One Long Bad Trip...

My favorite Australian Show

2007-12-19T17:24:00.001-08:00

I reckon Summer Heights High is the greatest Australian show on the planet. All the main characters are played by some 40 yr old australian guy. Jonah is by far the funniest character on the show. Here are all the clips he is in for the entire show.

Hippie Video

2007-11-04T20:33:00.000-08:00

This is the video of the hippie who's house we went to during the crazy bus ride(see Second Greatest Day of my Life).

The Puke Monster

2007-11-03T06:09:00.001-07:00

In honor of this video nearing its 1000th view on Youtube I thought I would post it again. If you dont think this is funny you are dead on the inside.

-Corey

Stars Are Born....

2007-11-03T05:30:00.000-07:00

...then instantaneously destroyed by the heartless idiots who edit big budget films. Here are clips of the Hollywood motion picture that Spencer and I stared in with Chris Kattan and Bob Odenkirk. (You can see most of our faces and my trademark brown and yellow jacket at the 3:26 mark of the first clip, then again in the first clip at the 3:14 mark you can sorta see both of us in upper right corner. To the best of my knowledge none of our spectacular work shows up in the rest of the clips.)*

clip1-
http://www.superdeluxe.com/sd/contentDetail.do?id=D81F2344BF5AC7BBF593B2F8A05A5D4D10167F39A6E759DF
clip 2-
http://www.superdeluxe.com/sd/contentDetail.do?id=D81F2344BF5AC7BBCDEE6BAD3BDCCD6A843D8D8E4CFBB6BE
clip 3-
http://www.superdeluxe.com/sd/contentDetail.do?id=D81F2344BF5AC7BBEF491EB14F546A3CEF2C3B2CFA6E2AD4

-Corey

*I cant get the fucking videos to show up correctly on the site

Second Greatest Day of My Life

2007-10-26T18:34:00.000-07:00

Here is a little update on what we are doing:

To the best of my knowledge Spencer is still working as an organic gardener in Santa Fe, New Mexico for the family we stayed with while there. I know for a fact Spencer knows absolutely nothing about gardening, so I have no idea why he was entrusted with this task. He often tells me he has been working on writing though I have not seen any evidence that this is in anyway true. Last time I talked to him he was cooking up a homemade batch of Ayahuasca (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayawaska) in attempt to lure me to Santa Fe and pick the road trip back up. If he is reading this I want to let him know that his attempt will be successful.

As for me I went back to work for a couple months then jumped on a plane for Australia. I am traveling around here for 4 months with my girlfriend. We have been here for a little over 2 months and it has been a really good trip. Though we've seen and done some amazing things nothing has been able to break though my laziness and get me to make a post. It took a day like yesterday to shake the dust off my keyboard and get me to return to the 3 fans of our long-dead blog (my girlfriend’s dad, the tamster, that creepy gay rapist (see New Orleans post we never made)).

"The second funniest day of my life" (keep in mind I have experienced Universal Studios Florida on Acid (story to come mid 2012))

It started like every day for the last 2 months. I woke up in the back of the 91' Ford Falcon Station I have called home since we got here. There is something about waking up in the back of a station wagon that really takes the edge off your morning. You pretty much know that you won't be doing anything too stressful/useful. I slowly rolled out of the car and went and made a Ham, Pineapple, Green Pepper and Cheese Omelets (delicious). From there I headed down to the beach where I sat and attempted to meditate for a half hour. I am pretty into the meditating lately, I am starting to think that might be an answer to a lot of the questions I am having about life. I wont bore you anymore with my personal attempts to better myself though.

That morning I had a particularly unsuccessful meditation (It really is pretty difficult to center yourself when your goddamn fantasy football team scored 41 fucking points for the 5th week in a row). As I walked up to the car my fantasy football woes quickly disappeared when I realized what day it was. It was Tuesday, October 16, 2007. This day may not mean much to most but for me it was the day I was scheduled to go on Jim's Alternative Tour to Nimbin.

Where to start? Well I guess I will let you know what I knew at the time about the tour. Jim drove a bus that took you up to the little village of Nimbin. Nimbin is a hippy village that is the only place in Australia where you can sorta legally buy marijuana and other marijuana related products. From Nimbin he makes a couple stops and then drops you off back at home. After hearing this I stopped their spiel right there and handed them 35 dollars and asked where we were going to be picked up.

At 10:00 AM a psychedelic painted bus blasting Jimi Hendrix pulled up we knew our ride had arrived. Jim happily greeted us from behind the wheel of the bus. He is around 50 years old, but was 200 times cooler than I will ever be. He looked a lot like my friend Parker if at the age of 25 Parker moved to Australia and spent the next 25 yrs of his life smoking pot, surfing, slamming tunes, and smoking pot. (which Parker should really consider doing) The full sized school bus was completely filled with 18 to 26 year old backpackers from around the world all brought together by their love of getting high. We found the last 2 open seats on the bus and sat down.

