Friday, September 15, 2006

Greatest Bands/Albums Ever

This last week has been rough. I have been told I am washed up, that my stories are bland, that I might be the father of a chicano kid named Choco, and in an unrelated story, that my mother might be dead (they aren't sure if it is her, the remains are minimal at best. She did enjoy smoking in bed, and often fell asleep with a cigarette hanging loosley from her mouth. Not to mention the fact she only drank 151, kept an open bottle of it next to her at all times, and slept with baby oil on her face... it kept her looking young for when the walrus hunters came to port, I can still smell the blubber and saltwater from those gentlemen callers to this day...). So, to lighten up the mood, I have decided to create the first installment of:


1. The first band i would like to introduce you to is Krokus... You may know them from their one hit "Ballroom Blitz" which rocked the balls off of an entire generation (thus the yuppie movement shortly after), but these artists made music not for those spur of the moment cocaine and rum induced orgies in the ball pit at a chuck e. cheese's, but also for each man's gentler side. when i send flowers to my cage match opponents hospital rooms or funerals, you can usually see me outside the ICU/cemetary sitting with a bottle of beefeater (to dispell those gay rumors), in my red honda accord with the hawaiian-print seat covers, shedding a tear to the track, "Boys Night Out" off of their critically awknowledged The Blitz album.

2. Bruce Springsteen - if you don't know who this guy is, then die. seriously, he made wonderful music that caused little Courtney Cox's to wanna jump out of the crowd at his show, dance with the boss, and get railed so hardcore in the boses dressing room right after the concert that they needed a support group of 5 other friends to live right next to each other and give her support so the memories of bruce going silverback gorilla on that ass doesnt consume her every waking moment. He has, unfortunatley, turned soft, like most older rockers do. Ozzy doesn't bite the head off of bats anymore, Elton John turned gay recently, and Rick James did the ultimate sellout, he died. So what can we learn from this? that although old rockers have a tendency to soften, sell out, and suck cock, some old guys are better remembered for their earlier work....

Listen...... i need to be honest. I can't do this anymore. I am faking it. My heart is not in it.
I will no longer post online, anywhere. I need to stop this shit, i need to grow up, get a job, find a fucking home that is MINE, not my goddamn brothers.... this whole thing is bullshit, you (yeah you, the reader) spend too much time on a goddamn computer, go outside and fucking live. we all get way to involved in this computer stuff. people feel real emotions, get upset, get happy get fucking whatever when their little anonymous online name is either accepted or rejected by a bunch of other ANONYMOUS people. this is one of the most retarded, unimportant things i can imagine. the whole point of fitting in is being able to Spend Time with REAL People, not just punch keys and sit behind some bullshit facade. Im tired of living in a fake world, void of any and all senses, I'm sure you are all great people, but live like a person, that's what I am about to do. I have so many things left I feel like I need to see, and this fucking mechanical box destroys that valuable time left. For my friends I've met online, you are great, I hope you take my advice, maybe I'll see you in a bar sometime, maybe we will cross paths on burnside, downtown, hell, maybe the spanish steps in Rome, but until then, find happiness, and not this electronic kind, it won't truly make you happy...

Wednesday, September 13, 2006



Some days i love it, some days i hate it. Today, when blogging, I told new producer CaseyLive this...

"You ever been to a Dojo? Cause I'd like to take you on a guided tour! It will feature a wonderful cultural reenactment of an early progressive form of Kensano blade dancing. Really entertaining. Then we will sit and enjoy some of the famed oolong white dragon tea and rice cakes. Scrumptious. Once we are finished, I will teach you the art of Chi Shu Fie, and this consists of me tying your face to your a$$ and bow staffing you in the head/a$$ so many times you will crap yourself in your face... think about it blog boy."

Did i use profanity? No... Did i threaten him? No, i merely asked him if it would like to go on a tour of a dojo, and did so in a form of a question. Did he deserve it? Yes, as a matter of fact, he typed something earlier that was infact offensive. he stated, approximately, that,

"I hate america, and after reading your blog my job here doesn't seem so awful."

This offends me and so many others. We are all americans here, all the way from the tip of florida all the way to the snowy hills of saskatch...wan... umm, Alberta. How dare he say he hates america!! and second, to the even greater number of my fans. The ones that were there during the Karate Tourney years, to my new fans at ocatgon fights, to the ones supporting me on my new book that is about to get published (read below) and to my fans of this new venture into the blogosphere. How dare he.

