The Stater State

Just across the border of New Mexico we spotted the deal of a lifetime, Chinese food for only $1.50 an item. Once inside we realized that this was also the restaurant of choice for the local high school’s scared straight program but we remained unphased by their gang signs and JNCO jeans. The orange chicken and Mongolian beef we ordered were nowhere near worth the price, but the conversations we overheard involving knife fight stories and enjoyment of the prison-style Chinese food more than made up for it. We left the restaurant with our pants full of your standard sub-$2 chinese food diarrhea, headed toward Grants, NM.

We were planning to camp somewhere near Grants but as we drove through town we realized that it was below freezing outside and the city was home to the world’s cheapest motels. It turns out that you can get yourself a pretty decent room for twenty dollars if you don’t mind sharing a bed and sleeping less than three feet from the United States’ last functioning railroad. After paying for the motel I decided to reward our hard work and sweet find with two ice cold light beers from the motel bar. As I walked across the parking lot I noticed that Spencer, who was evidently a little more stoked about the room, had decided to reward himself with an eight-bomb of King Cobra malt liquor from the gas station next door. We slammed our beers in about two seconds and then went out to catch Country Western Night at Dirty Dick’s Saloon down the street. As soon as I walked into the bar I was hit by a severe case of Line Dance Fever. After several failed attempts to recreate the magic of my 6th grade P.E. boot scootin boogie championship I was asked to leave the dance floor so I sulked off to the bar where Spencer had already made himself at home. Luckily, the bartender felt sorry for me and offered me a free drink. Apparently, she also felt that I was a gay baby because the free drink she brought me was a thimbleful of Apple Puckers. Although nothing exciting happened, the night wasn’t a complete waste because when I got home my favorite comedian, Doug Stanhope, had returned my myspace message about how to acquire psychedelic drugs in the southwest. To help you understand how I felt, imagine if Ashanti text messaged Tho about a great new deal on crew neck sweaters*.

The next morning we woke up and visited the town’s only attraction, the Northwestern New Mexico Museum of Mining. It was free to go into the museum but three dollars to tour the underground mineshaft underneath the building. With a little fancy footwork and a couple fake mustaches, however, we were able to get the whole thing for free. They got the last laugh though; the tour was almost as boring as writing this post so far.

The rest of the afternoon was spent hiking around some pretty sweet lava fields. After the hike we began driving south hoping to finally get out of the shitty weather that we had been stuck in since we left Lake Havasu. On the way south we stumbled upon a little slice of heaven, and by heaven I mean my wrists, I want to slit my fucking wrist this post is so fucking boring. No sorry I meant pie, not my wrists, pie. We stumbled upon Pie Town, and would you believe it we ate a couple slices of pie. What a fucking interesting story, I can certainly see why someone would want to read about two guys eating pie in central New Mexico. What the fuck am I doing with my life…

Any who while eating the delicious pie the really cool old acidhead turned Pie-smith gave us a pretty detailed rundown of what we needed to do for the next 3 days. His itinerary consisted almost entirely of natural hot springs in the surrounding area. Apparently decades of abusing psychedelic drugs leaves you with a particular fondness for hot tubs, but without the necessary means to actually purchase one. I bet you just cant fucking wait to hear about the great time we had sitting in hot springs.

Following his advice we drove south to a campground in hot spring country. That night we created our best fire ever!!! Fuck yea. After we got the fire going we prepared a feast of fruit cocktail and Bush’s “Boston Baked Beans.” After the bean feast I spent the rest of the night staring into the fire thinking about how hilarious this was going to be to write about. Spencer had a slightly different plan for the night involving a 4-pack of 16 ounce Bud bottles and his own intrapersonal demons.

The next day we went on a beautiful hike through “The Catacombs” an old mining trail that cut through a small canyon…boring…Next we went for a amazing trek through a river valley to a natural hot springs, where we relaxed by a peaceful river…boring. I’ll tell you what isn’t boring though getting free pizza while chatting about mother earth with a couple hippies and an old cowboy, while their “friend” is writhing in pain in the car about to go into a poison oak induced seizure. On second thought maybe that was boring. How about you try this one on for size, Silver City, New Mexico’s KFC dining room we order not one but two orders of the $2.99 chicken-fried steak plate. While we are ordering we overheard a morbidly obese female employee tell her brother to keep still and that she’ll be off in only 5 hrs. Every eight-year-old’s dream: sitting by yourself at a Podunk KFC with nothing to do but anticipate how badly your methed up “dad” will switch-whip you for not behaving yourself at the babysitter’s.

(Catacombs)
After our feast at KFC we met our diarrhea quota for the post with our second obligatory case and headed up to the Gila Cliff Dwellings. We weren’t entirely sure what exactly the cliff dwellings were but the dead head pie shop owner had assured us that the park included numerous “far out” hot springs. It was getting late so we found a campground on the way and set up camp next to a creepy old VW bus, hoping to score some drugs but risking a late night stabbing. Surprisingly, the following morning we woke up both stab wound and drug free and drove up to the park. It was a short hike up to the cliff dwellings, which turned out to be unexpectedly impressive. The attraction was an entire town built inside seven large caves on the side of a cliff, which had been inhabited by an Indian civilization somewhere around eight hundred ago. We spent quite a bit of time walking around the site and talking about how amazingly simple life would have been for these people. They had basically everything you need in life (abundant food and water, ideally-located shelter and a true sense of community) without all the trivial worries and stress of life today. I found something really beautiful about this simple existence and it made me realize how people in our society build their lives around status and material possessions, completely missing the whole point of what life was meant to be about. This really got me thinking about the new self-sufficient psychedelic cult that I am planning on forming (I’ll keep you posted but I can assure you that you are not going to want to miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity).