Once we hit the road you could not wipe the smile off my face. Jim not only played one of the finest drug tune mix I have come across he also was able to expertly synch it in with his commentary and the surroundings. I don't know if that really makes sense, here is an example. He took us through a really catholic village and then he told a very humorous story about how shitty catholic school was then right before we passed by the Catholic Church Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in Wall" started right at the perfect point. You may think that sounds pretty retarded, but it isn't and for thinking it is retarded you have proved that you are actually retarded. The music sample: Bob Dylan, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Jefferson Airplane, Tom Petty, Nirvana, Sublime, Chemical Brothers, Jethro Tull, and a bunch of other stuff I don't remember. Oh yea besides just the music he also mixed in a lot of cool audio clips including: The Big Lebowski,, The Simpsons, Borat, Half Baked, The Blues Brothers, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and some stand-up. He also synched up the audio with an accompanying song. Hear me out; don’t give up on me yet.

Besides just amazing tunes on the bus we also made a 10:30 AM pit stop at a pub where everyone grabbed cold beer for the ice chest on the bus. So we are all cruising through this beautiful countryside getting drunk on a bus blasting amazing music.

At around noon we pulled over outside Nimbin so Jim could give us a Nimbin tutorial. He said there are 3 questions everyone had when they got to Nimbin.

1. Why can you legally buy weed in Nimbin? 2. Where is the best place to buy weed? 3. How much should you pay for it?

He then generously gave us the answers. I will also share this knowledge with you.

1. You can't. There is no place in Australia that you can legally sell Marijuana. It is still illegal, but simply tolerated. 30 years ago a bunch of hippies had a festival outside Nimbin were they all smoked pot. The town of Nimbin was a failing dairy town that needed a pick me up so they allowed the festival. Ever since then it has been a haven for those who seek an alternative lifestyle (pot heads).

2. Everyone on the street sells it. You can't walk down the street without having 30 strange characters ask you if you want smoke.

3. He said 220 an ounce for hydro or 180 an ounce for bush, 3 cookies for 15 dollars, DO NOT EAT A WHOLE COOKIE 1⁄2 IS GOOD, or sometimes there is a lady who sells chocolate cake, it sells for 10 dollars for a small piece of chocolate cake, DO NOT EAT THE ENTIRE CAKE OR YOU WILL LEAVE THIS UNIVERSE. 1⁄4 OF A PIECE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH. EVERY WEEK OR SO SOMEONE THINKS I AM JUST BEING AN OLD DORK AND THEY EAT THE ENTIRE PIECE OF CAKE AND THEN THEIR REALITY IS RIPPED APART AND WE HAVE A LITTLE PROBLEM ON THE BUS.

He then told us about 5 very funny stories about things that have gone wrong in 19 years of running this tour every day. I don't really remember all the stories, but here is one I remember:

“One time a girl ate an entire piece of this magical chocolate cake and when they all got off the bus for a munchie stop she got convinced that they were all going to buy weapons so she locked them all of the bus and would not let them back on till she came down 3 hrs later. “ Possibly not true, but definitely a experience to shoot for.

After our pep talk Jim piloted our bus down the one street the town of Nimbin consists of. It was without a doubt the strangest place I had ever been in my life up to that point. The very small town consisted of a Hemp Museum, a Hemp Embassy, 12 stores that specialized in the sale of marijuana smoking devices, 5 tie-die shirt shops, 10 places to buy food, and one hardware store (I assume solely for the creation of things to smoke pot with).

As we got off the bus I immediately started my search for the woman who sold these cakes that could rip apart your universe. I was keeping my eyes peeled for the most disheveled old senile women; someone around 60 in an entire outfit of rainbow print mumbling nonsense to herself, reeking of a potent mixture of cat shit and bong resin, that was my target. Well I found around 7 of the exact women I just described, but I was informed they all only sold the cookies.

When I finally met the magic cake woman I have to admit I was a little disappointed. She was in her early 20's, wore normal clothes, and didn't even smell like shit. At first I thought I must have found the wrong cake woman, but she said she was the only one in town. I then asked her what her secret was, how much weed did she put in each cake? She told me that the secret is not how much weed, but how she prepares the butter.

I will now share her secret with you: -She boils a mixture of half butter and half water. She then adds in the ground up weed. She lets this mixture boil for 12 hours. If you only boil it for 4 hours you wont get the full effect. She said that the marijuana resin will stick to the butter and then when it cools the butter and water will separate and the butter will be ready for baking. She makes normal chocolate cake, and then makes the frosting out of nothing but the marijuana butter and a little chocolate.

I gladly bought a fine piece of her chocolate cake and my girlfriend bought 3 of her cookies. After buying our baked goods we headed out on the search of some normal weed so we would have some for later. Living in a car with me had taken my girlfriend to the limit of her sanity and she was desperately in need of anything to take the edge off.

We ended up buying a 1/4-ounce mixture of bubblegum and hydro for 75. I have no idea what that means, but the guy who sold it was very scary so I just gladly paid and left it at that. Also he came with a recommendation from Jim for being the best/creepiest guy in town to buy weed from. As soon as we had the weed in hand I set off to roll one of my world famous mini joints.

While I rolled the joint we each ate the recommended amount of our baked goods. I had 1⁄4 of a piece of cake and my girlfriend had 1⁄2 a cookie. When the joint was done we smoked er' up and went into enjoy the town before we had to get back on the bus at 2.

