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)

RoadTrippin Map Update

If you're wondering, we are currently alive and well in Grants, New Mexico. At this very moment we are hanging out in our $20 motel room with an 8-pack of King Cobra Malt Liquor. Your predictions of how this night will end are more than welcome.

Hollywood Hangover

After our overwhelming brush with fame in L.A. we needed some time to recover. In true boondoggler fashion we ended up spending a full day eating free food and hanging out around Corey’s uncle’s house. Later that night my friend Kata randomly called and told me that she just happened to be staying with some relatives 15 minutes away in Irvine. I suspect that she was following me but I don’t have the proof to confirm that. We agreed to meet up at some brewery which was home to the world’s most extensive and overpriced selection of beers in the world. We went with the sampler, a great deal at only nine bucks for six thimbles full of beer. The highlight was the local hemp beer that tasted rather similar to a combination of bong water and urine. It reminded me of that time when I pulled the classic prank of peeing in my bong and then tricking my brother into drinking it. That idiot drank the entire concoction in one monster gulp. If you ask me, I think he actually liked it. And the best part is, I don’t even have a brother…I’m the one who drank the piss…I drank piss water!!!!* The rest of the night was fairly uneventful but I hadn’t seen Kata in quite some time so it was nice being able to catch up with her and even better to finally talk to someone who didn’t bring up his Delta Chi presidency every five fucking minutes.

The next morning we realized that one day on the couch was enough so we decided to get things moving and ask the moon beads whether we should travel to Mexico or begin our journey East. The verdict was Mexico. Neither of us particularly wanted to go to Mexico but we feared the repercussions of disobeying the beads so we hopped in the car and headed south. We drove straight into Mexico and then stopped in a town named Rosarita for lunch. I attempted to order us some tortas de carne but I must have mispronounced something because they ended up serving us sandwiches de dog food. We were a little disappointed by the mix up but were still very excited about our Mexican adventure so we headed out south towards Ensenada. We got into town about an hour later and I was able to successfully use my Spanish skills to score us a room for only $28 at Hotel Cucaracha.** After we had our room secured we headed out for what would prove to be the lamest night in the history of people going to Mexico. I won’t waste your time recounting our night, but let’s just say that it ended with an Eighter of Modelo Especial Superbowl XXXVII Commemorative Cans back at the Cucaracha Inn (Go Bucs!). Though I must say if you haven’t already done so, please go do yourself a favor and see Eddie Murphy pull off several brilliant and underappreciated performances in the modern comedy classic, Norbit, surprisingly even better the fifth time around.


The trip wasn’t a complete waste, however, as the next day we were lucky enough to get our hands on a limited edition Meatloaf bumper sticker which instantly became the highlight of our Road Trippin Bumper. As Corey drove back to California I employed my old trick of finishing off an Eighter of Vintage Buccaneer Beers and then passing out in order to avoid my driving responsibilities. When I came to again we were at Corey’s uncle’s place. We refueled with a delicious dinner and a couple beers and prepared to begin the eastern leg of our misguided American adventure.


*One piece of Road Trippin Memorabilia will be awarded to the first person to correctly identify the movie that I stole this bit from.

**Named by Corey, whose bed was home to a large tribe of cucarachas***.

***When his initial attempts at diplomacy failed miserably he reverted back to his old Blackfoot ways and waged all out genocide on the cucaracha tribe. I fear that this may develop into a serious problem if we come across more confrontational tribes.

Editor’s Note: If you are in the humorous blog business, do not attempt to write a post at 4 a.m. with a head full of ‘ludes.


-Spencer

Comedy Countdown #15: Sarah Silverman

Sarah Silverman is without a doubt the funniest woman on the planet, in fact, she might be the only funny woman on the planet. Besides being funny she is also a pretty cute jew (very rare), sorta rich, and willing to fuck someone like Jimmy Kimmell. In short, she has all the things you'd want in woman, minus that jew thing. Her past works include School of Rock, Mr. Show, Run Ronny Run and her DVD "Jesus is Magic." She is currently the star of one of our favorite new shows "The Sarah Silverman Program," which you might be able to see Thursdays at 10pm on Comedy Central (we have no idea if it is still on the air). Here are a few of the best clips we could steal for free off the internet.