After the dwellings we stopped by the Ranger station to ask about these far out hot springs. We he had no idea that he meant far out so literally. The hot spring was located 7 miles away from the nearest road. The ranger did not recommend the hike and suggested a few easier and more enjoyable ones. We misinterpreted this as a challenge and decided we would go for our first overnight backpacking adventure. We grabbed a trail map and headed to the car. Once there, we threw a random assortment of stuff into our bags and set out on our hike. The trail started out winding through a merciless dessert. About fifteen minutes into it we realized that this was a horrible idea: it was over ninety degrees, there was no shade and we had already drank about half our water supply. Thankfully, as we got closer to the river the hike became much more bearable and at some points even something close to enjoyable. That was of course until we reached the river. Our trail guide said that the hot spring was located just past river crossing fifteen, which I interpreted to mean the fifteenth bridge where you could cross the river. It turned out that the true meaning was that in order to reach the hot spring you were forced to ford a thirty-foot wide, waist deep, raging artic river full of very slippery rocks on 15 separate occasions. To compound the shittiness it was getting dark and the temperature was quickly dropping.

After dragging our frostbitten legs three miles through fifteen river crossings, with a large number of near falls we had finally arrived to where, according to the map, the hot spring was located. At first we were more than a little disappointed, thinking that the hot spring was no more than a dirty lukewarm puddle next to the river. Ever the optimist, however, Spencer immediately jumped in and basked in the fruits of our labor. While Spencer was enjoying the swamp hole I went off to find a quiet place to cry and just happened to stumble upon the most incredible hot spring known to man. Once I set eyes upon the hot spring I knew it was more than worth the last three and a half excruciatingly miserable hours. It looked like what I assume a resort spa would look like, and absolutely nothing like any of the KOA fly-filled hot tubs we had been partying/sleeping in recently. My first inclination, as always, was to hide my new find from my “friend” Spencer. For some reason though I decided against my better judgment and went to haul his unconscious body out of the leech pool.

After taking in the majesty of the hot spring Spencer rewarded my honesty by telling me that he had brought along the remainder of our toadstool stash and that now he wouldn’t take them all himself. I was pretty excited about the drugs, but even more excited to learn that using the term toadstools to describe magic mushrooms was making a comeback. This was going to be the first time I had eaten mushrooms at night so we began a firewood gathering frenzy to prepare. Once we had collected a fortnight’s worth of wood we set to creating a cuzi-side fire pit so we wouldn’t have to get out of the water to stare at the fire like retards. Though the hot spring was beautiful and a perfect ninety degrees, I failed to realize that it was by far the creepiest place you could possibly take hallucinogenic drugs. It had dark creepy caves in two corners, spider webs nearly everywhere, and there were bats flying directly overhead. The creepiness was only heightened by the fact that Spencer refused to talk about anything except whether or not the devil existed. After a couple hours we decided that we should have something to eat, namely a delicious can of Boston Baked Beans. Though we had previously been opening our canned goods and cooking them on a grill over a fire we decided to speed up the process by cutting out the middleman and just throwing the unopened can of beans directly into the fire. While it seemed like a good idea at the time we quickly discovered that it was, in fact, a terrible idea as the can began to bulge and nearly exploded. This would have been quite the disaster seeing that we neglected to bring any other food items on our hike. Luckily though, my attempt to save the can was highly successful**. The rest of the night went pretty mushroomly. The only notable events were my discovery of a stick that was harder than rock and Spencer’s unrelenting insistence that we talk about the devil***.

The next morning, after a quick dip in the cooz, Lucifer and I packed up the campsite and headed out on our second river-crossing bonanza. It was another hot day so to avoid the miserable stretch of dessert we decided to follow the river all the way to the ranger station, adding around three miles and exactly thirty-two river crossings to the hike. Around river crossing #8 we had our first, of what would prove to be several, near-death experiences on this road trip. We heard what sounded like a rattlesnake, which, in fact, turned out to be a real life motherfucking monster rattlesnake. Yeah, who’s writing the boring blog now? With a complete disregard for my wellbeing I was able to get up close and personal with the deadly beast and snap these dynamite action shots for our adventure-hungry fan base.

(Don't let this giant venomous monster fool you he is actually in this photo)

The remainder of the hike was challenging, spectacular, and, you guessed it, boring.

We reached the car around four and began driving east. As soon as we hit the highway we had our first run in with Johnny Law. I was only going fifty in a forty five but once I saw the stater pull a U-turn I knew that one of our lives would be ending soon. Luckily for him he was pretty cool as far as staters go and only gave me a verbal warning**** . I stood my ground though and gave him a verbal warning of my own that the next goddamn dirty stater that pulled me over would get a face full of my fist. Although this warning was given after he had driven off and I had rolled up my window I believe I got my point across. This would prove to be a very idle threat less than twenty minutes later when we were pulled over by a small smelly herd of staters. This time I was caught breaking New Mexico’s land speed record attempting to take the Stink Wagon of a sweet jump. They clocked me going 63 in a 45 but I’m willing to guess it was closer to 163. After three separate staters came to the car and harassed us with tips on their favorite local campgrounds and restaurants I was let off with a written warning. Apparently, after reviewing our rap sheets, New Mexican staters tremble with fear at the thought of dealing with two criminal trespassers. As they were leaving Spencer reminded me of my promise to serve up a heaping helping of knuckle sandwich to the next stater who pulled me over. I vowed then and there that the next stater I saw, regardless of whether or not he pulled me over, would be getting socked the fuck out. Around ten minutes later I would get my opportunity when we stopped for gas in Hatch, New Mexico, chili capital of the world. After an unsuccessful chili-related bumper sticker search I walked out to the car and saw Spencer talking to what appeared to be a pair of gay cowboys. When I got out there I realized that it was even worse; it was a pair of undercover staters. One of the staters approached me and flashed his badge and that’s when I knew something had to be done to teach these staters a lesson in pain. Right as I was about to punch him, though, I saw the fear in his eyes and realized that he was just a small town boy who never had an opportunity to learn what a stupid and useless job being a stater really is. I’m sure if he had been given that knowledge he might have become something worthwhile, possibly even a fellow tripper. I base this on the fact that he asked us repeatedly if we were carrying any BC Bud as he illegally searched our trunk. Fortunately we had recently exhausted the majority of our drug supply and he failed to find our cleverly hidden Halls bag of acid and let us go on our way.