By the time we got back on the bus I am thoroughly fucked up, yet due to my reoccurring phobia of not getting "the full experience" I decided to try to eat the rest of my cake. Like a drunken 11 year old with cerebral palsy I attempted in vain to finish the cake as the bus bounced around. After 15 minutes I had managed to eat another 1⁄4 of the cake and had to give up because I could no longer use my hands. While I was busy mangling my cake my girlfriend decided to eat the rest of her cookie against my advice.

This is where the real adventure begins. I have no idea what the fuck I just wrote up there or why I wrote so much about it because that was all shit compared to the next few hours. Also from this point on I only had a vague notion of what was going on at the time and remember much less than that so I know I am going to forget a lot of it. Luckily I was at least cognizant enough to know this was an amazing adventure and was able to jot down a few scribbled notes that triggered some recall.

Here are a few of my very helpful notes:

“Bus crazy tune”

“So crazy corner never stopped”

“See if I can become Jim for USA”

So yea we are on the bus driving away from Nimbin. The plan is we are taking the scenic route to Jim's friend Paul's house. Paul is a "real hippy" who lives "off the land" out on “80 acres” of “tropic forest”. One of his claims of fame is that he has been high everyday for the past 29 years. Yes folks every single day.

So this is the part of the adventure where Jim's ability to Sync music to life really gets out of hand. He says that what is going to happen from here on is like a living version of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and the Wizard of Oz. (If you have ever had the pleasure to find yourself at my friends Josh’s apartment at 4 AM on a random Wednesday I am sure you can appreciate what I am talking about). Jim stops at the top of this big hill and tells us that we are about to go a roller coaster ride. He then puts on a Pink Floyd's "One of these Days" and tells us to sit back and experience the ride. Well evidentially Jim has timed this drive exactly perfect so each time we crest a hill the song hits a crescendo and certain parts of the song play exactly to what is outside. The hill was all giant drops and huge corners, which he drove as fast as the bus could possibly go. Finally, as we hit a stop sign at the bottom of the hill exactly 5 minutes and 15 seconds later, the song ended. It was fucking unbelievable. We both thought we were actually on a roller coaster as did the rest of the bus.

After the roller coaster ride he had several other synced up areas that I don't remember very well, except for the fact I thought my head was going to explode. I remember at one point he put on this really trippy song and then said we were going around the never ending corner. Low and behold the goddamn corner was damn near never ending. From my recollection we really were on the corner for approximatley 10 hrs.

After the most amazing ride of my life we finally arrived at Paul's house. This is the new undisputed champion of the strangest place I have ever been in my life contest. Paul lives absolutely in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road. His property is on 80 acres that use to be a cow pasture. Since he bought the property 29 years ago he has hand planted the entire 80 acres with thousands of tropical plants. Mind you he did all this while maintaining his 29 year Ripken-like streak of getting high every single day. Besides all the beautiful fruit trees and flowering plants he has also added his own artistic touch of throwing really creepy shit all over. Things like completely burnt baby dolls or full sized sex dolls that he has added pubic hair to. Besides his eccentric choices for decoration the place was unbelievable.

(A picture of Paul's pond house, sort of like a pool house)

Now that I have mentioned how weird Paul's place is I need to let you know that it is about 100 times less strange than Paul himself. Paul moved to Australia 29 years ago from Long Island. 29 years has not made a dent in Paul's thick Long Island accent. He talks very similar to a very stoned Woody Allen. I don't really know how old Paul is, but I assume he has to be around 60 or so. He looks like this…

(Paul, not a great photo I cut off most of his Wizard Pajama pants)

Besides the fact that he has been high every single day since 1978, I didn't really get to know that much about him sadly. I was too high to move out of the chair I sat in for most of the time at his place, so I was only able to pick up bits and pieces as I eavesdropped on his conversations with other people. Here is the first interaction I saw Paul have:

I was sitting in my chair unable to move. Paul invites everyone to go for a swim in his pond. I greatly want to go, but find that putting my bathing suit on is not going to be possible at this moment, let alone walking the 10 steps over to the pond. Paul then approaches a guy from the group and asks him what kind of working out he does to get those strong shoulders. The guy says he doesn’t workout. Paul is not buying his modesty for one moment.

"You must work out to get those big muscular shoulders"

"Nope"

"Well then you must work for a living"

"Nope"

"Well let me feel those shoulders…yea, those are too muscular you must do some shoulder work-outs."

After creeping this guy out Paul then refuses to let the guy go change in the bathroom and insists he goes and changes with Paul in "nature". Next thing I know there is a 60 year-old hippy walking around naked, never a real enjoyable sight. After a nice swim Paul eventually puts back on his wizard garb.

I am still not able to move out of my chair until Paul brings out a homegrown watermelon and cuts it up for us to enjoy. I don't even like watermelon, but I can honestly say I have never enjoyed anything as much as that watermelon. He also brought out buckets of fresh macadamia nuts that I also greatly enjoyed. The only other bits of conversation I heard was him talking about obscure science with people who had no idea what he was talking about.

After an hour of relaxing Paul invites us on a nature walk which I jump up to go on. Our nature walks consists of Paul slowly walking through his forest and then pulling down leafs for us to smell. I have no idea why he was doing this. I greatly wanted to talk to Paul about his thoughts on the world and if I could move into his house, but I was unable to put these thoughts into words.

