friday I saw her, said my goodbyes, shared our last few kisses, explained the situation about the weekend, and gave her a hand written letter sealed with wax and gave her very explicit directions to not open it until she was on the airplane.

Good plan right? Well it depends on what’s in the letter. So what did it say? Now my memory is a little foggy about the exact details but here is the condensed version …

Dear Virginity Thief,

Well it was a hoot huh? Shame you gotta go. Well since your going I thought I would let you know that I was never really into this relationship and I had countless other sexual experiences while we were seeing each other. I hope you can understand. Have a kick ass summer in Germany. Get me some bitchin’ beer mugs.

Your bud,

Luke

Now … I know that might seem bad but the interesting part about it was that in fact I had had zero other sexual experiences while we were together. Zilch. So I am not sure why I said that. Maybe it was to make myself seem cool? Maybe to force her to give up on Germany and stay and prove why she really was the best I could get with unending sex? Bragging rights to my fraternity friends? I don’t know. Retarded.

So on the Saturday morning she called and asked if she could come visit me and begged I not go to Mexico. I told her that we were half way there already even though we had not left yet and the whole plan was starting to not happen due to flakey drivers. She seemed bummed out as we said goodbye in voice for the last time.

At this point I considered her already in Germany and really didn’t want much more to do with her so I hoped it was over. She texted a few times and I gave the same shpeel with the added information that we were about to go over the border and my phone would not work anymore. Then my phone rang. I let it go to voicemail. It then rang again. Voicemail. One more time, one more voicemail. And finally it rang for the last time and one last voicemail and then it never rang again from that phone number.

Later that night I checked my voicemails with my best bud listening. Again, the memory is foggy, but the four of them went something like…

Voicemail 1: “Luke, like whatever, you are such a fucking asshole. Like, that is the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me. Like, fuck you.”

Voicemail 2: “Luke, I hate you.”

Voicemail 3: “Luke, I fucking hate you.”

Voicemail 4: “Luke, I hate you so fucking much.”

Conclusion

Not to end relationships and do everything in my power to make the one that I am in now work out. Fortunately now I am with someone who makes that easy and I really like the fact that this blog will never have to be updated.

Well, as we took Our Thursday, we are going to take the reunion!

Our Thursday is proud to present “That One Time in Highschool Live Blog Reading” where we will grace you with that embarrassing story behind the bleachers and tease you with a lengthy description of how short Cindy Lou’s skirt was that memorable day. Unlike the high school reunion, we will not be charging a cover and all we ask is for you to bring your memory of days long past and share with us a great night of story telling.

When? June 17th, 2011. Story time will begin at 9pm but we encourage, nay, expect you, to arrive earlier to share some laughs.

Where? My house in Simi Valley at the top of the hill. Email ollett@gmail.com for directions.

The punch will be spiked, and the snacks might stay in your system for 12 – 16 hours. We encourage you to bring food and drink. We will provide the rest.

Sign up at the facebook event page!

LIVE WEBCAM OF THE EVENT

The Challenge

In 400 words or less, irritate, piss off, molest, disturb, and/or ruin the day of the reader. Audio, video, images, signal flares, are all permitted. No reusing angry villager material like Wheelchair Bicycle or Cat Abortion.

The Challengers

Everyone

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Dave Glenn

As some of you may know, Stanford University recently offered me, a self-proclaimed expert, a position to teach a new course called “Economics of Life” (which I turned down because I didn’t want live there—I’d get so bored I’d end up buying a piano or something). So instead, I would like to offer a five-point crash course on how to live your life, since nine out of ten people reading this probably suck at life. YES, YOU.

1. When partying, do not begin drinking until 9 p.m. Be patient with your buzz. Too often I see my friends start drinking at four p.m.; and they’re long gone by ten (Remember, the sober moments in life are fun too.). As opposed to: Enjoying the day, partying at night, and passing out at two a.m. Way more optimal.
2. Get at least eight hours of sleep every day. Take naps if you have to; it relieves stress, and why be tired at night, when you could have easily taken a nap earlier and been living your day at a 100% energy rate? If you’re at a job with crappy hours (8 a.m.-8 p.m.), get a new job. You only have one life (Seriously, this is it.). Stop slaving away and being so damn tired all the time; it’s affecting your attitude and turning you into a mope.
3. Exercise and eat right. Respect.
4. Are you under 30 and in some sort of committed relationship? YIKES! What the fuck are you doing? You have the second half of your life to do that. Travel the world, take adventures, explore your creativity, discover yourself! You can’t do those things with another human being nagging at you. And if you think you can, then that explains everything—you lost the human spirit long ago.
5. Do you feel like you’re living a dull, meaningless existence? Or stumped on the question, “What’s the meaning of life?” Well here’s your problem: Do something! I’m not talking about a high-paying job. I’m talking about doing something you’re passionate about. And no, golf and working out don’t count. Start a business. Start a blog. Help the homeless. Join the Peace Corps. Raise money for a cause. Write a book. Work on a movie. Invent something. There are a ton of ways to avoid simply…existing, and having a lasting impact on the world. Discover your passion, work hard, and do it.

If this blog has pissed you off in any way, it’s because of you, not me, and you really are sucking at life. Sorry I had to be the one to make you realize this.

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Danielle Burner

Ginger Snap

Gingers: a particular breed with a distinct hair type unlike yours and mine (unless, of course, you are a ginger).  Ginger hair is complex and can be strange to the touch.  You never know what’s going on under that Ginger noggin (or stereotypically, under one’s trousers), so tread carefully.

I know a decent Ginger when I see one, but unfortunately as a minority, Gingers get a bad rap. However, like in any other small group, a strong Ginger will find his/her way to work through diversity and perhaps one day become a president.

