Belee Dat (along with Phil Honus and the Smart Retard)

Update on Boshnickels

2008-09-24T18:09:00.000-07:00

Hey gang. Notice the lack of an exclamation point at the end of that sentence? Well sorry, but there's not much to exclame about right now. I've come with a heavy heart today to give you some news about our friend Boshnickels. We're not sure how it happened, but it seems that Boshnickels has become temporarily paralyzed from the waist up. That's right, from the waist up. He can still walk, but currently his arms are immobile, which means no typing, at least until the paralyzation, which I assure you, as do his doctors, is temporary, lets up. He won't give us any clue as to what happened, but I surmise it has something to do with one of the rival gangs he often finds himself in conflict with.
Anyways, gang-a-lang, he is stil able to speak, and he wanted me to give you this message: "no worriez homiez, fo' long I be back in da mix, stirrin up troubullz like da ushawool. much luv to y'alls and keep on hustlin. also, deez medical billz is gettin expensiv, so if anyone, ya know, could send sum dead prezidentz my directshun..."
I'll be keeping you up to speed, gang. Toodles.

The Smart Retard Wears His Shoes Wherever He Wants

2008-07-06T20:44:00.000-07:00

Smart.
I am smart.
Riddle me this: What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening, and is not smart?
If you want the answer to that, look in the mirror. Take a long look. Look at how not smart you are. It hurts doesn't it.
I'm tired of talking about you and how not smart you are.
I'm talking about shoes. Shoes in the house and shoes out of the house. No difference to me. I where shoes where I want to. On the carpet. In the bathtub. On your face. I walk through rain puddles, splashing and the like, making my shoes wet and muddy. Then I walk on my mom's carpet. She has a Bissel. She can take care of it.
When I was born I was wearing shoes. That's true. I wear shoes while getting a pedicure. Not true. I never get pedicures. I do my own clipping and filing. My toes are amazing. Yours aren't. You have horrible foot fungus and Athlete's Foot. You need to start wearing flip flops in the shower, especially since you started playing intramural racquetball at the Rec Center, which you are terrible at, btw. Btw means by the way. I know you didn't know that. Not smart.
Most Asian countries take their shoes off when entering the house. I don't. I wear shoes in the house because I don't want people to see my hairy feet. And I like the grip and performance of the Vibram sole. All of my shoes have the Vibram sole. Yours don't. You wear Voits. Shannon Spomer used to wear Voits. He never achieved his full potential in athletics because he lacked the grip and performance of the Vibram sole. In his defense the Vibram sole didn't exist then. What's your excuse?
Not smart.
I'm not allowed in most Asian homes anymore. Some take no shoes in the house very seriously. Most do. Some yell loudly. I'm not sure what they are saying. Not good, though.
Maybe not the most smart thing to wear shoes in Asian homes. Still not as not smart as you. Naturally.
What did we learn? You're not smart. Shannon Spomer prefers Voits. I like precision traction and agility that only comes from the Vibram sole. Smart.
Smart.
I am smart.
I am the smart retard.

Smart Talkin in the Philippines

2008-05-27T17:47:00.000-07:00

Smart.
I am smart.
You are not smart.
Pop quiz, hot shot: you use your keys so your car can start, and YOU use your brain so that you can be not (fill in the blank).
I'm in the Philippines. Sound this out: Feel-a-peeness. Again: feel-a-peeness. Again: feel-a-peeness.
Your mind is in the gutter. Don't even think I meant something dirty by that. You will though, not smarty pants.
I have probably eaten feces every day here. That's shocking, isn't it. Whatever. I'm not asking your opinion. I will have to clean my hands with fire when I get back. Whatevs.
Hold on a second- I can feel your not-smartness through the computer. Stiff arm. You can't get through my defense.
Um, how many not smart people does it take to ruin my day?
Let me think- you.
This is the least creative blog I've ever done in my life.
Smart.
I am the Smart Retard.

Blogger Friend Profiles: Shelly Mortenson

2008-04-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

Howdy ho gang! Can you believe this? two posts in a row? Looks like Ol Phil has been working over time to get all of this blogposure. That's "blog exposure," btw. Oh, and btw means "by the way."
Head explosion! TMI, right? (Sorry for this, but I gotta explain it: TMI means "too much information." I'm so, so sorry) I'll try to keep the knowledge I present down to a minimum. That's my promise to you guys. And you know why? Cuz I love you. Honest injun.
So Ol Phil's got something to talk about today. Or should I say, someone. Who is she? Well, if you're mentally retarded, you might already know. Or you might know, but have no idea how to compute that information in your weird, very weird, brain.
Shelly Mortenson.
Quite the name, eh? In Gaellic, it means: "the one who buys pennies." What does that even mean? Not sure, but pretty cool, nonetheless.
Shelly. Rhymes with a lot of other words, wouldn't you say? Here's a couple: jelly, Kelly, tele, heli, and I didn't want to say this one, cuz I know you all are gonna jump all over this, but...smelly. I said it. No connection to Shelly WHATSOEVER, so don't even go there, you rascals.
So who is this Shelly Mortenson? Let me describe her: friend, woman, white, hair, clothes, feet with shoes on them, green water bottle in or near hand, teeth that are sometimes brushed or possibly have plaque on them if she just ate and hasn't had some Trident gum, eyes which tend to not move independently of each other. Starting to sound like someone you might know? Now, hold on a second.
What do you think Shelly does for work? Don't even worry about guessing, cuz I'll tell you. Shelly works with "different" people. And that's just her coworkers I'm talking about. Zing! Actually, Shelly has an employment that is very similar to one of Phil's very close friends. For that matter, TWO of Phil's very close friends. She works with mentally re-started people. Why do I call them mentally re-STARTED people? Well, first of all, no matter what the Smart Retard tells you, saying retarded is a little offensive, wouldn't you say? I sure think so. And secondly, I guess because it's like their brains re-start every so often, and by often, I mean every two seconds. Everything that goes in that brain of theirs sits there for a bit, and then, ZOINK, RESTART,back to a blank screen. That's probably exaggerating a little, but you get my nifty-drifty.
So, after that 'splaining, I'll tell you that Shelly makes sure that Re-starts have personal rights and what not, which, you know, whatever, but the important thing about Shelly's job is that she makes sure to keep her schedule wide open so that she can attend to the needs of her dear friends. She isn't one of those types who gets a high profile job and forgets about all of the little people. Nopey dopey, she texts her friends, and sends emails to her friends, and writes to her friends on facebook, and frequents chat rooms where her friends may or may not be, not really important, and makes phone calls to her friends, telegrams her friends, sends letters to her friends by horse-messenger, etc.
And Shelly also blogs, just like Ol Phil. To check her out (not like that, sillies, although there are some pics of her that might catch your attention- whoops, said too much), go to http://www.mishellitasforall.blogspot.com/
If you meet Shelly some day and talk to her, what do you think you're gonna get? I'll tell you: conversation. All different kinds of conversation. You got some hot political issue you've been dying to rap about? Shelly will spit witchya. Problems from work pressing on you? Shelly will lend an open ear and give you advice as needed, and if she doesn't have the answer for you, which is unlikely, she will tell you that, cuz Shelly never misleads.
"But Phil," you're probably thinking, "is everything so serious with Shelly?"
On the contrary. Shelly loves not taking things seriously. She's got jokes, and I beg you to test her fiery wit. It'll bite you, bite your face right off. Let me give you an idea of a joke that I can see Shelly telling:
(told in a Katherine Hepburn-style voice): "So three Mexicans walk into a bar and have a drink. Now, you're probably thinking, 'just one drink?' Well, okay, you got me...(and then Shelly proceeds to put on a sombrero and pretend to shoot pistols and yells 'arriba!')"
So Shelly Shelly Bo Belly, Banana Fanna Fo Felly, Me My Mo Melly,
Shelly Mortenson:Blogger friend, co-member of Fans of the Kennedy Assassination Group.