Casey, your job at OLive has been painful at best. What a terrible excuse you used the other day for having a case of pants pissing on your first day. On your first day, your FIRST DAY, you managed one weak, late evening post that basically said, "uhh sorry i didnt post, but uhh, eric left to work for kobe, don't know how that happened... uhh, so i didnt know how to break it to you... crazy, alright, im going to go rock back and forth in the corner again and soil myself... uhhh, ok." You had nothing that day, nothing at all and came into the game to pinch hit and didnt even open your eyes to swing. Add whatever baseball reference you want about the Doom, say i strike out on my jokes, i will laugh, but only because i will picture you with your face tied to your ass pooping. lol

So, you may have the power to boot me, but truces might be your strongest weapon. I am as much of a part of that site as you are. The strong arm of the law can also be used for hugging. So embrace me into the online community, and i shall do the same. until an apology is posted under the blazer blog, i will be really, really, really mad at you octagon cage match style (which means im pretty pissed).

Sexaholics Anonymous

I sleep with so many women, my old nickname around the tribal lands was Dong Ballerson the Humidifier (for women's reactions when the see me, gets humid in a room pretty quick when i bust in with my mesh tank and checkerboard spandex... scientists actually blame El Nino on the years that i would show up to Lilith Fair. Not only do i convert all those lizzys, but all of the moisture produced from that many broads sends mother earth's trade winds and currents into a frenzy). I get alot. So what is this post getting at? I am merely stating that which is know, and my sensai, Mr. Jiu, has told me before, "I bet you can't stay quiet for 5 minutes... ready, begin." This lesson is one which took me a long time to understand. I can never stay quiet, for my heart will always beat, my lungs will always enhale, and my mind will always wander. It is perspective which determines things like time, noise, taste, smell, etc. But only one thing on this earth is for certain, perspective has no effect upon it. Everyone knows it to be true, and if it is true in all minds, it cannot be disproved. I do get alot of chicks... I pick them up constantly, Wendy's, 7-11, across the street from my Dojo at the greyhound station. we all know this to be true, and i got the video tapes to prove it.
The only reason I posted this today is because i was roller blading this morning in, you guessed it, my Chaka Kahn 1983 world tour t-shirt with the nipples cut out (it was cool for like 3 days back in '83... you doubt me?) and my son's (who died in a oil company cover-up, read above and below) papa smurf underwear to honor him because i miss that little bugger.... give me a moment... ok, im alright. let's just say they don't fit really well, but i dont do it for a fashion statement. i rock Papa S to honor my boy! god bless him and america at the same time. anyway, some dude drove by, threw a poppyseed muffin at me and called me a derogitory homosexual name, and it hurt. so i guess im just trying to prove a point about me and the babes... do i sound insecure? takes one to know one...

Monday, September 11, 2006

so this weekend sucked

when bad luck rears its ugly fuckin face, it looks, smiles, makes you think that maybe all the past stuff is behind you, then right before you are about to give it a kiss on the cheek and welcome it anew, throws up the vodka and hurricane mix it drank until 3 am the night before all over your white travolta suit you were hoping to wear to your ex-wife's funeral. so lets just say, when i found out the new findings about my families death, i was pretty fuckin upset. fuckin upset. fuckin upset (gets quieter each time, like a belowing yell of pain into hell's cavernous depths). Now, the DA of my eskimo village (which is named after me, and if i told you the name of it, obviously you would know who i was... so ladies, don't go naming your illegitimates quite yet, this DNA test is yet to be determined) contacted me via the chip inserted into my brain by the CCCP during the Great Eskimo Conquest. The russians kidnapped me back in 88, mostly to track my whereabouts, but also to eventually master my brain and operate me like a remote control kung-fu master. It would have been the greatest weapon since the lazer beam if i was half the man. But during one of my retreats to Mt. Pie near my eskimo village, i meditated... this meditation eventually gave me control of the chip. so i decided, what the hell, lets make this big piece of silicon and copper something useful. I first tried to use my chip as a garage door opener, but if i was driving my snowmobile toward an open garage door and lets say i started to sing along to my favorite Doors song, it would close the garage door and i would then crash into it. My Snow Chopper would be in the shop for a week and i was left cheating on my wife by means of snowshoe... not fun, but gave me a longer opportunity to come up with a great excuse. My favorite being, " what this hickey? i dont know where i got it..." then i would jump panther kick her in the forehead, knock her unconcious, give her amnesia and wait a week, kick her in the head again, knock her out again, then she would wake up, not remember any of the kicks or the amnesia period, and my hickey had healed. i eventually made the brain chip a cell phone, my custom ringtone right now is the new justin timberlake song.
Back to my story, the DA brain called me to my chip and gave me an update in my families death. Apparently, since we all lived on Oil fields in the Arctic Tundra, we always had oil creeping up through the floor boards of our colonial style igloo, and although it was great for keeping our oakfloors we recovered from an old spanish yukon monastary from drying out, fire hazards were always a problem. The DA now claims that it wasn't the oil company setting fire to my home that killed my family, but a bag of popcorn i accidently left in the microwave for 245 minutes instead of the usual 2:45 minutes i am positive i set it at. I think this is yet another attempt to pin the fault on myself. i think this is some total crap, and i will not allow it to stand. So was is Orville Redenbocker that killed my family? doubt it. orville makes my life wonderful, he is the father i never had (my father never wore bow ties)

Friday, September 08, 2006

You aren't cocky when its true...