Exhausted from our day of hiking and stater-dodging we went of to find a nearby campground. Assuming that the staters were planning some sort of sting operation we decided to stay at the only park in the area that they did not recommend to us. When we got to the campground the office was closed so we helped ourselves to a primo spot and went to sleep. A surly old lady in a golf cart woke us up the next morning by loudly asking if we had paid our fees for the night. We, of course, had not paid but were considering paying on the way out until her verbal assault and questioning of our character changed our minds. We drove right by the office on our way to Albuquerque, yelling “you’ve been boondoggled” out the window.

Our drive to Albuquerque was fairly quick and uneventful except for our spotting of several signs reading “life is good, don’t meth it up.” We weren’t sure if this was a public service announcement regarding the dangers of methamphetamines or lisps but decided to hedge our bets and cut both crutches out of our lives.

We got to Albuquerque, my favorite city of the southwest, late in the afternoon. At Trevor’s suggestion we went to an all you can eat Brazilian restaurant downtown. Though, at fifteen dollars a piece, it was well outside of a roadtripper’s budget, the food was amazing. At least that was our opinion until we had spent over four hours eating there in an attempt to get our money’s worth and, in the process, making ourselves violently sick. The rest of the night was spent watching 300 (enjoyable) and losing badly to Spencer “while other kids were out practicing real sports I was in my basement practicing air hockey” Morgan at a best of seven air hockey showdown (not so enjoyable). It was getting late and we had spent all our money on Brazilian food and air hockey tokens so we decided to move on to Santa Fe and meet Spencer’s parents earlier than expected. Thus concludes the longest, most uneventful internet blog post in history.

*Joke only funny to three people and two of them are writing this blog.

**My attempt to fix the situation consisted of awkwardly pointing at the fire and then pointing at Spencer, shielding my face from what I thought to be an imminent bean explosion.

***Spencer’s note: Corey spent the rest of the night banging a piece of wood against a rock like a five-year-old mongoloid idiot child. And, for the record, I was merely attempting to discuss the existence of a negative essence that happened to be in the back of a cave, beckoning me to a life of evil. If that makes you creepy, then yeah, I guess I’m creepy.

****Not saying much, on the ladder of coolness staters are one step below guys who take shirtless flexing pictures for their myspace profile.

-Corey

A Tale of Two Canyons

After four days in Sedona and twice as many unsuccessful wizard battles we were anxious to get back on the road. Adding to our excitement was the fact that our next stop was one of the most impressive sights in the United States, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, Grand Canyon. Although I had always been eager to see Grand Canyon, my interest in Grand Canyon had grown exponentially since I discovered Kent “Dr. Dino” Hovind and his creation science. I could barely contain my excitement to see first-hand what the power of one giant flood could do to the earth. As we drove up to Grand Canyon we noticed that the temperature was steadily dropping and by the time we reached the entrance it was down to twenty-five degrees with blizzard-like conditions. Apparently some of our christian readership had informed god about this blog and the big guy decided to take a big godly shit on us for mocking him. Not being ones to let “god” get in the way of a good time, we threw on our snow gear (rain coats, llama wool hats, sweatpants, shades and flip flops) and headed out to experience Grand Canyon in all its glory. Unfortunately for us it was snowing so hard that we couldn’t see a fucking thing, let alone take in the awesome beauty that we imagine Grand Canyon to be.

Fortunately for our incredibly demanding and illiterate fan base, however, we spent the next two hours attempting to create humorous videos. If you like this, you’ll love our upcoming feature film Incoherent Rambling Nonsense, filmed by Michael J. Fox. Also, you’re probably an idiot.




With our hopes of future success as indie filmmakers all but secured we left Grand Canyon and headed east, settling for experiencing the second greatest canyon in Arizona, Canyon de Chelly (pronounced, for some reason, Canyon de Shay). Our journey to Canyon de Chelly took us straight through the heart of Navajo country. There were no formal signs proclaiming that we were in fact entering the reservation but I could tell fairly easily by the tense look on Corey’s face and the slew of racial slurs, such as Crapajos, that he was shouting out the window. On the way through Navajo country I spotted a sign advertising real life dinosaur footprints and naturally decided to pull over, despite Corey’s vehement protests and patented Blackfoot Indian Burn (calling me an Uncle Eagle Claw*). I soon discovered why this once-proud tribe was now referred to as the Crapajos. This “attraction” consisted of three “dinosaur footprints” located around thirty feet from each other and more than likely caused by slightly larger than average chickens.

Shortly after our “dino track” stop we got to Canyon de Chelly and decided to stay the night at the Spider Rock Campground. It was absolutely freezing so we started a fire in an attempt to make the rest of the night somewhat bearable. About an hour later we had a fire large enough to cook a can of chili on but too small to give off any warmth. We did our best to recreate our famous chilidog tacos but all we had was tortillas and a can of watery chili**. Needless to say, it failed pretty miserably, leaving us hungry and covered in chili stains. After the chili debacle we decided to cook up the can of Wolfgang Puck’s Split Pea Soup that my mom had given us. Apparently the can had been mislabeled because it was clearly Mr. Puck’s famous recipe for Baby Vomit Soup. We were able to force down a couple spoonfuls before it started snowing and we called it a night. Fearful of freezing to death we put on every layer of clothing that we had brought and went to bed for what would prove to be the coldest, most miserable night of my life.

