Mr. Muir once told me after a show not to let shit get me down. it was the best advice anyone had ever given me up to that point in time. i took it to heart and burnt down the garage of the kid who was bullying me, then i shot him in the leg from my roof with a pellet gun the next morning as he was walking to school.…

you damn fool.i have a full body suit that pays tribute to the great Molly MotherFucking Hatchett. the story above is about my idiot cousin.

someone, somewhere, has that pantera cat as a tattoo. and it was probably done by their drunken cousin who was apprenticing at an ink shop in tallahassee, while under the influence of the best local bourbon one could get on trade for an almost-new car battery. that is how one rocks, if it is 1983.

In 6th grade all I wanted was a union jack shirt so that I could look like Joe Elliott. I thought the girls would be all over me because of it. I also put a potato down my pants for the same reason but it wasn't until 7th grade that someone pointed out it should be in the FRONT OF MY PANTS. sheesh.

i would like to shit on this film from a very high flying plane…after a hungover breakfast of black coffee and fried eggs with tabasco.

if scott got a new brother this could be really good.

as an angry young white kid i bought a PE baseball shirt, which i wore on occasion to a gathering of drinkers by the bridge. they sat there and chawed on their skoal, and slurped their tall boys, going; "so whatsa public enema huh?" i went back up to my truck, got out my tackle box, and slid a bunch of barbed fish…

when i was 13 we went to ABQ because my mom needed her spine fused after an auto accident back in CO. i skated the ditches there with my ZORLAC, and it rocked. i ate hot dogs from the gas station while my folks were in the hospital. going back through cortez i saw the launch ramps in the old safeway lot with LOCALS…

there's always a canal though. or a fjord.

too specific. they should just do "Things"; a movie where things that don't normally talk, talk.matt damon will do the voice of a jergen's hand lotion bottle, while sara silverman tackles her most challenging role yet as a sass-talking knish.

i believe that 'stove-pipe' is the more acceptable term in these times.

oh, i'm a Clegg man to be sure. named my retarded daughter after 'im.

where are the fudgeickles? you SAID there would be fudgeickles.

PBS kept me sane my first year teaching when i was living in an old haunted farmhouse, drinking moonshine made by my neighbor and watching Last Of The Summer Wine. either that or it drove me batshit crazy.

so long as he never ever EVER eats or drinks anything touched by the hands of the brilliant Dr. Newcombe.

he was paid in weights. which he then lifted. with a great deal of determination and anger, of sorts.

the quick-e mart is really…D'oh!

i just kind of scanned the title and got really angry until it became apparent that the O'Neal to whom they were referring was not the one i thought.

not to mention the cleanest.

i would much rather have seen an inanimate carbon rod. those are important. and often very hot.