After the nature walk we end up back at the bus and Paul asks us one final question, you want a joke or my thoughts on the world. The crowd yells out thoughts on the world and we get this speech (video to be added as soon as I can find a computer that is not a piece of shit, check back though it is definitely worth it).

After we jump on the bus the music sync is back on. We make one final stop for munchies where I buy a chocolate Carmel ice cream on Jim's advice and my taste buds explode. I also was convinced I should buy a giant pop, candy bar (which are 2 dollars here), and a giant bag of Tiziki chips, which looking back might not have been that wise of purchases. I felt better though that the entire bus seemed to follow suit.

After we all get our munchies we jump back on the bus to gorge ourselves. As we make our way for Byron Bay, or yea that is where we are staying right now. Byron Bay is the greatest place in all of Australia, maybe. Yea so we are making our way back there and Jim real life music sync takes a turn for the serious. Jim has something really important that he wants to let us know about before we leave the bus. His medium he uses to explain the message is in the form of a final 3-song music sync. What is Jim's important message he wants to share with 40 stoned backpackers? Is it something about world peace, the environment, or maybe the war in Iraq. Nope, you guessed it, it was his famous metaphysical anti-Christianity pro mind expansion manifesto. He was able to perfectly sync up his message with 3 songs, (2 of which I have sadly forgot), but ending with Tom Petty's classic "Wont back down". It was a beautiful presentation and a perfect way to leave the bus.

I have always dreamt of experiencing what it would be like being with Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters as they made their way around the US on their infamous journey. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electric_Kool_Aid_Acid_Test) * Well today I felt like I got the chance to be “on the bus”. Even if it was just for a day, it was a pretty amazing day. I hope that was halfway enjoyable to read about.

*This whole journey is documented in Tom Wolfe’s classic “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” which I strongly recommend.

-Corey

Will Ferrell is funny

2007-06-17T11:16:00.000-07:00

We saw this at Spencer's cousin's in Philly and have been meening to put it up for a while.

The Landlord

The Boys are Back in Town!!!!!!!!!!

2007-06-13T10:37:00.000-07:00

Mark your calenders the Roadtrippin homecoming party is this Friday. We will be at the Dutchess in Seattle around 8pm on Friday, June 15 to celebrate Josh's birthday and more importantly the completion of our cross country adventure. Make sure and tell everyone you know as I am sure that most people have forgotten that we ever existed. Everyone is invited*. There is no cover, but donations would be appreciated (psychedelic drugs or canned food preferably). Well I look forward to seeing everyone, oh and please don't ask us about anything that happened after April 10, for obvious reason we will be unable to discuss those events until the blog posts have been completed.

*This is only due to the fact that we are holding the celebration at a public bar that would not let us blacklist anyone. That being said I think everyone would appreciate if anonymous just went ahead and stayed home.

-Corey

Here is an extra little treat that Mr. No Lunch Wunsch posted which you might have missed.

http://www.collegehumor.com/picture:1747460/ls:9746

Jesus Walks

2007-06-08T08:06:00.000-07:00

The reason we were going to Santa Fe was to meet up with my parents at our family friends’ house for Easter. Prior to the stop, the only thing we knew about it was that we would be completing a “Jesus Walk” on what we were told was Good Friday. The family includes Curtis, a 5-year-old boy trapped in the body of a middle-aged highly successful surgeon; Cathy, his wonderful wife; and Erin their extremely bright daughter. I had grown up with them as neighbors for the majority of my life and consider them to be somewhat of a second family. Naturally, I was nervous to bring Corey into their home and vouch for him as a friend and worthwhile human being.

We got into Santa Fe late that evening feeling pretty terrible from our Brazilian feast earlier that night. When we entered the gate we were greeted by a large pack of dogs and my mother. After a quick tour my mom sent us to bed with a jumbo bottle of what she described as “very bad” wine. We were staying in what my mom referred to as “the Casita”. The Casita had two large bedrooms and a bathroom, and judging by the closet full of Jnco gear had recently been inhabited by a hip time traveling middle school student from 1998. We spent the rest of the evening choking down horrible wine and enjoying a charming documentary of Stone Phillips interviewing Jeffrey Dahmer and his father. The interview consisted of Dahmer describing his murders and cannibalistic rituals in detail. Even more disturbing than that was how insanely creepy his dad was. To be honest I am not entirely sure his father didn’t kill and eat those people. Even if he didn’t kill and eat those particular people he has certainly killed and eaten someone in his life. Although the interview was interesting I wouldn’t recommend watching it before you go to sleep. Actually, on second thought, I wouldn’t recommend watching it at all.

The next morning we slept in late. Once we finally woke up we headed into the kitchen where my mom and Kathy had breakfast waiting. Breakfast consisted of an enormous bowl of Kathy’s famous chili filled with sour cream and cheddar cheese: breakfast of the transient champion. After breakfast Erin came in and asked if anyone wanted to help feed the baby goats. We immediately jumped at the opportunity to complete a life long dream. Once we were inside Goat pen we were given our baby bottles and the race was on. I was slow to find a goat and was stuck with the underdeveloped runt of the herd. The race was over pretty quick except for my goat, which evidently enjoyed savoring his milk like a fine wine. I ended up finishing the end of my bottle myself to get the embarrassment over with*. We spent the rest of the day uploading tunes to our ipods, eating chili, and slamming beers. At some point Corey had his first interaction with Curtis, who would turn out to be his arch nemesis for the weekend. Curtis introduced himself, instantly dubbed Corey the Brown Turd due to his brown shirt and hat combo, and then quickly exited the room, leaving Corey very confused and slightly infuriated.