Everything You Wanted To Know About Jail But Were Too Afraid To Ask

2008-03-28T17:13:00.000-07:00

Howdy gang! Toodley-woodles!! Did you have a happy Easter? Oh boy did I have a crazy time. That's what you can expect, I suppose, when one half of your family is celebrating the resurrection of Jesus and the other half is celebrating the mouth watering combination of malted milk enveloped in chocolate and bound by a thin layer of sweet candy shell. Woozers did we have a lot of arguments! My mom was like, "this day is not about the Easter bunny. It's about Jesus resurrecting from the dead." And all that my dad would say to that was, "Well you know what I wish would resurrect? The tradition of you buying marshmallow peeps. You know I love those." My parents can be so zany sometimes. I just wish they hadn't forced us to watch them yell at each other when we were children.
But enough of that. That's not what we're here to talk about. Today we're here to talk about jail. Now, you all know how I spent a little time in the clinky-dink for being bad. If you don't, well, I'm not going to get into the details, but it was a difficult time in my life. But now I'm a changed man. Yep, it's the straight and narrow for Ol' Phil. Nowadays, I keep the bad thoughts pushed way down deep, where they don't bother anyone, and can have all the time they need to well up inside me into some powerful ball of hate that will, on many occasions, threaten to overpower my decision making and lead to an uncontrolled outburst of rage, but which I'm sure I'll be able to keep suppressed.
But the real reason I'm talking about jail is to answer all of the questions that I should have been asked over the years, the questions that all of you have wanted to be answered, but were too afraid to ask. These are the things that everyone wonders when they think about jail. So without any more dilly dally, let's get right into it.

1. Is jail a dangerous place?
Answer: All I can say is that it sure can be. I think I got pretty lucky, since I made it a point to establish my power the minute I got there by stabbing whom I believed to be the toughest inmate, but believe me, not everyone has that same experience. You know who wasn't so lucky? The guy that I stabbed.
2. Are people raped in jail?
Answer: Oh shmoleys, I get this question so many times. Well let me see if I can explain my answer with a little analogy. To understand if people are raped in jail, and if so, why this happens, imagine you've been working the same job for ten years, with the same guys, and in the same office. And now imagine someone new showing up, someone young and cocky, someone pale skinned, clean shaven, someone innocent and emotionally stable, who doesn't know to constantly watch over his shoulder in the shower room. And this guy thinks that he's just one of the boys, that he deserves exactly what you got. So you do exactly what anyone else would do in that situation- you get five of your coworkers together to corner the new guy in the janitor's closet and stick pointy things that are attached to you in his butt.
3. Were you raped in jail?
Answer: Why do you people always ask that? Does it really matter? Is it important to know if a man was forced against his will by another man to lie face down on the bunk and wait patiently while his anus is intruded for an undetermined length of time? To know that that man was beaten each time he started crying? Hmm? Do we really care that much to know this? Well if not, then stop asking me, assholes.
4. What was the food like in jail?
Answer: That all depends. If you enjoy eating food that is dry and soggy at the same time, food that uses salt when it should be sugar, food that should have been thrown away a week before, that is made out of horse penis and elf scrotum, and that has already been eaten once, then you would probably really enjoy jail food.
5. What did you do in jail?
Answer: I think I've already given a few examples of what we did, such as eating, raping, group beatings, but how about the lazy afternoons or those Christmas' after gifts have been exchanged and everyone's just laying around? Animal noises.
6. Is it true that cigarettes are the primary currency in jail?
Answer: Yes.
7. Did you have conjugal visits when you were there?
Answer: Well Ol' Phil never got married, so no conjugal visits. But my grandma came to visit me once, and I showed her the scar I got from the knife fight I won defending my right to stockpile cup o' noodles.
8. Was the warden nice?
Answer: It was Ronald McDonald, actually. And no, he was not nice. Very manipulative.
9. Is most of your knowledge about jail taken from The Shawshank Redemption?
Answer:

That's about all I can say of Jail, gang. Hope this was informative. And if you've had any of your own experiences you'd like to share about jail, just let Ol' Phil know.