The song "Germans love cars" from "Jesus is Magic"



Bit about her dad's dick and bums from "Jesus is Magic"



7 minute set from "Comic Relief 2006" (very good)

Jealous Much???

Still slightly hung over at around 5 p.m. we jumped in the stink wagon* and set our sights on Hollywood. We were heading up to see Spencer’s friend Megan, who recently moved to Hollywood to work for the Entertainment Channel and frequently hobnobs with big time movie stars (including such names as Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, Robert Deniro, Cheech Marin). We figured that this was our best shot to accomplish a long-standing dream to do coke with John Stamos. Our first celebrity sighting came when we entered Megan’s apartment and met her two rising starlet roommates, Jen and Leah. Keeping with the St Patrick’s Day spirit Megan offered us a Heineken and the opportunity to smoke her out.


*The car is starting to smell pretty strongly like dead cats covered in baby formula.

(The LA gang)

After a few beers and a joint we agreed to go out to their favorite nearby bar to kick off our St. Patrick’s Day festivities. We were unimpressed by the lack of movie stars in the crowd and were forced to use our imaginations and pretend/insist that random people were famous. Pretty soon, however, we were treated to our first brush with stardom in the form of a young man that you will surely recognize from his starring role in a Dorito’s commercial. Although Megan and her roommates strongly urged us not to “embarrass them” by taking pictures of people who “aren’t famous” I was not about to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. After a long struggle I was able to fight my way through the paparazzi and snap some candid photos up close and personal with The Dorito’s Guy.

After a less than successful attempt to sell my photos of The Dorito’s Guy I rejoined the group at the bar. Once we learned that the bar did not sell road trippin friendly Schmidts cans we were forced to rely on other people for drinks. We managed to get pretty drunk by constantly promising to “get the next round.” Later on, Leah’s friend, who bore a striking resemblance to a black guy, joined our party. As I sat and drank my beer I had my first experience as the 6th wheel on a 5-wheeled makeoutmobile. In an attempt to gain favor in the group I employed my favorite old fraternity trick of dumping my beer all over everyone. With my standing in the group at an all time low I decided it was a good time to make some new friends. As I walked up to the bar I spotted two disheveled souls who I first mistook for Tim Meadows and Gene Wilder. After a short discussion about the NCAA tournament they got down to business and offered me a job in what seemed to be some sort of comedy. As we were chatting away Spencer came up and told me that we were leaving. They handed me their business card and told me to call them.


Needless to say, I am very excited about my future with Sheer Audacity! We left the bar early because Leah’s friend had promised to smoke us out with “cali’s finest dro.” We first thought that he meant weed but later learned that he was fucking liar. In fact the only thing we got from him was a debate over which movie was better: South Park or Family Guy. I took the Family Guy position and after a hotly contested debate, which I clearly won, it dawned on me that I had never seen the Family Guy movie. Later that night I had the opportunity to actually watch the Family Guy movie for the first time…and hated it.

The next morning the girls went for a run as we continued our streak of three straight days of waking up and feeling absolutely terrible. Our previous hangover cures of alka-seltzer and Tylenol proved ineffective so we decided to try and smoke the hangover out. This method turned out well for everyone except for me. Aside from intensifying the lingering hangover effects, it put me straight into a nauseous, paranoid coma and ruined all ambition I had for the day. Thanks again weed. My misery was compounded when Megan came home and vetoed our decision of visiting the Librea Tar Pits (awesome, dinosaur-themed attraction) and talked us into spending our day at the Getty Museum (boring old building filled with antique cabinets and sculptures). Besides the fact I wanted to kill myself the entire time I was there the museum was actually really impressive. The trip was highlighted by our favorite exhibit, Zoopsia, a room comprised of paintings and sculptures that represented animal hallucinations. The verdict is still out on my appreciation of art but I can certainly confirm my appreciation of hallucinations.