Later that night, after a fabulous steak dinner, we all headed out to downtown Santa Fe to play pool and pound beers, as always, no chicks allowed. For some reason though, Erin decided to throw caution to the wind and come along. Once at the bar we ordered a round of beers (on the old guys) and grabbed a pool table. At the table I put together a make shift classroom while Corey crudely constructed a couple textbooks out of a pile of napkins in preparation to take my dad and Curtis to school. After the first few games we were barely winning due to Curtis’ tendency to blatantly cheat. At this point our all day chili-a-thon caught up with us and soon proved to be the deciding factor as it is somewhat difficult to play pool when you are dry heaving in a cloud of shit smoke. Seven consecutive losses and many brewdogs later, the confidence of the old dudes team was at an all time high and for some reason they began to put money on the line. Curtis also decided to up the ante in the hi-jinks department with the elementary school practical joke of putting chalk on his finger and then rubbing it on our faces. Surprisingly this was still funny the 357th time. Over the next hour we successfully ran up an expensive bar tab and won around $4,000 in a rapid series of pool wins (If the old dudes are reading this we could really use that money right now). By midnight the old guys decided to head home and get some sleep before the big Jesus walk the next morning. Corey also went home with them, breaking the number one rule of roadtripping: never let Jesus get in the way of partying. It wasn’t a complete waste though, he was treated to a personal talk from one of the world’s foremost motivational speakers on reaching your goals (as long as your goals include going to law school, studying law or attending a school of law). In the end he received some sound advice and a pretty awkward threat of what would happen to him if I somehow didn’t end up in law school. I, on the other hand, stayed out and had the time of my life in downtown Santa Fe. I don’t really remember anything from the night but I do know that I drank quite a bit and at around five in the morning I got a call from my mom telling me that I was a horrible son for not coming home, so yeah, it must have been fucking sweet.

The next morning I woke up after a couple hours of sleep with the worst hangover I’ve had since that summer I went on tour playing keytar for Andrew W.K.’s “Party ‘Til You Die of Partying Tour.” My misery was only compounded by the fact that everyone else was chipper with the spirit of Jesus and Erin, the only other person with a hangover, somehow got out of the walk. To make it even worse, I missed the first wave of walkers (my mom and Kathy) and was forced to walk eight miles with nothing to listen to but my dad and Corey’s rehearsed presentation about law school. Curtis had recently bought a fancy new camcorder and Corey was commissioned to record around thirty minutes of brilliant footage of our insightful banter, but, unfortunately, we have been unable to obtain the dvd so for now you’ll have to make due with your imagination.

Prior to the walk my mom had hyped the fact that people give away free burritos all along the road. We were disappointed to discover that in reality there was only one place that gave away burritos and they were filled with scrambled eggs and peppers (Catholics don’t eat meat on Good Friday). Despite my hangover and the lack of free Mexican food, the overall experience of the walk was very positive. It was crazy to see thousands of people making the long pilgrimage (we only did a small portion of the full walk) for something they truly had faith in. Some walkers carried large burdensome crosses on their backs, some carried small not-so-burdensome novelty crosses in their hands, but everyone appeared to be walking with conviction. The atmosphere was so inspirational that at several points it moved my dad to pick up the pace into his version of running. If we ever get our hands on that footage you are in for a real treat. At the end of the walk we arrived at the goal, a historically relevant church. The line to get into this church was at least a two hour wait though, and that coupled with the fact that Jesus is our least favorite fictional character caused us to just head straight to the restaurant. In order to avoid us walking home Curtis had been graciously waiting with the car at a Mexican restaurant all morning…and by waiting I, of course, mean drinking heavily. Once we got to the restaurant we joined him for a couple rounds and then ate some wonderful Mexican food before driving back home. I spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping but Corey was a little more productive with his time. While checking his email he discovered that his blind internet search for psychedelic churches had finally paid off in the form of a response from the Peyote Way Church. The Peyote Way Church is located in Southern Arizona and has some strange affiliation with Mormonism. As a member of the church you are entitled to two legal peyote-guided spiritual quests in the dessert every year. Though it was unfeasible to do anything with the church on this trip, it was a “wise” investment for our “futures.”

Later that night we played a game of that no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em that we had seen on the moving picture box. Before the game Curtis pulled out a large pile of crumpled bills from his pockets and placed them into what we assumed was the winner’s pot. The game went fairly quickly with the imposters being pushed out early, leaving only Corey, the hotheaded rookie, and my mom, the wily veteran, going head-to-head. In the end Corey somehow came out on top (my mom suspects cheating) finally validating the hundreds of hours he has spent playing free online poker throughout his life. His victory was short-lived though, as Curtis quickly gathered up his pile of money and went to bed. Apparently he could not bear to see any good come to the Brown Turd. We were exhausted from our long day of walking so Corey decided not to protest it and we called it a night.