Because some of you have questioned the validity of my martial renassiance I call Octagon fighting, my dominance of the sport, and my ability to make women drop their clothes like they are on fire when i enter a room, I decided to compile a list of achievements, skills, and fun factoids to educate you frosted flake eating brace-faces that are faking illnesses to stay home from school so you can read my gospel. long insult, i know. I am warning you, as Sensai Jiu once told me, "Minds cannot grasp that which it cannot see." So quit bein' a retard and wrap your noggin around these golden nuggets

1. I can defy space and time. How? ahh, you would like to know, you would like to study me, put me in a cage and run tests on me. that would make you happy, make you really pleased... but i am no animal, i am no guinnea pig you can fatten up and thin down at your pleasure. I am an american eagle, one with a cool sharp beak that can poke out eyeballs and open walnuts for my squirrel friends, allow them to eat the hearty nut, then, unknowenst to them, eat THEM once they have finished their last meal! Sometimes i make funny jokes before i eat them, say some cold shit like, "Oh, that nut was tasty was it not? You should eat more of them, i hear the crop has been pretty good.... IN HELL!!!!" hmmm, that's not really great, the whole "IN HELL!" thing might be tired...i'll think about it a bit longer

2. I can speak walrian languages, all dialects. and by that i mean i can speak to walruses. manatees are also my friends. Sea lions, not so much. those little fuckers told me i needed a dickfor if i wanted to hold my breath underwater in salt water. i laughed, told them no need, i can breath underwater (seriously) and went on my way. but it dawned on me, what the hells a dickfor? so i turned and asked, and they laughed at me and called me a butt anenome or something stupid and i cried. my tears are made of 97 octane, one of the after effects of growing up next to a refinery, so they lit my face on fire. long story short and lots of corrective surgery later it all worked out. i look a lot more like my idol, Corey Haim, and it was cool cause i got to choose my new face. my triple cleft is gone, and chicks used to dig it, so thats a bummer

3. I can breath underwater (see above)

4. i won a nobel piece prize, i got it by threatening the board of electors with a party sub of elbow drops and a few 2 liters of blood and tears to wash it down. i really said that! and after that description, said, "so, you guys want to party or what? " they said no and gave me the award. coldest shit that ever happened in history, that's what my wikipedia page says, citate (Site, sitation?) that a-holes

5. You= loser, me= lady chooser

6. one time i got my picture taken with chuck norris... true story. i asked him if i could get a polaroid with him, he said it was cool. so i took the pic, said thanks, shook my polaroid picture like a... polaroid picture, and as he began to walk away, i said, "Chuck, buddy, one more sec." he turned around and said, "yes, my warrior apprentice".... i grabbed chuck, pinned him down, and shoved the picture so far up his ass that i lodged it behind his EYEBALLS!!! totally ruined my new tommy hilfiger logo sweater. so, from then on, when he closed his eyes, he would see my face and know i am his decider....

7. i am starting a voluntary program for women, one to bring hope to the community. I plan on sleeping with every woman alive (of age of course) on the PLANET so if i ever have an argument with anyone, now or in the future, i can say "that's what your mom said when i was bonin' her" and it would hurt even that much more.

8. i want to release all the captive doves.... at funerals when i get done going all dojo loco on em.

9. i would really like to be in the next installment of the karate kid. but i hear my back hair is not camera friendly, and i really don't want to shave it. my mom says its my teddy bear fur.

10. I know for a fact that the ninja turtles DO NOT exist. i spent a good part of the nineties scouring the worlds sewer systems in search of these reptilian ambassadors of poop and throwing stars. guess what, never saw them, they are fake, i even flushed a few of my box turtle's (name is Chummers, he's a great friend) babies that it gave birth to down the toilet, placed a sardine pizza next to the toilet to lure them back up.... and nothing. totally lame

that pic above is chummers, my box turtle! he is a riot, look at him, i told him to do a serious picture but NOOOOO! he had to be all silly, what a goof!