(Getty Museum)

Our plan for the night was to see a free improv show at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. Though I had never actually heard of the Upright Citizens Brigade, Spencer was the most excited I’d seen him since he beat that rape charge (thanks again burden of proof!). It turns out that the UCB, as he stupidly calls them, helped form a pretty significant part of his early adolescence (the part which made him weird and friendless). Once the show started I could see why he was so excited, it was the finest improv I’ve ever seen. Everyone in the show was very talented and very funny, even the woman!!! Halfway through the show, what appeared to be a grossly overweight Mexican boondoggler walked onstage, unannounced and probably uninvited. To our amazement, it turned out to be comic superstar/grossly overweight Mexican boondoggler, Mr. Horatio Sanz. He entered gracefully and instantly stole the show with his trademark nonstop uncontrollable giggling. At the end of the show the performers received their payment in the form of free weed, pictures of Bart Simpson sucking his own dick, and a copy of the iron maiden comic which were thrown on stage.

As we were leaving the theatre we ran into the one and only, Bob Odenkirk. You might know Bob as the co-creator of Mr. Show with David Cross or, more likely, this photo:

(Note Spencer’s retardedly ecstatic grin and Bob’s apathetic shrug)

Apparently Bob was filming an episode of his new pilot “Derek and Simon” in the UCB Theatre. Though it was getting late we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be a part of history. We had no idea that we were about to be thrust into the limelight with prominent roles as Audience Members #37 and 38. We quickly took advantage of our camera time to promote the website by yelling http://www.usaroadtrippin.blogspot.com at the camera as it passed us. For marketing reasons we may need to shorten up that URL. After filming the first few scenes it turned into a real life Hollywood bash when Bob unveiled multiple dumpster pizzas and a keg of old Bud Light that he always keeps in the back of his truck. Stars attending the party included Brian Posehn’s boyfriend on The Sarah Silverman Program and some chick from Growing Pains (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0424534/).

(Bob's Party-mobile)

We spent the majority of the night attempting to persuade two strangers, who we called Kegstand Kevin and Kegstand Carl, to stop being pussies and just do a fucking kegstand. After we realized these efforts were futile we just lurked around the keg and tried to get in the background of scenes. Somehow, I scored the enviable role of Guy Pumping the Keg for Simon in the crucial Simon Gets Beer From an Under-Pumped Keg Scene. After five straight takes where I “ruined the scene” by “overacting” they replaced me with that no-talent idiot, Kegstand Carl. My career was all but ruined so I sulked off and eased my pain with my 15th cup of flat Bud Light. Little did I know that I wasn’t the only one in the building whose immeasurable talents were currently being underappreciated by mainstream Hollywood. At that very moment, in walked the Godfather of Comedy, Mr. Saturday Night Live himself, Kegstand Chris Kattan.

I noticed Chris making his way to the keg so I rushed to retake my position as keg pumper. Right as I reached the keg Mr. Peepers extended his cup for a fresh beer. My moment of destiny was upon me and I did not falter. I pumped the shit out of that keg and began the pour of a lifetime, only to be stopped short. Quite a bit short actually, as apparently Chris Kattan only drinks quarter-fills.** This was either due to his professionalism or possibly the fact that snorting a pound of cocaine makes it very hard to judge liquids. He honestly looked like he had been sitting in his basement with his face in a pile of coke since Corkie Romano’s unexpected stumble at the box office. He spent the next two hours completely fucking up his 5 simple lines with some “interesting” adlibbing. At one point Bob Odenkirk was so fed up I thought he might give me my second chance. True to form, though, Chris pulled through and finished his scenes then quickly exited the theater to snort coke in his basement. Before he left, however, we cornered him as he sat alone and forced him to take this life-changing photo:

**Later on Spencer would be verbally accosted for an overzealous half-fill.


Although we failed to accomplish our original goal of doing coke with John Stamos, we were happy to settle for our first big break in Hollywood and a picture with a noticeably coked-up Chris Kattan.