The next morning my dad woke us up fairly early with an exciting proposal of breakfast at the greasy spoon restaurant across town. After a mediocre breakfast we headed over to the hardware store. We were a little confused why we needed to go to the hardware store since they had already made several stops there in the past two days, but we soon found out that it was just a clever cover for hanging out at the sports bar/casino next door. We spent the majority of the day drinking the bar special of Miller Chills** and trying our hand at the gentleman’s pastime of betting on the dog races. After a rough start we were able to recover our losses and even began making some money with key picks on such dogs as The Ogmonster, Whiskey Pete and Chili Sanchez. Our streak didn’t last long though and we learned a valuable lesson of never putting all your winnings on Grandfunk Railroad to win anything. Not only did the G-Funk fail to place, he was the only dog that failed to even finish the race.

We were feeling pretty down about our big loss but decided to throw our last remaining dollar into the slot machines near the entrance. I lost my share instantly but Corey hit the jackpot, winning around forty dollars in quarters. He decided not to cash it in and left the casino with his oversized cup of quarters, head held high. We drove back to the house after making one last stop at the liquor store to replenish the beer and wine supply.

Upon our return we set up shop on the back porch and got to drinking canoe beers with the old dudes***. What was left of the afternoon was spent drinking to a classic rock soundtrack provided by Corey’s media machine and discussing how they don’t make tunes like they used to.

The women chose to take a night off from cooking so we all went out to eat at a Spanish restaurant. Dinner was delicious and we took full advantage of Curtis’ tendency to order multiple bottles of expensive wine. Once the alcohol kicked in and the live band started up my dad and Curtis whisked their wives onto the dance floor and kicked off what would prove to be an epic night of dancing. While I had previously experienced the spectacle of my dad on a dance floor many times in my life and was familiar with his vast repertoire of classic moves, Curtis blew me away with his sprinkler to shoulder shrug back to sprinkler combo that he employed religiously throughout the night. As the rest of the table was destroying the dance floor, Corey and I set to destroying an entire bottle of eighty-dollar wine. After a few songs they returned to the table leaving just an old man in a beret strutting his stuff solo on the dance floor. The entire restaurant watched on enthusiastically as this dinosaur displayed an array of “dance moves” that had remained unaltered since his days as the creepy old guy hand jiving at a Duke Ellington concert. As the song ended he finished up the routine with a textbook arm worm to answering the Hand Telephone and the crowd erupted with cheers. It was nice to see a man clearly past his prime getting recognition for his only life talent, but when no one moved toward the dance floor and he began his next routine I knew it was time to step up and put him in his place. I confidently walked up next to him and as my adrenaline surged I noticed a look of deep fear in his eyes. I knew I had to make my presence felt early so I opened up with my lawn maintenance trifecta of mower, weed whacker, hedge clipper (not in that order). He was obviously shaken up as he retaliated with his tired out 50’s Beatnik hand dance, which had been seen on multiple occasions that night. I had him right where I wanted but felt bad about landing a knockout punch so early so I decided to take the crowd on a simple little shopping trip. He obviously sensed the weakness of my move and gained the confidence needed to throw out a mood-shifting shuffling robot with more skill than I had expected. At this point it was clearly time to put the old dog down and I unleashed a flurry of highly difficult, unthinkable moves that can only be described as the Drunken Croatian Tornado. I then added an unnecessary dance in your face celebration and as I reached for my victory handshake I was met with a cold stare and a physical threat. From there things kind of escalated as my drunken temper and his pathetic sense of desperation got the best of us and before I knew it he was being restrained by a bouncer and harshly scolded by my mother. I felt slightly sorry for him as he moped back to his seat at the bar never to return to the dance floor that night. I soon forgot about him, however, and basked in the glory of being Santa Fe’s newest King of Gimmick Dancing. Although nothing could compare to the dance-off some other highlights of the night included celebratory dancing with old ladies, Corey’s attempt at revenge on Curtis by seducing his wife on the dance floor and my dad trying to convince us he was having a good time despite his blunder of volunteering for DD.

The next two days were very boring and spent mainly inside due to an unrelenting rainstorm. Basically we ate some fantastic meals and reloaded the car with an insane amount of food (most notably five pounds of unwanted frozen venison sausage).

On the morning of our fifth day in Santa Fe we packed up the car in the rain and said our heartfelt goodbyes. We were somewhat glad to be leaving the strangely foreign fancy meals and warm beds, getting back to the only road we’ve ever known, like grifters born to walk alone****.

*I did not actually finish the goat’s bottle of milk.

**Miller Chills are a disgusting mixture of equal parts Miller Light and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. It is not advised to drink this product unless you are of Hispanic descent.

***A term my dad uses very heavily for beers that are “fucking near water!”

****You guys like Whitesnake? Guys?

-Spencer

Still Alive

2007-05-25T15:05:00.000-07:00

Hey Guys,

You might be wondering what the fuck we’ve been doing. Well we’re still alive and the trip has been going very well. We aren’t having fun whatsoever, but we’ve been doing lots of strange/illegal/dangerous things so we should have some pretty good stories. Lately we have been really busy and have been trying to use all our free time to take down notes so we don’t completely forget everything we’ve done. No worries though I can assure you that this entire epic journey will be documented. Well thanks again for all the comments and emails.