Thursday, September 07, 2006

totally bad day, to the max

don't think im getting soft, i still enjoy destroying man and beast alike. but i hurt.
ever since my wife was slain by the swift blade of the metaphorical dipstick of the oil companies, i have chose not to turn my attention to another woman. oh how my loins have ached for a companion, someone to laugh with, someone who enjoys a good cuddle, someone to watch sheister porn with then reenact our favorite titles such as "El Kaka Loco Taco Stand", "Ernest goes to wipe", and my all time fav "Soft Serve Parlay" staring the eloquent Kristi Alley as Star Brown the soft serve ice cream wench. the thought of her beautiful face covered in my rejected food still makes my heart and bowels flutter of times past.
I tried to allow a new lolita into my life. a new temptress to swoop me off ring worm infected feet (wrestling mats in the dojo really oughta be cleaned. I say i have ringworm to sensai, he tells me to use that worm to catch a fish like some buddhist a-hole. i tell him instead to catch a fist, then i try to punch him in the nuts. at this point he rejects my cheetah lunge with his bow staff, ruptures MY nut with a bow staff paddle jab, and i end up with both one less testie AND ring worm. its not fair). Woman are here for one reason, to procreate. When god and jesus sat down to decide how us humans multiply, you know they thought, "well, i don't want to carry that little fucker around, let's create a less intelligent, fetus transportation system... we will call it Woman." And then, out of a man's tail bone or something, we created this credit card maxing, opinionated bullhorn of an animal that wants nothing more than our undevided attention and for us to change into wormy little vaginations that enjoy nothing more than hearing about who gave them a bad look at work and how many times the person in front of themat the supermarket check out lane let their child do something innappropriate.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love sex, so in essence i love women. I have no choice. Do i wish they didn't have a brain? yes, for i cannot have sex with their brain. Mouth? well, i do like the mouth... but vocal cords? do they really need vocal chords? with the proliferation of internet technology, instead of calling the home shopping networks, women can send in orders over the internet. This technology really renders a female's voice box useless.
So, i have a date tonight. Her name is Brenda McRuffles. She has humongus breasts and is a really great person (huge ol bags of 2%, the kind that make a cow look like a lunch room sized individual carton of milk... she is so stupid i hate her for it, but mmmmmmm mmmmm!!! boobs that would have to be set on both sides of the aisle on a jumbo jet for fear of weight distribution problems! she would totally book a ticket for virgin air, then get rejected at the gate for being on the no fly list!! she's a whore, majorly, but me want boobs!). I could see myself settling down with these set of udders, for one, she's really really good with kids (she has 7 little angels, and apparently is not racist at all), and understands that i am a 14th degree blackbelt that gets what i want and gives people bad hair days with my nunchuckery if food isn't prepared at the stroke of 7 (that includes the woman being out of my sight, in her designated spot of reclusion, usually the laundry room. She will stay there and wait for me to finish my food whilst folding my chonies, then when i am ready to allow her to do dishes and mop the kitchen, i will pull her work whistle chord, let her punch in, and leave to watch whatever steven segal movie is on the dish...)
my dream woman doesnt exist, i know this. i have lofty expectations. i have been considering hiring maids, ones that will sleep with me. that would be my ideal relationship, but with all the feminist nihilists that cannot accept God's intended use of them, i don't know if that is even a realistic expectation anymore. the time has come, to say fairs fair. how do we dance while the world keeps turning? i may never know....

The American Dream

I am an american. You can tell if you see me. I have massive biceps, a mustache, and mudflaps on my safari jeep (and by safari, I mean setting off on an expedition to the Portland Community College parking lot and encountering numerous female homosapiens that succomb to my animalistic physique and beg to procreate with this alpha male). I am american like the star spangled banner, like wwe wrestling, and like t-shirts that are xxxl in size, but picture a much thinner, bikini clad body.
So what do i think about team USA losing? I find it funny. We didn't lose. What was to be won? It was a fake tournament with nothing at stake. My humble sensai once told me, fight for that which rewards you, for that which has no reward, is not worth fighting for. So what did the winners get? They got crappy Karate Kid bandanas. Look at the pics of the spanish team after they won, that is all you see. They didn't win the girl.... No crane kicks were thrown. Hell, daniel-san himself (pau gasol) sat out. If this was a karate kid sequel, it would be that movie RV (which wasn't a karate kid sequel, but sucked as its own brand of movie. Imagine the amount of suckage if it would have been Karate kid 5 or something but with the same premise. Awful, i know).
Americans know what they want. They want the bling, the medals. I don't blame them for choosing not to win. They made it to the semis, and you know as they were walking out of the locker room they caught a glance of the award case. They all probably stopped, paused, and once they realized the only prize would be some douchey Japanese headbands. That's why kobe didnt play, i promise you that.
So let me know who i need to challenge to an octagon fight to finally feel vindicated. I would say Jackie Chan, because he is the japanese ambassador to america (with all those movies, lets be real, he is their most famous humanitarian. Plus I've wanted to monkey punch him in the adam's apple for a long time... if he even has an adam's apple). fill me in

Friday, August 11, 2006

Read Post Below this...