I Gotsta Be Strait Witcha

2008-03-27T21:32:00.000-07:00

Was up in da heezy, snizzles? Dis is Boshnickey-ickey comin correct. Been a long time since I busted up y'alls minds wit my spittin. Yo I been maxin and relaxin and spoutin sum at da honeyz and- I can't do this anymore. I've been living a lie. Although you may believe that I am a black man living in the ghetto, hustling drugs by day, and sporting nine millimeter pistols with a crew of gangsters by night, this is actually not true. I am a white man. I live in a duplex. I own zero firearms. I do not know anyone who says things like "was up in da heezy," or "spoutin sum at da honeyz." If my friends knew that I was talking like that they would probably hate me. In fact, they may already hate me, so maybe I'm worrying for no reason.
I actually believe that pronouncing the "ing" sound after words is a good thing. I also am a believer in using the definite article, "the," and not spelling it "da." And I'm not sure why I call women "honeyz."
Is there a reason that I pretend to be someone I'm not? I suppose so. I suppose that I'm heavily influenced by the gangster rap music that I listen to. And I suppose that I find it really easy to pretend to be someone different as long as I have the internet to hide behind. You see, I am not a brave or courageous person. I am unable to offer my opinions while in the presence of other people. I find that I am much tougher when typing.
I guess from here on out I'll just have to be the normal "me." No more speaking like stereotypes. Yes, I think this is a good step for me. I'll probably grow a lot as a person. Maybe I'll start meeting girls. I wonder what that will be like.
So, hello world! I'm ready to step out and fulfill my destiny.
But before I go, let me just say this- booyakasha snizzle dizzles! Boshnickels is reprusentin FO EVA!! Fo shizzle in my hizzle.

The Smart Retard Speaks Out About His Peculiar Name

2008-02-12T22:05:00.000-08:00

Smart.
I am smart.
You are not smart. If we were both bodily functions I would be a bloody nose and you would be a not smart. This is your life. Learn to love it.
Let's not delay: I'm talking about my name. Smart Retard. You might wonder what it means. Don't even try. You can't figure it out. You are not smart. But I am. And I know that the first part means "Smart," which is saying that I am smart. Obviously. The second part is Retard. Don't even pretend you are offended. You probably think you are. You probably think when I say retard it is derogatory. Shut up. I can't believe you feel that way. You are definitely really not smart.
Quick test: you go the store with fifteen pennies. you buy something that costs eleven pennies. if you need two pennies for parking, how much smarts will you have left?
The answer is none. Of course it is.
My name is Smart Retard because I am a smart retard. Here's the deal: I am smart, but I also have to wear a helmet so I don't hurt my brain when I fall into things. Whatever. I can't differentiate rubber cement from edible food sometimes. So what. You think I am limited mentally? Try this on for size: Galilleo, laws of motion, rubix cube. That's not even a tenth of what I know.
Listen to me: I can say retard whenever I feel like. You know why? Don't worry, I already know you don't. And because why? Because you are something that rhymes with hot fart.
Here's the deal: I have ownership of the word. I am a retard. If you want to call yourself "not smart" you can do it all day. You can also call yourself stupid face. I won't be offended by it. Guess what? I'm lying. You offend me always.
Retard. It's our word. Retards have suffered for centuries to claim the word retarded. There was a time when retards were treated like the house dog. Or gorilla. They were put in cages. Some people still think this would be good. F them. They know nothing. Here's what they can't handle: technology, umbrellas in stormy weather, not eating two hours before going to bed. Smart.
Read my lips: I will say retard whenever I feel like it. If you say it, you are anti-retard. You have to call me developmentally delayed. Or special.
You know something? You owe me money for what your ancestors did to my retarded ancestors. Thanks, by the way. It was great for my grandparents to be persecuted.
Fill in the blank (hint: use the same word): I am ____. You are not ____.
It's cool for me to wear a helmet. There's nothing wrong with only being allowed to use spoons. I don't know why I talk to you sometimes.
Smart.
I am smart.
I am the Smart Retard.

See You Next Year Jesus

2008-01-03T15:54:00.000-08:00

Howdy gang. Phil Honus here. I haven't seen you since last year! Get it? We're in the new year. :) !!!!!
It feels great to be in 2008 (Notice the rhyme? I am killing it right now). Hope you all had an awesome holidays. I know I did. It was egg-nog-tastic! :) Hahaha. But for reallys. I had so much fun getting presents and giving presents. And you know, I had a lot of time to reflect on why we celebrate Christmas. Guess what? I think I came to some conclusions.
It wasn't something I just arrived at either. I talked to a lot of people about this. And I found out some PRETTY interesting stuff.
First of all I asked my friend who owns a grocery store about the meaning of Christmas. "Why Phil," he said, "Christmas is about giving. Giving gifts."
Well that sounded pretty good to me. I think giving is a fine idea. Then he clarified a little.
"Christmas is about giving gifts that you bought from some place. In fact, the more money you spend on someone, the more that you love them."
WOAHH! That kind of caught me off guard. You can just see my head spinning in circles after that comment, and NO, I don't mean like in the Exorcist. I'm not possessed, sillies.
But then I thought about it a little more. I thought of my impoverished cousins who always sent us the crappiest gifts when we were little. And I thought of how we always knew we would be dissapointed when we opened up something from them. Sometimes it might be a used book. Sometimes it might be a family picture with some cookies, which weren't that good I will tell you.
Well you know what? I now understand that my poor destitute cousins don't love us very much. Thanks, Brent, for the insight.
After that I went and talked to my mom. "What do I think about Christmas," she asked me. "I think Christmas is all about family, spending time with the ones you love."
Now that sounds pretty reasonable, don't you think? You can always trust Mother.
I asked her, then, why my younger brother didn't come to Christmas this year.
"Because he's a self-centered lay-about who's too cheap to buy his own mother the blender she's wanted for five years, just like his father who spends all of his time reading hunting magazines. Why are you so concerned with him anyways? Start minding your own damn business and get me another drink."
Holy shamoley! Mom is crazy sometimes.
I was a little confused by that point. I though about Christmas a little more. Why is it called Christmas anyways? I asked one of my professors, and she said that the Catholic church began celebrating the birth of Christ at the same time that pagans were celebrating the winter solstice, or something like that.
"Christ? as in Jesus Christ?" I asked.
"Yep," she said.
Okay, I thought. Now we're getting someplace. I tried to talk to my professor some more about Jesus, but she said that I should talk to a religious leader instead, since she was an atheist and didn't believe in God and didn't want babies to be saved from eternal hell-fire.
But which religious leader was I going to talk to? I mean, there are so many of those guys. And girls, too. Whoops-a-daisy! Don't want to start a battle of the sexes.
I started driving around, not sure who to talk to, when I saw a Catholic church on the corner. Well, it does make sense to talk to the church that started Christmas in the first place, I thought.
I went inside and found the father, which, for all of you who don't know, is the name of the preacher at the Catholic church. "What is the meaning of Christmas?" I asked him.
He thought about it for a second. "Christmas time is one of the two times when people come to church. They come, act religious and holy for an hour, and then you don't see them again until Easter. So to answer your question, Christmas is about people pretending they believe in Jesus all so they can justify being really greedy and expecting presents from everyone."
After that the father went outside to smoke a cigarette. I followed him out and thanked him for the insights.
"Whatever. I'm just pissed I didn't get the new robe I asked for."
So all of these different, yet similar perspectives- what do they all mean, then?
I'll tell you. Christmas is about using any method possible to get things. If it means you have to appeal to the religious crowd by putting up nativity scenes, then that's one method. If it means putting up trees and pretending there is a Santa Claus to appeal to the children, then that's another. If you have to put the emphasis on family to justify having your sister spend her rent money to get you a present, well that's just perfect. You have to have them all, too. If you focus on the Christian approach, then people will only give and no one will receive. But throw in the Santa Claus/Commercialism approach, too, and you've got a bunch of happy giving/receiving people. That is what Christmas is about to me. Giving and receiving. Throw in a little Karl Marx approach and you can justify receiving more than you give.
So Happy Birthday Jesus. And thanks a bunch Santa Claus. And good seeing you Dad.
We'll see you all next year.