Corey

The Stater State

2007-05-08T17:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-01T12:23:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-25T08:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-20T16:18:00.001-07:00

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

2007-04-18T07:03:00.000-07:00

After a three hour drive through Northern Arizona we finally arrived in Sedona. We had now driven over four hundred miles with a mysteriously large bubble on the front tire and decided not to push fate any further. We quickly found a tire shop called Big O Tires and explained our situation to them. They informed us that we were idiots for driving on it at all and recommended that we take the tire off immediately. We disagreed but decided to put on the spare anyway. While we were waiting for them to rotate the tires we walked around and checked out downtown Sedona. On our walk we noticed two very distinct things about the city. First is that Sedona is surrounded by incredible towering red rock cliffs. Second, and much more interesting, is that the city is entirely full of wizards. Every other store sells magic crystals and offers aura cleansings. This is probably related to Sedona’s claim to fame that there are several vortexes* all around the city. We were unable to find out if these vortexes caused the Great Wizard Migration or if the wizards created the vortexes after they moved to Sedona.

After we got the tires rotated we stopped at the tourism information center in order to gather some more information on this wonderful city of Sedona. Inside the building, in place of someone who knew anything useful about the city, was a crazy old witch signing people up for timeshare presentations. It sounded pretty stupid, until she mentioned that we would receive one hundred dollars for sitting through an hour-and-a-half long presentation. Seeing that our only source of revenue so far this trip was an ill-fated truck stop hand job business**, we thought this sounded like a pretty good deal.

After we decided to fully follow a life path in wizardry we realized that we were without robes, wands or any other wizard paraphernalia so we headed over to one of the various magic shoppes. Once inside we learned that the going rate for just your average sorcerer’s stone was over one hundred dollars. Sadly we came to terms with the fact that becoming a creepy new age wizard was well out of our price range and were forced to settle for our old life path of complete failures. Although we couldn’t afford the overpriced wizard merchandise, we did meet a chickie who exchanged digits with us and gave us some advice on what to check out in the city.

After a short visit to a rather impressive Buddhist shrine we went on a short hike to experience the first vortex. Although the view was spectacular, I failed to notice any vortexy effects. Spencer experienced a slight headache, but that was more likely due to his attempts to smoke the magic crystals he had stolen from a wizard’s satchel. After the vortex and an exhausting campground search we finally found a campsite a few miles north of Sedona. The campsite rate was twenty five dollars unless of course you know the old road tripper trick of simply not paying. The next morning, after the most miserably cold night of the trip so far, we were rudely awoken by the cigar-smoking handlebar-moustache-wearing fee enforcer of the campground. My first instinct was to murder him and hide the body, but I noticed he was carrying a trusty six-shooter and so I reluctantly paid him the money. Feeling more than a little disgruntled, we hopped into the Stink Wagon and headed downtown for our timeshare presentation.

Our shitty campground didn’t have any showers so we had to make due with an old fashioned bath in our own farts. We decided to have fun with the presentation by making up aliases. I was Corey, the overly interested timeshare enthusiast, and Spencer was Barney, the sporadically deaf mute taxidermist. We went into the conference room where we scored some free tootsie rolls and got into timeshare mode. The first question asked at the presentation was, “who forms our opinion of vacationing?” Barney’s slurred response of “the goddamn jew-run government” earned him a request to refrain from speaking for the remainder of the presentation; a request that he very loosely followed. After the group presentation we moved on to the hard sell one-one-one presentation. Much to my dismay, we were paired up with their ace in the hole, Bernice. Bernice was a middle-aged timeshare saleswoman who looked like she was on the losing side of a 50 year battle with depression. She unenthusiastically gave us her timeshare pitch while Barney helped himself to around thirty cups of free tea and mumbled incoherent taxidermy facts to the wall. Right as she ended her pitch I spilled my tea all over her presentation packet, officially making this the worst hour of her life. As we began the tour of the complex it finally dawned on her that Barney and I were not really in the market for timeshares so she dropped her air of professionalism. Almost immediately she began opening up to us about her husband and his old habit of stealing prescription drugs and giving them out to her children and their friends. She also told us that she lives on a 5-acre estate where it is common to find people picking “magic mushrooms”. The rest of the presentation consisted of Barney demanding directions to her house and insisting that he would give her a coupon good for one free rodent stuffing if she would let us shack at her place until we could get back on our feet. For some reason she declined this amazing offer (a good rodent stuffing will run you around thirty bucks) so we just thanked her for the wonderful presentation and went to go collect our one hundred smack-a-roos. Before we could collect our reward, however, we were forced to sit through a verbal assault from Bernice’s boss. He basically just called us liars, insisting that I didn’t actually earn $300,000 a year and that Barney appeared to have no know knowledge whatsoever, particularly in the field of taxidermy and had horribly misspelled taxidermy on his questionnaire. He obviously had earned himself a DMTHD (Deaf Mute Taxidermist Hater’s Degree) and was jealous of our fictitious success. We were unfazed by his hatred and thanked him kindly as he handed over a crisp Benjamin. We spent the rest of the day on a series of vortex hikes around Red Rock State Park while deciding how to spend our new found riches.