I would just like to tell the Oregonlive blazers forum A-hole's that think America sucks and don't allow free speech to lick the spot between xxxxxxxxxx i editted out that section of where they can lick, i need find inner peace, not release gaseous inner anger (plus it smells like pizza, i had that for lunch)...
Please read below this, i just needed to vent




It was brought to my knowledge, by a hairy little critter named Dan, whose bad teeth which were littered with pieces of mince pie and tea stained plaque distracted much of my attention, that my stories were inconsistent. A declaration like this must be analyzed. Did I mix up my story? I stated that my family died. I later said my Mom criticized my novel. Now, if he had done the research, it would have been extremely clear to him that the err, oh wretched little isle rat, was his.
In the issue of "Worldwide Muscle and Pain" magazine, the short piece entitled, "Eskimo Warrior Prince: Octagon's Next Face Crusher?" exposayed (i can't figure out how to do that vaginal accent line over the E) my life. It discussed the leaving of my parents house at a young age, far younger than what was typical in my walrus hunting tribe. At the ripe age of 7, i was sent to become a man. This ritual consisted of finding a rare albino walrus, breaking off its tusks, and feeding it peanut butter on a spoon (you scrape the peanut butter on the roof of its mouth, they can't get it off with their tongues... hillarity ensues). I then came back to the village with the tusks. For my wife, the custom was to sneak into another man's igloo during the night and stab him with both tusks, and you then take his wife (due to the incredibly small population of women, there were only 3 back then, but we applied and recieved a batch of 15 mail-orders from siberia, so the woman population is back at a reasonable level). MY PARENTS DIDNT LIVE WITH ME... I built my own igloo, and at the age of 7 and 1/2, began creating my young. the first of which was born on my eigth birthday, no joke... we would share power rangers and stuff for birthday presents, he would get blue ranger, i would red, and we would have them fight... awesome. My parents frequented Reno for investment purposes, and just happened to be on such a trip when my family was killed by those goddamn oil people. story over, dan loses, i win....
Picture above is from "Worldwide Muscle and Pain" magazine... I am not in the picture because i was only 7, and preferred to fight naked... it would have been childporn if they showed me, so they couldnt...

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Mystery of Gnome Gulley, Chapter 3

well, i'm writing a novel that should hit the shelves of a walgreens near you. the book is entitled Mystery of Gnome Gulley, and i am really proud of it. although its been refered to as a grandioso waste of human life by my own mother, who never supported me, ever, i can't wait to prove her wrong. sure i lived in a station wagon for 3 years and still do. sure i sold my wife's wedding ring after the oil company incident (see under head of the page, up above dummy) for a bj in a back alley by a dude who told me he was Tom Selleck's brother. i've made mistakes, i live up to them, but now i have a feather factory truck parked under the ledge i'm standing on and i have something to fall on... so i am working, i am getting stuff done, and i need to get going, the barista just noticed that i took a coffee off of the counter that wasn't mine, so i'll check in on free wifi from another starbucks in a while...

My First Blog...

and it feels like GREAT! I have overcome many obstacles, entire armies... But now my heart is heavy, I must ignore my impulses. I would love to cheetah punch my television everytime I see a family on it. But just because I lost mine when OilCon seized my tribal land and decided to drill into mother earth's cold, hard, tundra-y flesh so some exec can drive their H2 Hummers (mine is an H3, so I get better gas mileage) and use vaseline or whatever else they make out of the black blood of satan doesn't mean I can resort to violence. Like an eagle perched far above the land, i must watch the horizon. I can't attack, but I can surely drop an occasional doo doo on a passerbyer. And this "doo doo" that I am dropping is meant to keep people listening, make them aware of the fact that even though I am far from better, I can overcome. And so can you... I will guide you, like Mama pig bringing her young to her nipples for a late lunch, and inspire you, like a three legged dog, lifting his only hind leg to take a wiz... Magic isn't for magicians, it's for miracle workers.

Go Blazers! The pic i have added to this post is one my son made for me, the day before he was tossed into a vat of oil and became hummer exhaust...