The Smart Retard Speaks Out About Wearing Pants

2007-12-06T15:04:00.000-08:00

Smart.
I am smart. You are not smart. If our minds were graded on an alphabetical grade scale, I would be an A and you would be not smart. Accept it. You do not even know how smart I am.
Here's something I want to talk about today: pants wearing.
There's a right time to wear pants, and that's basically anytime. To be more exact, what I really want to talk about is shorts wearing. When do you think is the right time to wear shorts? I'm not really asking you, because I know you don't know. You are not smart enough to know. The right time to wear shorts is never when most people think it is. At least never as frequently as they think it is.
Quick test: are you smart?
Answer: No. You are not.
Think about someone you know who always wear shorts. I know several. Here's the truth: heavier people are more likely to wear shorts year-round. That's not a put down. Just a completely factual observation. I know one person who is not heavier that wears shorts year-round. Exception to the rule. He will probably read this.
One person I know who is not an exception to the rule is Dan Hagerman. Heavier guy. Shorts year round. He is also guilty of wearing socks with Chaco sandles. That is unforgivable. If you read this Dan, realize that you make the babies cry.
I lived with a guy who wore shorts year round. Year round. Windy and cold- shorts. Snowy and cold- shorts. Bathing- shorts. That might not be true. Doesn't matter.
There is a time and place to wear shorts. Summer time- shorts. Sleeping- shorts. Lounging around the house- shorts; naked is also an acceptable answer. Unusually warm fall temperatures- shorts. Basketball- shorts. Swimming- shorts; boxers or naked are also acceptbable answers.
When it is cold, you wear pants. When the leaves have fallen off the trees, and the snow is falling, you wear pants. If you have a coat on, you wear pants. Let me repeat: if you have a coat on, you wear pants.
To Dan Hagerman: if you are wearing chaco sandles, you do NOT wear socks. You especially do not wear wool socks. You need to begin to live this way, Dan. The babies are still crying.
Recap: Who is not smart?
Answer: You
Question 2: when do you wear shorts outside in the winter?
Answer: Never.
You are not smart. But I am.
I am smart. Smart.

Neil Jenkins

2007-11-13T10:41:00.000-08:00

Waz up in da heezy? Boshnickels here. Yo, is life good in da hood? I hope it is.
Yo, I'm gonna cut right to thu chase. Neil Jenkins is whack. Yo, he is more than whack, he sucks ballz one hundred and ten percent of duh time.
Yo, I know many of you don't know Neil, so let me giv u a little descripshun of da guy.
He is fat and gross. He is really fat. And really gross. He has red hair and freckles. He has tons of freckles. His face is one part pale, and a thousand parts freckly brown. Yo, it is disgusting. He is disgusting.
Neil Jenkins is stank. He problee nevuh wash his clothes. Yo, he is loud, too. And not in cool way. And yo, thu guy looks evil. No lies. He has the most evilest smile you'll eva see. He's problee the devil. I ain't playin.
Neil Jenkins sucks so much. In middle school, he put a kick me sign on my back, and den Joey Robles, some little fella who sucks, made fun of me and what not. Yo, I already hated Neil before dat, but dat so-li-di-fied it. Why did I hate him already? To answer dat I have to say, "haven't you been payin attenshun to everyding I've said bout him so far?" He has red hair and freckles! And he is stank! And fat! He's like Jabba thu Hut, after Princess Leia killed him.
But yo, der waz this time when I gave him some money to rent sum ski poles, and of corse, dat fat piece of crap NEVUH paid me back. Shood I have been suprized? Nope.
Yo, when we wuz growin up, Neil Jenkins was best frendz wit Jack Webber, and anybody who knew Jack, knew that he also sucked ballz one hundred percent of duh time.
It gets wurse, too. Aftuh high school Neil bumped uglies wit Shanyel Berger! Shanyel Berger foo! Yo dat iz whack. And its get even wurser. Dey had a kid! Yo, Neil Jenkins shood not be alloud to spred his seed. I wood start a co-a-lishun to stop dat guy frum spredin his seed again.
And then there was anutha time when me and Brian Frame and Jame Kelley wuz ridin dirty, and Neil tried to run us off da road. Yo, it pissed Brian off so much dat he dropped da f-bomb, which I ain't heard dat foo do in a long time. The entire time we wuz ex-chan-gin looks wit Neil, I could see fire in his eyez, like he was Skeletor or sumthin. He wooda killed us, if we hadunt had mad drivin skills. Yo, dat guy is possesst. For reelz.
Neil is definutlee da devil. He iz gross.
Yo Neil, wash yo clothz, foo! And get rid of yoh freckles.
And Joey: dat shizzle waz not funny. Thankz for not kickin me, tho.

S.M.A.R.T.

2007-10-29T09:07:00.000-07:00

Smart. I am smart. Remind yourself: "I am not smart, the Smart Retard is." You AREN"T smart. If you were smart, I would not believe it. I would still be smarter than you. I would be so much smarter that it would make you look dumb, no matter how smart you are compared to other people who aren't smart.
I've cleared your mind of any belief that you are smart. Now I can continue.
I was in Denver for the World Series this weekend. I did not go to the game. People who went were stupid. I am smart. Therefore, I could not have gone. I only went outside of the stadium and watched the game at a restaurant. The Rockies did not win. I do not care anyways. They are idiots and they are terrible. I barely watched the game. I only watched when a home run was hit, and there were very few home runs hit.
I took almost every mint from the restaurant mint bowl as I left. I don't care. I ate some already. I threw many in the air for no reason. It was because I could. Don't question me. You can't even start.
I fought verbally with a man. Some call this slamming. I don't. That's an idiotic name. I call it destroying, because I destroyed him. He probably killed himself after the verbal beat down I gave him. I am smart. He is not.
My friend ran a red light. I was not worried. We could have died. It is okay.
We considered eating and then not paying for our meal. Some call this dining and dashing. I don't. I call it doing what I feel like. We paid for our meal. It cost 150 dollars. It was not smart.
You have no idea how smart I am. It's unbelievable. Do not try to best me. You will lose. You will cry. I will rejoice.
Smart. I am smart.