I woke up around five in the morning with an uncontrollable need to urinate but unable to leave my tent due to the subzero temperature outside. After a couple unsuccessful attempts to simply stick my dick out of the front vestibule (just one of the two vestibules on my dual-vestibuled tent***) I forced myself out of my urine-soaked sleeping bag and went outside like a real person would do. The ground and our tents were completely covered in snow, making it nearly impossible and completely shitty to pack up our stuff. After we finally piled our soaking wet, red dirt covered camping supplies into the Stink Wagon we left, freezing and dejected, to go experience the canyon.

Once we left we headed out to check out our campground’s namesake, Spider Rock. We found it to be amazing but you can judge for yourself.



As I was driving around the canyon I noticed that Corey had taken it upon himself to divide up a couple portions of mushrooms and realized that we were in for another day in Psychedelicvaniaburg. Shortly after arriving at the trailhead we nonchalantly ate a pile of mushrooms and started hiking down the canyon****. Near the top of the canyon we were met by a mangy old one-eared dog. Although I was convinced that it was a spirit guide sent to assist us on our hike, Corey, not one to trust a dog, was of the opinion that it was out for his coveted granola bar stash. By the time we reached the bottom, however, Corey had realized the true nature of the dog, even going so far as to ask it important life questions (What is death? What are we doing here? What was Parker thinking when he took Drew Bledsoe in the third round in last year’s fantasy football draft?).


What we found at the bottom of the canyon was not, as we had anticipated, a tranquil dessert setting but rather a post-apocalyptic village with the only inhabitants being Indian bead peddlers and a creepy guy driving around a circa 1937 military truck. Normally this would have been a frightening place for two non-zombies but luckily we were still accompanied by our spirit guide dog and therefore had nothing to fear. That was until the dog noticed an elderly couple that was giving away their granola stash and left us on our own, forcing us to explore this strange new world alone. We walked carefully between Shit River***** and the row of merchants trying to keep our distance from both of them. Toward the end of the corridor we were cornered by an older merchant who tried to pawn off his expansive dreamcatcher collection on us. We were too high to interact with another human being so we just laughed hysterically and walked off awkwardly in the other direction. After this failed attempt to purchase a much-needed dreamcatcher we continued to wander around aimlessly, attempting to gain some sort of grasp on what the fuck was going on, until we noticed a large group of hikers on the other side of the village taking pictures. We headed in their direction so that we could see what the big hubbub was all about. It took us only around two minutes to reach the tourist gathering and only around two seconds to forget why we had come over in the first place and immediately walk back to the trail. Although we would have liked to stick around and further explore this enchanted land of desolation, we were beginning to receive an abundance of weird looks from everyone so we decided to take our trip elsewhere and hike back out of Canyon de Chelly. In the name of refusing to submit to conformity we chose to blaze our own trail up the side of the canyon, costing us at least an hour and earning us even more weird looks. Once we took a rest from trailblazing and decided to throw on some tunage the trip went from a crazy hysterical adventure to a silent self-exploratory vision quest. The next three and a half hours were mind-altering, insight-filled and most likely mind-numbingly boring to read about so I will go ahead and spare you the details. If in the unlikely event you can’t live without hearing my thoughts on hallucinogenic-drug-based spirituality you can just go ahead and poke me on facebook (no dudes please). On the other hand, it wouldn’t be right if we robbed you completely of the experience so the following is Corey’s first and only attempt at a shroom video, a small glimpse into the mind of a boundary-breaking shroomhead. Disclaimer: video might seem boring and nonsensical to those not tuned in.




We left the canyon at the tail end of our trip and Corey piloted our spaceship along the highway with the windows down and Neil Young a’blastin, heading towards New Mexico, hoping to find a slightly warmer climate.

*The Blackfoot equivalent of an Uncle Tom.

**Hormel Extra Watery Tabasco Style Chili is no longer a roadtrippin recommended brand of chili.

***In contrast, Corey’s faggy tent only has one vestibule…what an idiot.

****By nonchalantly I mean that I tried to force them down my throat without throwing up, clumsily spilled half my stash, then picked through the dirt for the remains while Corey stood over me asking me “you gonna lick out the rest of that bag?”

*****A flowing river of dog-feces-laced water.

-Spencer

Bumper Update

Below is the much anticipated bumper photo. You might want to click on the picture to enlarge it so you get the full effect.

Here is a brief description of each sticker starting from left to right:

1. [Alien inside of New Mexico state symbol] (Roswell, NM). We bought it from a crazy old hippy in Roswell and received a free walk through her homemade alien vortex chamber (a 2 dollar value). This shows our intense love of aliens and the fact we went to New Mexico.

2. [Drunken Hillbilly Rat floating down what we assume is the Yakima River] (Outside Lake Havasu, AZ). When you really think about it aren't we all just Drunken Hillbilly Rats floating down the Yakima River...

3. [Mexican Wrestling mask, with the title El Sancho] (Ensenada, Mexico). This really gets to the heart of Spencer’s two passions in life: The study of the Spanish language and putting a mask on and wrestling strangers. Spencer told me that El Sancho literally translates to: a wrestler of low quality; the kind of guy who wouldn’t know a Mexican arm drag from a Japanese arm drag.

4. [The sticker reads “Flashbacks are all I have to look forward to”] (Lake Havesu, AZ). Shows that all we have to look forward to are our acid flashbacks. This is not only true, but also a direct quote I heard from our guidance counselor, Richard.