While you wait for our movie to hit the web and catapult us into stardom, here are a couple “Derek and Simon” shorts to wet your appetite:


(A Bee and a Cigarette)



(Pity Card)




-Corey

Comedy Countdown Honorable Mention: Joe Rogan

You may know and sort of like Joe Rogan for his work on Newsradio, Fear Factor, the shittier version of The Man Show, his cameo on Chappelle's Show or as host of the UFC. We're not really sure if his stand-up is funny but we do both hate Carlos Menstealia and love psychedelic drugs so go ahead and check out these videos:

Joe Rogan vs. Carlos Mencia



Rogan Explains DMT

Boondoggling

We arrived at Corey’s uncle’s place in Orange County (all you young hipster types might know it better as “The OC”) at around ten at night. We were worn out from a full day of driving and expected to go straight to bed…we were way off. We spent the next two hours pounding beers and slamming shots like a freshman at a frat party. True to freshman form, we promptly passed out and were chiefed by Corey’s uncle*.

The entire next day was spent watching the tournament and recovering from our wicked hangovers. As soon as Corey’s aunt and uncle returned from work, however, we caught the first party train to gettingfuckedupville. This was my first meeting with Corey’s aunt (Bacardi Brenda as we affectionately called her behind her back) and she was definitely not impressed. Within seconds of gazing upon my face she was struck with the violent urge to sheer my disturbingly patchy neck beard. This urge was so strong, in fact, that she refused to let me stay even one more second in her house until it was gone. I was a little apprehensive about her shaving abilities but she quickly put my worries to rest with this little gem: “one time I even shaved my pussy, god why did I tell you that? that is so embarrassing.” As advertised, she did a fantastic job and I was free to stay as long as I pleased.

Once we had a pretty good buzz going we decided to step it up a notch with a delightful game of Taboo. We were feeling pretty good about our chances until Corey’s uncle flipped the script and cleverly pawned off his wife onto Corey. While my confidence surged through the fucking roof, I could tell by the look on Corey’s face that he was now deeply dreading the game. I soon learned why. For those of you who have yet to play Taboo, I will give you a quick rundown. One player selects a card that contains a word. This player has to get his teammate to guess this word without using the 5 “taboo” words also contained on the card (pretty sweet, I know). I was in the enviable position of looking over Bacardi Brenda’s shoulder as she gave clues solely using the taboo words. The hilarity continued when it was her turn to guess. Her best moments included the guesses “Cigarette Freud” and “Regis Kelly Ripa” and her insistence that she would have instantly guessed Amazon River if only Corey had said, “it’s a snake.” For our own amusement Corey’s uncle and I chose to mock Corey and insist that his clues were the reason for their team’s poor performance. After five frustrating rounds Corey erupted into a hate-filled tantrum and went downstairs for the rest of the night**/***.

With Corey gone, and the group dynamic greatly improved, we decided to play on. Almost immediately Corey’s uncle and I went to the kitchen to drink by ourselves and formulate a plan to get Barcardi Brenda to take my place on the road trip. Deeper into the night Corey’s uncle asked me what I wanted to do with my life once my days of boondoggling**** were behind me. I told him I had no idea but that comedy was the only thing in life that I had a real passion for. I now wish I had said “law school.” What came next was the most frightening pep talk I have ever received. In between force-feeding me shots, he spent about an hour yelling rhetorical questions at my face. In the few moments where he graciously allowed me to speak he would instantly cut me off by repeatedly asking “why?” until I gave up. Though his method was rather harsh, he got his point across and by the end I actually felt pretty motivated, or at least afraid of what he might do if I didn’t pursue comedy.

We spent the next day in standard hangover fashion then got ready to head up to L.A. for what would prove to be an absolutely Kattanic success (read in a Chris Kattan voice).

*This chiefing consisted of Corey’s uncle calling us pussies and jobless bums as we tried to sleep on the couches. More of a verbal chiefing, but a chiefing nonetheless.

**Corey is a baby.

***Corey’s note: I spent the rest of the night drinking alone in the basement thinking of ways I might be able to destroy the lives of the 3 people upstairs. Bringing them on this road trip came to mind. Also, Spencer is a piece of shit.*****

****A term Corey’s uncle uses quite frequently to describe our current endeavor. Webster’s Dictionary definition: boondoggle |ˈboōnˌdägəl; -ˌdôgəl| informal noun:
work or activity that is wasteful or pointless but gives the appearance of having value.

*****Not true


-Spencer