Swear Words Will Never Hurt Me

2007-10-24T21:13:00.000-07:00

Howdy ho gang! Phil Honus is humming-coming atcha!
Hahaha. Did I scare you? You're probably saying to yourself: "that was a surprising introduction." You bet it was. You probably don't even know what "humming-coming atcha" means. (Here's a secret: I don't either! :) I'm so nutty!)
Boy it's been tough to be away. I'm so glad to be back in blogger-land with all of you blogger-philes. It just gives me goose bumps.(What a weird phrase, by the way, "goose bumps." But it is true. I killed a goose with my cousins one time and felt its skin, and as sure as soup on Sundays, it felt just like those tiny bumps you get on your arms. So crazy. I like boys. Woops! Cat's out of the bag.)
So friends, I got something to talk about, and it's kind of offensive. I want to talk about swear words :O
"What a jerk!" you're probably thinking. "Doesn't he know that kids read these things?" Oh believe me, I do. And that's why we need to talk about these things, because we've got to teach the children. They're our future.
And we've also got to teach some of you older folks, too. "Who me?" you're saying to yourself. Yes you, old fart. EVERYONE needs to think a little more about swear words.
What else is there to say about swear words, really? We all know they're so fun to say, especially at church (hahaha "Is he joking?" I guess you'll never know :)
And we all love to write them on fresh concrete before it dries. When I was a little boy, Nate Mooney and I wrote the F-bomb on the Elwood's concrete footings for their new house. They were so mad. We were such little rascals.
Most people would probably agree that swearing is bad. But how bad is it really?
You're saying to yourself, "stop right there, Mr. Phil Honus. Everyone knows swearing comes from the devil. You can't possibly defend it." But you know what, Mr. Religious guy? I think I can.
You see, I know this guy who used to swear all of the time. I mean, he had serious potty mouth issues. He would say the S-word and the F-word and the D-word and the B-word, and sometimes he would combine them together and say really bad stuff, like "F-ing S, you B. You're such a D." It was really dirty.
A lot of people didn't like it when this guy said these words, especially when he said "S your D you F-ing B." Boy did they get mad when he said that! They were like a hot, piping steam engine, just ready to explode! They started to say that this guy didn't have a very big vocabulary. Some people started to call him dumb. It really hurt his feelings, mainly because he did have a big vocabulary, and he definitely didn't think he was dumb :(
So what did he do? He stopped swearing. He realized that it was much easier to stop doing something he really liked to do, especially if it made it easier for him to get along with people. Well after he did that, people started to call him a big girl! Honest Injun, they said he wore girl's underwear, and that the only reason he stopped swearing was because he had the V-word now (but they didn't say the V-word. they said the actual word! can you believe that?! :O )
It didn't make any sense to him. Not for a while, at least. One day, though, he finally got it: he realized that too much swearing is offensive, especially when people who don't like swear words are around; and at the same time, he realized that if a person likes to swear, and if they don't see a problem with it, they should do it, with respect to others, of course. Because if they don't, people will think they have the V-word, even if they really have the P-word.
Now I've got a little secret for everybody: the guy who people called dumb, that's me. What a shock, huh? Didn't see that coming at all, did you? Not to toot my own horn, but I am very good at surprise endings. I always get people. It's kind of funny(just like my love for boys. Uh-oh! TMI!)
I still swear these days sometimes, but only when it's appropriate, like during a funeral (hahaha jokes! I love kidding you guys). That's just who I am, I guess, a little bit angel and a little bit devil (You're probably thinking, "this guy's so scary. He's a devil! I don't want to be around him. He might try to take me to hell." Oh, you fraidy cats! I would never do that. I'm not really part devil. that's just a saying. You silly pants! Whoops-a-daisy! Did I just say that?)
I would love to hear your guys' thoughts about swear words. Please let me know what you think.
Toodles.

Uncle Bo

2007-10-17T11:13:00.000-07:00

Was up in da heezy my peeps? Y'all getting krunk? Best not be. It's only lunch time fools, gotsta wait til da nite time. Wutang!
Yo, check it- I'm an uncle. Reprusent! Shizzle is crazy, ya know. I don't even feel dat old, but damn, too late to worry about dat, I gots a responsubilitee now, you know? I gotsa be der for dat liddle boy.
Yo, dis shizzle is close to BoShnickel's heart. I'm frum a broken home, yo. I hads an uncle dat was never there for me when I was just a liddle thug. Yo, I pretty much blame dat fool for making me da way I am. I never had dat speshul uncle teaching, you know, dat uncles give. Yo, both of my parentz did they best ta teech me da wayz of being a man, but it just wuzn't enough. My pops always put food on da table, and chrismus presentz unda da tree and what not, and gave me da cars dat I needed, and he nevuh laid a hand on my moms. Yo, akshulee, I thinks he wuz also helpin out at a soup kitchun and whatevs, and even dis one time he fownd a hurt squirrel and brought it home and nursed it back to helth till it could swing in da trees again.
But yo! dat hole time, where waz my dead beat uncle? Problee back home wherevs he lived, helping his own kidz do dey skool werk. Punk ass busta! I needed help wit my skool werk, foo! From you! Not from my parentz, who weren't cool. Yo, dey waz just supa nice and whateva and gave me lots of stuff. Dat's good and whatevs, but I needed some cool ass uncle who had a mustang who would take me to go get milshakez and den cruze around scoping out duh honeyz. But no, you sed it waz too far away to drive to my house every night. It wuz only four hours, foo! Ya getz twenty four of dem each day, b! Whatz da matter, den?
Whatevs, all I know iz I gots to be der for my nef few. I can't be out gettin buzy wit honeyz all da time and leavin shorty at home alone wit his parents. Das why I'm gonna be over der all of thu time, jus being ther, even if no one is home. Yo, I'll make shur dat da tv werks for shorty when he gets home and wantz ta watch Blooz Clooz or whatevs, and make shur tha fridge has some good ass food in it, whitch meenz I'll have ta test it out, yo. But I'm okay doing dat. No probs, my peeples.
Yo, being an uncle is off da hook, son! I think one day I might even let the jimmy hat slip when I'm gettin buzy wit sum honey and becum a fathu myself. Not fo a while, tho. Fo now, I just hopes my sistuh and her husbund keep gettin buzy and makin mo kidz that BoShnickels can be an uncle to. Dats all. I'm just a simple man, yo, but I am a rider. Don't forgets that.