5. [Meatloaf] (Ensenada, Mexico). Pretty self-explanatory.

6. [Route 66] (Somewhere in Arizona). Nothing interesting about this sticker.

7. [A coyote standing next to a Joshua Tree] (Joshua Tree National Park, CA). First place we ever experienced acid and the beginning of our uncontrollable upward spiral towards enlightenment/unemployment.

8. [Death Valley] (Death Valley, CA). This was the sticker that started the whole bumper sticker revolution.

9. [Gatorade symbol that says “Radiate the light of Christ”] (Little Caesar’s San Antonio, Texas). This was an attempt to show our love of delicious Gatorade brand sports drink. We were later shocked to discover that it was actually a cleverly disguised piece of rightwing religious propaganda. For the record not once has Jesus quenched my thirst after a big game.

10. [A Texas long horn symbol colored in like the Texas Flag] (Austin, Texas). Hook ‘Em Horns

11. [A disgusting sticker that is just about to fall off that reads “Dirt Logic”] (Esenada, Mexico). You might not believe me, but this one was FREE. All I had to do was pick it off a dirty old unflushed toilet in Mexico. Sweet deal! It signifies my love of the movie Joe Dirt and the fact that I have almost no regard for personal hygiene.

12. [Mario style mushrooms that says 1-up] (Ensenada, Mexico). We like mushrooms; that’s cool, right guys???

13. [A blue and yellow sticker that reads “I’d rather be swimmin’, with bare naked women!”] (Cabazon, CA). I bought this for Spencer; in exchange he promised to stop telling me that he would rather be swimmin’ with bare naked women.

14. [Amador Bail Bonds “Came on Vacation, Stuck on Probation”] (Roswell, NM). This was purchased for practical use. You never know when you are gonna need a good bonds man. This was reinforced by the fact that our last vacation together did end with us both on probation. Thanks again Chelan County District Court.

15. [Says Gila Cliff Dwellings and has a picture of a cliff dwelling] (Gila Cliff Dwellings, NM). We went there.

16. and 17. [16. A stick figure of a man in a wheel chair getting a blowjob. 17. The universal Anti symbol.] (Roswell, NM). The crown jewel of our collection was created by combining two stickers. The end result is us finally taking the strong stand that, “you know what, maybe we don’t really want a guy in a wheelchair getting his dick sucked. Maybe we might just do anything in our power to stop it from happening.”

RoadTrippin Map Update 2

Thought I better update the map so you have some concept of where we are right now. We spent last night in Morgan City, LA. It was a pretty standard roadtrippin night (we snuck tall boys of Keystone Light into the late showing of "Wild Hogs"). Right now we're just about to head off for New Orleans. The plan is to hang out there through this weekend and check out Jazz Fest. I heard from a very unrealiable source (my dad) that more people actually come to Jazz fest than Mardi Gras so it should be a pretty exciting weekend.

Comedy Countdown #12: Norm MacDonald

If this was an overall just being funny competition, not stand-up comedy based, Norm MacDonald would have certainly been in the top 3. Despite the fact that pretty much everything he has ever done in his career has been a complete failure in the conventional sense (lost money and almost immediately cancelled) we’ve both loved everything he has ever done. We both first fell in love with Norm's antics when he was the host of Weekend update on Saturday Night Live (fired for by NBC execs for “being completely not funny”). After that Norm wrote and starred in one of the funniest movies this world has ever experienced “Dirty Work” (Universally panned by critics and bombed at the box office). The next step was writing and starring in his own sitcom, “The Norm Show”. In our humble opinion this was the funniest sitcom of it’s era (sadly cancelled after only 2 ½ seasons). That wasn’t all though, he also co-starred with Dave Chappell in the movie “Screwed” and has appeared in around 9 movies staring Rob Schneider. I have no idea what Norm did for the rest of the late nineties and early 00’s, besides those Schneider cameos, but now he is back on the scene with a new sketch comedy CD called “Ridiculous”. I very strongly recommend checking it out if you haven’t heard it. It is sorta like the old Sandler CD’s but not made exclusively for 11 year old children.

Well Norm obviously doesn’t give a shit about copy right infringement and everything he has ever done in his life was available on youtube so we spent an entire day watching basically all of it and laughing our asses off. You guys probably don’t have 8 hrs to watch Norm material so we narrowed it down to the quintessential 4 hrs. If you only a have a few minutes I would watch his stand-up special and some of the Dirty Work clips. Enjoy

(Norm’s 1991 HBO stand-up special)







(A clip from Norm’s new CD “Ridiculous” ft. Will Ferrell)



(A very funny interview with Dennis Miller)





(How did the Norm Show possibly get cancelled?)



If you enjoyed that little clip you can watch pretty much the entire first season for free on youtube. Just click here: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=The+Norm+Show

(The Movie Dirty Work)



-Clip where Norm just got raped in jailed-


-More Chris Farley at his finest-


(The Bushman’s opinion of and challenge for Mr. MacDonald)

Wizards, Wizards, Wizards

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Lake Have-a-screw

After three days of camping we packed up our shit and headed back to civilization. As we were filling up on gas we noticed that a golf-ball-sized bubble had formed on the front right tire. Though we can’t prove it, we believed this to be the work of those pieces of shit at campsite #25. Unfortunately, we were already too far away to retaliate so we had to settle for a scathing comment on a blog with a dwindling fan base. Those guys are douche bags. It was a Sunday so we couldn’t find any tire stores that were open but we talked to what appeared to be some sort of mechanic at a gas station and he told us that the bubble was extremely dangerous and the tire would explode if we drove any further on it. Not one to trust a mechanic, Corey decided to call his dad and get a second opinion. Although his dad had apparently drank a bottle of scotch for breakfast and clearly had no idea what we were talking about, we decided to take his advice to “stop being pussies” and so we headed east.