Gingers- don’t knock ‘em til you try ‘em. You never know, you might not go back!

Words with Friends challenge- see if you can make a new word using the letters in “GINGER” …if so, reread with whatever kind word(s) you find. If not, I’m guessing you’re a blonde.
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Brian Pratt

2491 Tivoli Ave.

I recognized the address. All of the drivers at Vincenzo’s Pizza knew it. It belonged to the handicapped lady who’s “aid” always answered the door. He’d put an X through the tip column of the receipt and hand over the exact amount in change. It wasn’t that they didn’t give, it’s that they went out of their way to leave you with nothing. “Perhaps she’s foreign and unaware of our implied gratuity. . . maybe the assistant is too scared to tell her.” A co-worker hypothesized. Bullshit. They were both stiffs. It was time they got a sneeze-pizza.

The “extra pepperoni” came out of the oven piping hot, just minutes after the order was placed. I boxed it, bagged it, and walked outside. I placed the steaming box inside my truck bed and opened the cardboard cover. I looked around the empty parking lot as if a drug deal were about to go down. I swashed saliva inside my mouth like it was Listerine before spraying it all over the cheesy surface. A few slices were missed so I churned up some more and hit them with a concentrated load. I clapped off the imaginary dust from my hands and walked back into the restaurant, leaving the pizza out to cool in the chilly night air. If you’re disgusted right now, relax. I didn’t cough up any phlegm or mucus, just a little spit. It’s like cheating on your girlfriend – okay if it’s only a blow job.

When I pulled up to the house forty-five minutes later, I noticed something was off. I had the wrong address. 2473 was foreign handicapped lady’s place. 2491 was further down. I parked out front the correct spot, peering into the brightly lit entryway. The entire family greeted me at the door with warm smiles- Mom, Dad, and their adorable seven-year-old son. They handed me a twenty for the fifteen dollar pizza and told me to keep the change. I thanked them and quickly left. When I got back to the restaurant I noticed the tip and total columns on the receipt were left blank. I added another two dollars.

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Luke Ollett

Piss them off? Fuck that.

These robotic scavengers of life have sent me to the brink of insanity filled rage and I fear I will never return.

So you’re a teacher and hope to reach that one student … sounds like a 99% failure rate to me.

So you’re a lawyer … you are the reason for the loss of trust in this world and you make money off it. Urchin.

So you’re a politician … you are the undulating mass of uselessness spawning lawyers making you a larger urchin than they are.

So you’re an artist … your shit looks just like that guy I saw down by the pier.

So you move intangible money … I loathe you and most people in the world do as well. You like that feeling big guy? Hmmm?

So you’re a chef … ya me too. You don’t see me begging people to pay me for it.

So you play poker … go whine to someone else about the obvious conspiracy against you … and put some pants on.

So you are in the middle of a giant corporation managing something that you don’t really understand … you fucked up.

So you’re an engineer … that baller salary looks like shite when you are working 70 hours a week effectively putting you at the same pay level as the dude who cuts your lawn.

So you’re a doctor … stop fucking with evolution and let them die. You are single handedly annihilating the human race through your efforts to prolong a single life. Emergency medicine or quit.

So you own a business … how dare you skimp your taxes to negatively affect the people that give you money.

So you’re an accountant … your job is to hide the simplicity in what you do. You are useless.

So you sell real estate … I look at you and see a salivating wolf mask with cocaine eyes and polished teeth.

So you’re an entrepreneur … if you still call yourself that then you’re failing at life and cannot entrepreneur your way into anything. Douche.

I live a gratifying, productive, and genuine life and I have these helpless drones floating around trying to fuck up my chi and you want me to piss them off? Well fuck you Mr. Blog. I have enough “pissed off” in me to piss on all these jokers.

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Matt Zbrog

Abortions should be mandatory across the board for at least a decade.

“Be fruitful and multiply.” I think even God would be startled at how far we’ve taken that directive. It’s like, your mom told you to brush your teeth… but you did stop brushing them at some point right? You took 6-8 hour breaks before brushing them again, yes?

We are facing countless problems on Earth. Adding more people is not the answer.

For reference, here are the problems a mandatory abortion law would solve:

1. Food
2. Water
3. Pollution
4. Poverty
5. Unemployment

We, as a race, are a pregnant 12 year old… with octuplets. We don’t have the education, the funds, or the maturity to handle our situation. We are greedy and irresponsible, and our children are going to pay the price. So instead, let’s take a break, mature a little bit, maybe come up with a 5 year plan, and then go on with creating another few billion lives.

If we could cut the baby-making for even a decade – the tiniest time out in terms of history – imagine how great the world would look.

If your brain can’t fathom the big picture of that utopia, let me offer you a few small scale improvements:

1. Shorter lines… for everything
2. More stuff… for everyone
3. More space… for things

There would be so much extra stuff, we could start giving old shit away. I’ll take this apartment building. You take that one. Fire sale on 1 grade classrooms. No bathroom lines. Want a pineapple? The Dole family has 300,000,000 extra now.

Like Thoreau said, Simplify, Simplify.

Quality, not quantity. Progress, shmogress. We have iPads. We have super computers. We have the internet. We can cruise control for X amount of years until we plug a few leaks. We don’t have to fix everything. Like Bill Hicks said, let’s just solve the whole food/air deal first.

But still, some idiots will convince themselves they are different so they are going to have a baby or four because they’re giving the gift of life… When really they’re only contributing to the starvation and suffocation of billions… stroking their ego with somes trange delusion of eternal life or escape from boredom.

Hence the mandatory part.

I understand that some will find the concept offensive.

Wallace said kneejerk reactions could kill a person.

If only.