Da Return of Da Greatest

2007-10-11T00:54:00.000-07:00

I'm back y'alls, in da heezy.
Reprusent.

Gone fo da week

2007-10-04T16:43:00.000-07:00

Was up in da hizzle? BoShnickels here. How y'all been? Life good in da hood? Yo, I cants complain. I waz feelin a little blue last week, but whatevs. I don't care bout dat. Got sum uh-tention frum da honeyz, hollad at one of my boyz, bumped elbows wit my crew, yo, just anuther day on the streetz.
Yo, check it, I'm leaving fo a while homies. BoShickels gotsta stretch his legs down on da Southside, gets in touch wit natechu, and what not. Don't miss me, y'alls. I coming back aftuh a week. It aint no thang. And if I don't make it back, pour out a little liquor for me next time ya gets yo drank on. No tears though, gurl. I'll c u when you get ther.
RIP Biggie Smalls. Smokes some fo ya boy. and RIP great grandpuh Ted. Great grandmuh's not far behind ya. She's old as hell and she stinks, too.
Much luv,
BoShnickels signing off

Lingo Lessons- Phil Honus

2007-10-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

Howdy gang. How's the battle? That's just an expression. It implies that life is a struggle and that there are many things that we have to fight for. Of course I'm not assuming that you all are fighting a battle literally. :) Hahaha. You guys crack me up.
Did everyone notice what BoShnickels said in his last post? It was "DOA." That means "Dead On Arrival." Gotta keep you guys up to date on the lingo.
Here's a quick run down on a few expressions you might hear throughout your day:
1) "Get out of here!"-
obviously this doesn't mean to leave from wherever you are. people will tell you this when you say something that sounds unbelievable. It's sort of like someone saying, "are you serious?" or "no way." I hope this gets to you before someone tells you to "get out of here" and you actually get out of there. Oh boy, that would be embarassing. What if you were really supposed to be there?!
2) "you're killing me!"-
this is a toughy. when you hear "you're killing me," you really have to make sure that what you are doing to someone is not actually killing them. for the most part, though, unless you're a serial killer (let's hope not :) ) or Dick Cheney (that's right, I went there), you'll use this expression in the figurative sense. people will often tell you this when they're really frustrated with you. For instance, if someone is explaining something to you and you just can't get it, they'll probably say, "you're killing me, smalls." Smalls is the name of a kid in the movie Sandlot. People say it this way all of the time. You'll never hear "you're killing me, bigs," though. At least I sure hope not! There might be some real confusion if you do!
Like I said in the beginning, though: always do a quick check to make sure someone is not in danger of dying when they use this expression. Look under you car's tires, make sure your guns are on safety, check the dryer to make sure your kids aren't in there. Always better to be safe than sorry.
3) "good one!"-
sounds like something you want to hear, right? think again. Although there are probably times when people say "good one" and really mean that you did something good, usually this expression is used to imply that what you just did was not good, that it was probably bad. For instance, when someone drops a stack of papers they are holding, and another person yells "good job," they are really saying, "good job at being bad," which is sort of paradoxical when you think about it. You often hear this expression after car crashes and hunting accidents.
4) "she's phat!"-
Ohhhh boy, you've got to be really careful when you say this, since it's the subtle spelling change that separates you from making an awesome compliment to seriously embarassning yourself. We're talking high heels to the man bag, boys. Actually, most folks point out that they're using the "ph" spelling when saying it. For instance: "Yo, she's phat- "ph" fat, I mean." Even when you point out the "ph," be very careful. In that short span of time between saying "she's phat" to "'ph' fat, I mean" her eyes will become a fiery red, her hair will fall off, and her face will start to look like a skeleton's. You'll probably be okay. Just keep a shield and a flaming sword at hand in case things get a little hairy.
You just have to make sure that you say it the way a street person would. Move your hands a lot, scowl, and if you have a gun, shoot someone nearby.

You're going to be so happy that I told you guys about these. This is just the tip of the iceberg, too. I know so many more expressions. Just for fun's sake, here's one more that you can mull over: "not!"
How do you think THIS expression is used, gang?

Calling All Koellings: Roll Call

2007-10-01T17:48:00.000-07:00

Sup, Koellings? Anyone tell you I was back? I haven't heard nuthin from y'alls. Betcha thought I was DOA. Non-cents. I don't die, Koellings. I only gain strength in my dufeets.
Yo, I knows you check my blog. Why the silence, then? Skayred?
How ya doing Deb? How bout you, Rob? Still teaching? Howz Bradley? Howz yo kids? They makin good grades in skool? Yo, make shur they does they studiez. Kidz be runnin crazy these dayz, gotsta watch they P's and Quizzles.
Yo, you needs to sound back, Koellings! Whats the score?
Wutang, Koellings. Think about it.
Respond, PLEEZ! Holla atcha boy!
I'll be waiting.
Fo shizzle.

The Smart Retard Speaks Out

2007-09-27T16:56:00.000-07:00

Socrates. Plato. Math. Reading. Astronauts. Scientists. Glasses. Nerds. Brains. Business degrees. Professors. Khakis. Aristotle. Art. Artists. Thinking. Books. Librarians. Pottery. Physics. Algebra. Plus signs. Minus signs. Multiplication. Verbs. Neurons. Brain activity. Nutrition. Reason. Geometry. Stephen Hawkins. Founding Fathers. Declaration of Independence. Sound financial planning. budgeting. Smart.
Smart.
I'm smart.
I am so smart. You don't even know. Listen to this: Alexander Graham Bell. Abe Lincoln. JP Morgan. Banks. Federal Reserve. Text books. Brilliant conversation. Proper word choice. Right angles. Mechanical advantage. Smart.
Have you even heard of ANY of these people? Bet not. Man, I know so many more things, too.
This is easy.
Yoda. Chinese people. Beards. Rockets.
Jamba juice recipes. Mechanical pencils. Tiger trainers. Not drinking and driving.
Putting pants on one leg at a time.
Separating colors from whites in the washing machine. Coasters on coffee tables. Locked doors. Drawing between the lines. Secure internet. Blowing out candles when leaving. Hot food. Considering all options. Old people. Not children. Listening to your wife. Lying when it's necessary. Newspapers. College.
Smart.
Still skeptical? Of course you're not.
I've got a huge brain. I'm incredibly gifted. I can type many, MANY words per minute.
Jealous? You should be.
Now excuse me while I repeatedly hit myself with a hammer.