We were on our way to Grand Canyon when we saw a sign for Lake Havasu and immediately decided to change course towards the Spring Break Capital of the Interior Southwest. As we pulled into Havasu we instantly entered into Spring Break Mode and sought out the partyingest beach-side bar in town for some afternoon drinking. A quick poll of the locals revealed that The Naked Turtle was the bar for us. The Turtle has everything you could possibly want in a Spring Break bar: beach-side location, tropical drinks and, most importantly, no one under the age of 53. While we were sitting at the bar choking down our $8 Naked Turtle Napalm Bombers (one part Bacardi 151, two parts mango juice, 15 parts Grenadine) we were approached by a smokin’ hot bombshell named Tammy, soon to be known as The Tamster. She was obviously drawn in by my Big Dog cutoff and able to look past my comically Little Dog biceps. We immediately hit it off and she invited us to stay at her house within the first five minutes of conversation. As we talked on, she opened up and told me about how she had only recently escaped her nightmare of a previous life in Spokane as a “corporate wife.” After her divorce she moved to her summer home in Lake Havasu and it only took “fucking nearly every guy at The Naked Turtle” (read in Cap’n Dan Voice) before she found true happiness in the form of a six-foot leather-skinned, Marlboro Menthol chain-smoking, renaissance man who goes by the self-given nickname, Cap’n Dan. As Tammy and I were discussing our love of afternoon drinking, her “man” walked up, took one look at us and immediately vetoed her previous offer of a place to stay for the night. Apparently, Cap’n Dan, known as Big Poppa Boondoggle in the grifter community, saw right through our not-so-clever ruse and instantly launched into his patented two-part grifter validation test. The first part of this test consisted of a rapid-fire barrage of ethnic jokes (i.e. What did they call Tiger Woods in college? Nigger). We passed with flying colors, laughing just hard enough to signify that we appreciated the cleverness of the jokes but not hard enough to signify that we were racists. We ordered some beers and continued our conversation at the bar. Cap’n Dan told us all about his life in Havasu, his days of driving truck and how he inherited a monster dick from his black grandpa (his justification for telling exclusively racist jokes).

(Cap'n Dan)

Eventually we earned his trust and were reinvited to their place for dinner and part two of the test, the BYO(and Dan’s)B beer chug challenge. Dan handed us a soaking wet five dollar bill and instructed us to buy him a six-dollar pack of Marlboro Menthols and a “30-Bomb” of Coor’s Light, one of his patented scams.

When we got to their house Cap’n Dan was firing up the grill. We offered him a beer and he accepted without hesitation. While we were waiting for the food to cook we talked about life on the lake, sports, and the Tamster’s god-given ability to “fuck his brains out,” a topic which would be shamelessly brought up no less than 300 times throughout the night. Before long we were served a spectacular meal of grilled pork loin, fancy mashed potatoes and salad. Apparently, Dan knows his way around the grill and Tammy is more than just a hot piece of ass. As the night progressed we made a sizeable dent in our beer supply and the conversation became slightly more serious. The more he talked the more I realized that Cap’n Dan was one of the most fascinating people I have had the pleasure of meeting. For a small insight into the man, the myth and the legend here are a few of the more interesting things we learned about Dan:

- Dan has been extremely interested in spirituality throughout the course of his life and has explored several unusual but highly interesting paths. He once paid money to be dropped off by a helicopter in the middle of a dessert with nothing to eat. After two full days the helicopter dropped food rations to him and for the next five days Dan found his way back using only a compass as a guide. This experience was so positive for him that he now often drives his boat upriver and camps for a few days at a time to meditate. During these trips he has nothing to eat and claims that these are the times in his life when his mind is at its clearest and he develops his best ideas.

- After earning a sizeable amount of money working for Chevron (we suspect he sold gas to kids for huffing) he embarked on a three-year road trip around the United States, once again proving that he is vastly superior to us. He made the trip in an RV and along the way joined up with fellow road trippers and became the ringleader of the first RV gang in modern history. He earned leader status by stabbing an 80-year-old man unprovoked with a sharpened plastic spoon and thereby asserted his dominance over all. After a long and storied road trip and an even longer stint in federal prison they changed their name from Cap’n Dan and the Gas Guzzlers to their current and more applicable name, The Aryan Brotherhood.

- Although he didn’t need the money, Dan recently chose to drive truck for nearly a full year of his life. During this trucker period Dan really honed his grifter skills. He taught us that nearly everything you needed on the road could be swindled from various truck stops. For a free meal you can eat at a Flying J and walk out, for a free fountain drink or shower go to a Pilot and for a free HJ head on over to Truck Stops of America. As he was explaining the trucker lifestyle I felt that I had finally found my true calling in life, a job that combines my addiction of traveling with my other addiction of crystal meth. Unfortunately, however, the benefits are slightly outweighed by the downsides: being a trucker.

At the tail end of the night we informed them that we had some weed in the car. Tammy was overly excited and urged us to roll a joint because Dan had apparently never had the experience of smoking “BC Bud.” I’m fairly sure that we had none of this “BC Bud” she spoke of but we played along and Corey “The Unnecessarily Slow Joint Rolling Machine” Johnson rolled up one of his famous four-hit joints. Once we lit up, about an hour later, Dan and Tammy told us that they couldn’t smoke because of upcoming drug tests at work. We felt that this was a little odd since it was clear that neither of them had jobs but we ignored the inconsistency and smoked our joint. This oversight would later come back to haunt us.

We could tell that the night was nearly over when Dan fell asleep in his chair. Almost on cue Tammy began cleaning up all the empty beer cans and putting away the food. As she was preparing our beds Dan opened his eyes and explained that we had just learned another invaluable life lesson; if you pretend to fall asleep, Tammy will clean the house for you.

The following morning we woke up early to watch the sunrise while Tammy prepared a delicious 30-item egg scramble. When we asked what exactly was in it Dan replied, “do you ask the Colonel what’s in his chicken?” Although this was around the thirtieth time he had used this phrase in the past two days, it was the first and only time that it even remotely made sense. The rest of the morning Dan went over his road atlas with us and instructed us what we needed to see in the southwest. Even though we spent less than two days with Cap’n Dan and the Tamster they formally adopted us and made us promise to return. Knowing that I finally had a family who wouldn’t tell me that “mushroom enthusiast is not a real job” and “we don’t care if Corey was kicked out by his Grandparents he can’t do drugs in our basement” we set out, giant tire bubble still intact, towards Sedona, AZ, in Dan’s opinion, the most beautiful place in America*.

(The whole family)

*We are incapable of creating an asterix-less post.

-Spencer

Comedy Countdown #13: Nick Swardson

Nick Swardson's roles in movies can most accurately be described as being, the shinning light in a sea of shit. His cinematic resume includes such feces piles as: Grandma's Boy, The Benchwarmers, Click, and Malibu's Most Wanted. Please don't let his complete lack of discretion with regard to scripts sour you to Nick Swardson as a comic. Both of us have seen him live and he really is a great stand-up comedian. I strongly recommend you go check him out for yourself, he will be at the Moore Theatre in Seattle on Friday, June 15.

(to buy tickets click here)
http://www.ticketmaster.com/event/0F003D8DFF39A102?artistid=853470&majorcatid=10002&minorcatid=51

Comedy countdown fact: Nick Swardson is the youngest person appearing on the comedy countdown (though he plays high school age gays in all movies he is actually 30 years old). The comedy countdown is a good example of how young people aren't funny. After some thought I don't know one good stand-up comedian under the age of 30. Go ahead and try to think of one. Here are a few guesses we had that are all wrong: Demetri Martin, he's 34, Sarah Silverman, 37, Katt Williams, 33. It seems to take years of failure and misery before you become hateful enough to come up with truly funny material. I am just saying you give us 7 more years together and we will be approaching levels of failure and misery that have never been seen before. That's when this site is really going to start taking off....

Enjoy these two Nick Swardson clips and to learn more check out www.NickSwardson.com

(Nick Swardson Stand-Up)




A normal day in the life of Down-To-Earth Nick Swardson

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Tie-Dyesaurus Rex

We woke up early to the sounds of my uncle loudly reminding us that he had a job to get to and that we were just lazy good for nothing boondogglers. He gave us directions to our next destination, Joshua Tree National Park (JTNP), and the suggestion to get on the road soon in order to avoid the rush hour traffic. We could tell by his get-the-fuck-out-my-house tone that we had once again worn out our welcome and burned yet another bridge. We quickly gathered our things and hit the road. As soon as we stepped out the door our road trippin instincts kicked back in and we chose to follow them instead of my uncle’s silly directions. These instincts lead us through a long stretch of construction sites and three rather expensive tollbooths. It was beginning to look as if, for the first time, our instincts had led us astray. Within a few minutes, however, we saw a sign for Cabazon and realized that we had chosen the correct path.

Cabazon, for the non-dinosaur-park-inclined, is home to the World’s Largest Dinosaurs. We had no problem spotting the dinos from the highway and we arrived at the park soon after. As we pulled into the parking lot we were amazed by the (as far as we could tell) larger-than-life-sized brontosaurus and T-Rex towering over our heads. Even more impressive was the fact that inside the bronto was a large gift shop filled to capacity with dino merchandise. While checking out the various dino wares we noticed several interesting items, including a coloring book showing Jesus’s interactions with Dinosaurs and a shirt that read “truckers road map” with a picture of a bible and a semi. We soon came to the realization that this was not your everyday dinosaur gift shop. We were instantly drawn to the tv in the back which was displaying an extremely interesting lecture about dinosaurs and the Bible. The Krazy-Bone look-alike behind the counter noticed our interest and handed us two copies of the DVD we were watching. We got out our wallets, prepared to shell out whatever the asking price was, but were shocked to discover that they were free. Spencer felt so indebted to the gift shop that he purchased an overpriced but sweet Dino Park shirt. Little did we know that the DVD would completely change our views on Jesus, Dinosaurs and Jesusaurs (more on that later).




With our dinosaur needs fully met we left Cabazon and headed towards JTNP. We got there in about an hour and after a brief stop at the Ranger station for a map we began our search for a campsite. The first two campgrounds in the park were full (of faggots) which was of no consequence to us because we already had our sights set on the Jumbo Rocks Campground (only half-full of faggots and, true to its name, surrounded by oversized rocks). An unnecessarily meticulous search led us to campsite #26, which for the next 3 days would be home to the notoriously mischievous 26-Mafia. The mafia wasted no time before pulling their first, and only, remotely successful prank. An elaborately falsified note reading “campsite taken” was placed on the adjacent campsite, #25, rendering the site untakeable by other campers and giving the 26-mafia free reign over the entire corridor. With our surroundings secure we immediately got to work setting up camp. Right as we finished putting the rain covers on our tents we were hit by a dessert monsoon of biblical proportions. We spent the next two hours sitting in my car exhausting our supply of both weed and plain flour tortillas. After smoking nearly ¾ of a comically small joint we were in the right mindset to figure out once and for all the truth about Jesus and the Dinosaurs. No words can accurately describe the experience so please just do yourselves a favor by getting high and watching this video. Sit back and watch while a true master of debate tears your reality apart.

(It’s 2 ½ hrs long so make sure you have enough weed)



To learn more, visit www.drdino.com.