Falling for duh Honeys

2007-09-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

Waz up in da heezy? BoShnickels reprusentin here. Yo I gotsta come correct- I got a thing for some baby girl. Yo, this is not normal for BoShnickels. I never be fallin for the ladies. Yo, I'm like a drunk driver- I always be hittin and runnin. You feel me? I never gets attached.
That's why this is so crazy, son. I never knew I even had feelings. I'm not one of deez guyz who be telling people about his problems, expecting sympathy or something stupid like that. Yo, if I gots problems, I'll keep them to myself until someone pushes me too far and gets they ass blasted. That's life.
But damn, son, dis honey gots my mind in shambles. I been thinking bout her non stop. She cool as hell. Don't ask me how it happened. I know who she was for a while, and yo, it wasn't like I care, she just another female. I mean, I always thought baby girl got it going on, you know, but whatever. BoShnickels don't pay much mind. Until now.
Yo, we was just hanging out at my boyz house, you know, and everyone's got they thang going on, people bumping some rhymes, everyone getting they drank on, just nothing but love. And yo it just happened that this girl be like talking to me bout life and such, and yo, you know me, I gots my strong ideas bout stuff. But anyways, she wudn't saying nothing stupid or anything. Yo, I was like, "this girl knows her stuff," paying much respect, you know. later on when we still chatting it up, I was like, "damn, baby girl fine and cool." Yo, it's not often I say that, but I'm serious.
Anyways, I can't get her off my mind since then. No joke. BoShnickels ain't used to feeling like this.
Yo, that's about all I have to say about that. If any of you tell anyone I said any of this, you'll be feeling my weapons of mass destruction. I'm serious. I'll kill you.

Blog Separation Anxiety- Phil Honus

2007-09-20T20:09:00.000-07:00

Como esta amigos? That's just a little spanish. It means "how are you?" I definitely hadn't planned on this blog being so linguistically educational, but you have to just roll with it sometimes. :) (remember what that means? There will be a test at the end. Just Kidding. Or Am I?)
Speaking of blogs, how's this for a little surprise? Posting on BoShnickels' blog? It's not ideal. Not that I don't love the guy. But I roll alone. Oops, I mean, I roll only with myself and the Smart Retard. Sorry SR. I'm such a retard myself sometimes.
But really, I'm pretty bummed out about losing access to my blog. Maybe someday I'll get back to the Black template with the white lettering. I won't have to rent space from BoShnickels (Like I said, I love him, but we've got two different things going on). That blog was my heart and soul.
you don't understand what it's like to have lost control of something you love. I hate to be too anecdotal, but losing my blog brings me back to a pet monkey I used to have. Actually, it wasn't one hundred percent monkey. I believe it was only fifty percent monkey, and then fifty percent human. I never found out how such a creature came into existence- even though Mr. Giggles, the name I gave to him after finding him in the dumpster, had some language skills, he was never able to relate to us the details of his origins.
Of course Mr. Giggles was a disgusting freak of nature. But we loved him like one of our own. We didn't give him a bed. We made him sleep in a cage, of course. And we fed him old clothes. And sometimes when he made too much noise, we sprayed him with a fire hose until he piped down or passed out. Man, he could make a lot of noise!
We were best buds for the longest time. And we always watched out for each other. If someone made fun of me, Mr. Giggles would track that person down and defend me. I'm pretty sure he killed most of those people he tracked down, actually. I just don't think about it, really. It's tough not to, too, because he sometimes would bring home body parts and leave them lying around my room. It was gross, but that's friendship, I guess.
Things unfortunately didn't stay so positive. As Mr. Giggles got older he became pretty cranky. He started to bite. And to hump things, basically everything. My parents began to feel that Mr. Giggles was a threat to my safety. My dad came up with the idea of not feeding Mr. Giggles for a week or so to see if that would change his behavior. That pretty much just made him worse, even though we were able to give a large amount of old clothes to the poor and needy.
The final straw was when Mr. Giggles got the neighbor lady pregnant. Even though Mr. Giggles promised to take care of the child, even agreeing to take night classes while working two jobs, which I knew was a lie, since Mr. Giggles' had always been planning to see Paris since he was young, my dad had had it. He got me up early on a Saturday, handed me a pistol, and told me to take Mr. Giggles "hunting," which he said while doing the quotation marks with his fingers. I did, and we ended up bagging two owls. We got home and my dad was pretty pissed, partly due to the fact that he's a hard-core conversationist. The next morning my dad woke me up again, handed me the keys to his motor boat, as well as the handgun, and told me to take Mr. Giggles "fishing," this time really making a point to clarify that he was putting quotation marks around fishing. So again, I did what he asked and ended up catching a trophy sized cutthroat trout, with Mr. Giggles netting a very respectable lake trout. Again, my dad was pissed, so the next weekend he woke me up early, handed me the gun, and told me to go and "kill Mr. Giggles," which confused me at first, because he still did the quotation marks thing.
It was the toughest thing I ever had to do. I went to his cage and shot him while he was sleeping. It wasn't what my dad had had in mind.
Going back to that time in my life is tough. Like I said, losing control of this blog is sort of like losing control of my half monkey-half human freakazoid brother and having to shoot him. I just hope that the guys at blogger.com will stop being so "busy" and start responding to my emails.
A tearful peace out,
Phil Honus