If you watched the entire video and still believe in that evolution nonsense than you my friend are the idiot. You are the same idiot that look over Grand Canyon and think Grand Canyon weren’t made by Jesus riding on the back of a big ol’ dinosaur.

The rain let up soon after, but we were unable to pull ourselves away from Hovind’s mind-blowing lecture. We finally ended up stumbling into our freezing cold wet tents around one in the morning.

The next morning we were planning to just hike around and enjoy the weather but the surreal landscape of JTNP inspired us to take our first step towards a not so distant future of hanging out in Richard’s basement wearing tie-dye sweat suits and attempting to sync up our kaleidoscopes to the sweet sounds of Jefferson Airplane. Yep, we tuned in, turned on and dropped out. Yes sir, we followed the white rabbit all the way to wonderland. That’s right my friend, we took a one-way trip on the yellow submarine straight to the fourth dimension of mind expansion.*

We were both somewhat apprehensive about taking the plunge, due to several uncomfortable encounters with the psychedelic explorers at Bumbershoot, but once again our complete disregard for our own sanity won out. We each had 2 “hits” in the form of sugar cubes. We sat on top of an especially jumbo rock and dropped them in our mouths. The cubes quickly dissolved leaving only a horribly powerful gasoline-like aftertaste. We had reached the point of no return.

We continued hiking while waiting for the effects to kick in. As we walked, the sun broke through the clouds, partially blinding me and reminding me that I had forgotten my sunglasses. Luckily for me, this trail was apparently frequented by forgetful acidheads and right in middle of the trail was a perfect pair of vintage John Lennon shades. Right then I felt the acid starting to take effect and I knew it was going to be a great day.

Like most drugs, the negative hype surrounding acid seemed to be completely false.** I had expected an uncontrollable onslaught of crazy hallucinations while my world melted around me. Though I did experience some zany visuals, what really stood out was my complete harmony with life and my surroundings. It was actually quite a bit less “crazy” than my experience with mushrooms. While mushrooms usually give me a sense of adventure and searching, the acid left me with a complete feeling of contentment. My fears, worries, and apprehensions left me and I was just at peace with the world. The only negative side effect I noticed was that acid made both of us overconfident with regard to our rock climbing abilities. We ended up climbing up a very large shear cliff and then having no idea how to get down. After about an hour of planning out how we would live the rest of our lives on top of the cliff we ended up finding the scariest possible path down and narrowly avoided severe injuries. The rest of the time we just put on some tunes and strolled through the desert, stopping only for a much needed kaleidoscope break. One nice thing about the LSD was that the effects lasted somewhere around 6 or 7 hrs (probably due to our frequent orange consumption***).



I wish we had some crazier stories to tell, but to be honest it was just a really cool day. Though I’ve only done it once, and in a small dose, I feel I am qualified to say that LSD is a very feasible solution to society’s most pressing dilemma: boredom.

With our mind-altering journey complete, we headed back to our campsite. Much to our dismay, we discovered that some asshole family and their dogs had taken campsite #25 despite the fact that it was already occupied by a Mr. Boner McDonkeydick. The 26-Mafia did not take too kindly to this and immediately reacted the only way they know how. Within minutes, signs proclaiming the following night’s Kegger of the Century at campsite #25 were placed throughout the Jumbo Rocks Campground and the seeds were sown for yet another legendary prank. The rest of the night was spent prefunking for tomorrow’s party. During the prefunk we stumbled upon a delicious recipe for Chili Dog Tacos.****


The next morning we realized that we had severely underestimated the 25ers when we discovered they had placed multiple piles of dog shit in our pristine campsite. After several heated rounds of negotiations I was finally able to dissuade Spencer from shitting in their tents while they were sleeping. In order to calm ourselves down we headed off for a sober hike that provided few memories, but many painful sunburns. Once we got home we started getting ready for the big kegger. As the night went on we realized that somehow our plan to start a campground party wasn’t working as well as we planned. Only a couple stray guys showed up and those pieces of shit at 25 told them they were not having a party and that it must have been some sort of lame prank.***** The kegger disaster left us once again drinking Stoli Blueberry alone in our campsite. Turns out that we had underestimated the number of fags staying at the Jumbo Rocks Campsite by exactly two.

The next morning we woke up hungover and reeking of campfire smoke so we decided we better shower for the first time in three days and get over to Lake Havasu, Arizona where we would begin our endless spring break.

*In case you are a square who stumbled upon our site, we’re talking about doing acid.

**Next up we will test this theory with crystal meth, heroin, and ether.

***Spencer’s shaman friend from Peru, Medicine Wolf, advised him that citrus fruits enhance the effects of hallucinogenic drugs. Some other advice he gave Spencer was to never be without a poncho, always listen to the spirits and if you are going to try out the vampire lifestyle steer clear of sewer rats as a source of blood.

****Ingredients: 1 ½ can Hobo Chili, 1 Bar-S hotdog, 2 slice American cheese, and a flour tortilla…delicious.

*****Not true.

-Corey

Comedy Countdown #14: Sam Kinison

Sam Kinison was a true comedy legend and is widely recognized as the second funniest person ever born in Yakima,WA. You should know him as one of the founders of modern stand-up comedy or the short fat guy who yells a lot. Sam Kinison died in 1992 when a drunk 17 year old kid hit his car. This is somewhat ironic due to the very pro drinking and driving stance he took in his stand-up. These shitty youtube clips do not do him justice whatsoever, but if you are comedy fan you owe it to yourself to check out Sam Kinison. If you want to learn more check out (www.samkinison.org) or (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sam_Kinison)

(Kinison's 1st Letterman appearance)


(Sam's Stand-up and his weird 80's rock song)