What BoShnickels Duz Fo Werk

2007-09-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

Salutations, frendz. In response to the many questions, which are mostly dumb as hell, I've gotten about the occupation listed on my profile, I thought I should clear up what "reprusentin" is, once and for all.
"Reprusentin" is many things at the same time. One on hand, it is definitely something you do (like right now, if you could see what I was doing, you would see that I'm reprusentin, just sitting here on my laptop). And at the same moment, it is not limited to just something you do, but extends to your mindset, and even to the atmosphere you carry about yo' self. When you've reprusentid as long as me, you actually start to become "reprusentin," like it's my identity.
That's some deep shizzle, though, isn't it? I can barely understand what I'm talking about. Let's start simple, then, and talk about reprusentin as something you do. How do you reprusent? If it's me, I just make sure that I'm looking good to start out with. Like after I take a shower, I gotsta put on deoderent, Old Spice to be exact, and then I hit myself with the AXE. I don't just spray a little on my neck and arm pits though. I put it everywhere: my hair, ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and of course, I go down under. You gotsta. It all starts by making your base layer fo'rizzle. And then you can build up from there.
After that, boxer briefs (duh), white socks, a kicking tee, sum saggin jeans, and then my kicks (white low-tops, baby, and nuthin else). It sounds easy, don't it? But you can't just wear any tee-shirt, or any pair of jeans. Like, what do you think "kicking" means? You probably think "kicking" is to have one of those shirts with the alligator on it. Stoopid. I wouldn't be caught dead with you anywhere. There's no way I can really tell you how to be "kicking," just how not to be "kicking." Basically, I don't know you, but I can bet you're not "kicking." So take everything you usually wear, and put that shizzle in the garbage.
Don't get BoShnickels wrong here, okay? I'm not talking about vanity. It's not about putting this stuff on and being fake so you can get chicks. It's about putting this stuff on and being real so you can get chicks. Or dudes, if youz a chick.
Yo, this is who I am! I wear what I wear and do what I do because it reprusents where I should have been from. Yo, I say "where I should have been from" because a lot of haters been saying that a white kid from a rich neighborhood shouldn't be dressing or talking like this. But fools, I wasn't supposed to be born there! I'm from the hood! like before I was born, I was supposed to be heading to a poor, black, single mom living off food stamps in the ghetto, where all of my neighbors sold crack, my older brothers went to prison for robbing a liquor store, and my sister's still in highschool and she already got a baby. But then some fool made a mistake and sent me to live next to Tom and Shirley, who don't know anyone who's done crack. That don't matter, though! I knowz who I am!
Yo, I just wanted to make it clear that you need to reprusent who you know you are on the inside, and not what you are on the outside, no matter how many times you look in the mirror and see a twenty five year old, blond haired, white guy, and not a thirty five year old black man sitting on death row for shooting a cop.
So you're probably asking yourself: "what does a reprusenter do during the day?" Easy: look good. Yo, that's all I ever do, just look good. Like, in worst case scenario, my girl could catch me taking a dook at six in the morning, and I would still look fly. You know why? Because I sleep in my clothes, that's why. I go to bed wearing everything I just described a little bit ago, even my kicks. And I never let my hair touch the pillow so I don't get stupid bed head. How do I do that? Simple: sleep like Batman, hanging upside down by your feet. You have to get your mom, or I mean, your girl to help you out, but it's worth it. Also, you can sleep standing up like a horse, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet. Yo, I have a timed-release misting system that keeps me covered in AXE all through the night! Man, I only ever take my clothes off to take a shower, or to get busy with my lady, but that hasn't happened for a while, or ever, really, so...
Yo, what am I saying?! This isn't confessional hour. Shoot. Can't believe I started talking all crazy like that. Whatevs.
I think I made myself pretty clear about reprusentin, at least for now. There's a lot more I have to say about it, but you're gonna have to wait.
Peace in the Middle East, homies

New Addition to the Family

2007-09-16T21:20:00.000-07:00

Sup, gang? Today marks one of the most significant changes to BoShnickel's domain: we've merged (or absorbed, to put it straight) with Phil Honus and the Smart Retard. Phil Honus and the Smart Retard still have their own blog, and I'm sure Phil would love to continue posting on just that one blog, but until the F'ers from blogger.com tell Phil how he can log back on to his freakin blog, he's going to be helping out here. I've only known Phil for about a year now, but I can say that he spits some of the maddest game in the biz. Believe me, BoShnickels wouldn't let anyone on who would threaten to compromise the integrity of this site. Belee Dat.
I don't know much about the smart retard. Whatevs. He's supposed to be mind blowin', but I don't know. I'm kind of scared of handicapped people. They slobber too much. Sick.
Anyways, just a heads up, bruddas and sistuhs. Boshnickels has been in the game for about four years now, and this is the first time he has co-lab-o-rated. So we'll see.
Toodles, y'alls.

I thought I told you that I won't stop

2007-09-07T15:38:00.000-07:00

Guess who's back? You thought I was dead, huh? Foolish. Boshnickels can't die- he only grows stronger. And it's time for me to take back what's mine.
You should never underestimate what I am capable of. What if I told you that I've been killing grizzly bears in the interim? Impressed? You should be.
I have so much to tell my homies out there. For those who stayed true, bumps and rubs, and for those who said Boshnickels was washed up, your time is gonna come. That's not a threat, it's just life. And life is a highway, and I'm gonna ride it, just not with you losers who said my blog was stupid, or who never even knew I had a blog in the first place.
Hey Koellings,
I'm back

People Out There Jealous

2004-10-21T22:37:00.000-07:00

Actually, I have nothing to say about people out there being jealous.
So how does one define being a Real American? It seems intangible, sort of like why pie is so good, but there are ways. Nay, I should step correct and tell it how it is. There is the way. The way is clear. It was laid for us in the 80's by the band that sang the theme song for Hulk Hogan, "I Am a Real American," and it has been there ever since as the template for True Americanism. Do not confuse True Americanism with True Grit, even though they both share the same first word in their title (John Wayne was not a Real American. I said it, and I stand by it.).
The song's title I know, but as for the band's name, no one knows. It is impossible to know. They were together for twenty minutes total. Five minutes for introductions. Ten minutes to lay down the song, running through it only twice. Five more minutes to be drugged, blindfolded, placed in seperate vans and then driven off to remote parts of the city where they were left to fend for themselves in rural city gang warfare. Three people died while cutting the track itself. Fortunately there were replacements. Three more killed themselves immediately after the recording. Three others, after making it to the van drop off part, fought their way to the top of the rural city gang warfare scene and are still prominent gang leaders to this day.
I will continue this account of the band that recorded the "rules for a Real American" after I've downed this bottle of sleeping pills.

Belee Dat

2004-09-20T15:36:00.000-07:00

This is BoShnickels stepping correct.