We heard that it was supposed to snow in Sedona that night so we headed south in search of a warmer place to camp. Along the way we stopped at a Safeway for sandwiches and camping advice. The guy working at the deli gave us the name of a campsite further south and a piece of advice that has proved to be invaluable. Apparently, Safeway throws away all unpurchased sandwiches at nine in morning so, if you don’t mind digging through a little trash, you can have yourself a real feast of soggy garbage sambos. After yet another freezing cold night we realized that camping was no longer a feasible option so we drove back to Sedona in search of a free hotel room in exchange for another timeshare presentation.

I got signed up for a presentation at the Hyatt but Barney once again failed to qualify despite his grossly over-exaggerated claim of earning $7,000 a year and his offer to make the guy a raccoon-skin tuxedo. He said the presentation didn’t start for another hour so we decided to do a little wine tasting to get into timeshare mood. After downing around five small swigs of shitty local Arizona wine we were officially hamboned and ready to do some timeshare shopping. We checked into our 400 dollar suite, which we received for free, and went downstairs for our presentation. This time around the chick took one look at Barney and me and realized that we were both severely under-qualified for timeshare ownership and noticeably intoxicated. She told us that we were the last presentation of the day and Margarita Tuesday was calling her name so she rushed through the presentation in about twenty minutes.

We spent the majority of the afternoon taking dumps (poops) and hanging out in the Cuzi (hot tub). When we returned to the room Spencer discovered that he had a new voicemail, a new text message. The voice mail was from our friend at the wizard shoppe inviting us to a drum circle that night. The text message was a picture of our weed smashed between The Tamster’s tits with the message, “we’ve got your BC Bud, come and get it.” We were angered by the fact that we were now without any weed but glad to see that Dan and Tammy would steal our weed in an attempt to lure us back to Lake Havasu. We called them and got them to agree to send our weed to Santa Fe. This would prove to be the first, but definitely not last, empty promise made to us by our foster parents.

It had been a while since we had been around people that were “bigger losers”*** than us, so we were pretty excited for the drum circle extravaganza at the local brewery. We drove down to the bar and were instantly amazed by the eclectic mix of ex-acid heads and current acid heads all brought together by their love of percussion instruments and hallucinogenic drugs. If ever there was a worse time to be without weed I am unable to fathom it. The drumming went on for a couple hours and we enjoyed every second of it, especially those seconds when we were able to join the circle with our friend’s drum and completely ruin any form of rhythm that was present. However, the best part of the drum circle by far had nothing to do with drumming. Dancing inside the circle and completely fucked up on what I can only assume was ether, was a 43-year-old man dressed in all black pirate gear. He moved around like a creepy ghost and from time to time he would eerily stare into someone’s eyes until they admitted defeat and were forced to leave the circle.

As the drum circle was dying down we moved outside to the fire pit where we spent the next couple hours lurking around trying to join other people’s conversations and get high for free. We finally managed to score the end of a mini roach that some hippie guy was going to throw away and smoked the resin-covered paper to the end in attempt to gain some insight into what the fuck was going on around us. After smoking we heading back inside where we immediately received the pirate stare down and knew it was time to get the fuck out of there.

The next morning we woke up early so that we could enjoy the hotel’s steam room before we checked out. If you’ve never been in a steam room and think it’s similar to a sauna then you’re a fucking idiot. A steam room looks exactly like a Nazi Death Chamber and is considerably less enjoyable. We set the timer for fifteen minutes (the maximum amount of time a human being can survive in a steam room) and got in to get our sweat on. Around thirty minutes later I realized that the timer wasn’t working and that Spencer was passed out in the corner. I got out and turned it off, happy to have barely escaped this near-death experience. Still feeling pretty light-headed we checked out of the hotel and got back on the road, heading towards Grand Canyon.

*The official explanation is that vortexes are areas of irregular magnetism that seem to have strange metaphysical properties. We feel that this is nothing more than wizard propaganda created by the local crystal merchants in order to increase “Vortex Power” tie-dye shirt sales.

**With prices like 5 dollars per hand job and only 8 dollars to give us ski-poles I still have no idea how “Roscoe and The Chainsaw’s: Truck Stop Handjob Adventures” failed to take off.

***The Man’s label not mine.

-Corey

Lake Have-a-screw

2007-04-15T12:54:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-15T10:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-04T12:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-30T22:39:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-28T12:59:00.001-07:00

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???

2007-03-27T16:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-24T16:56:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

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

Stand-Up Comedy Countdown...

2007-03-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

Spencer and I love stand-up comedy. We also love making lists. We have put these 2 loves together into “the definitive stand-up comedy list”. Now that we have this list we decided to put it to work on our site. For next few weeks we will be doing a comedy countdown with bits from our favorite stand-up comedians. If you also like comedy, but don’t have the time to search Youtube for clips you should check back 13 times an hour.

Here's a sneak peek...

Also we went to LA and Mexico and will be posting our adventures soon.

99 Bottles of Boone's Farm on the Wall

2007-03-22T13:42:00.000-07:00

Our enchanting stroll through the Sequoias left us in desperate need of something to eat. After an exhausting, yet unsuccessful, search through the dumpster behind the ranger station we settled on going back to the car for snacks. On our way to the car we had a run in with two park rangers. They were cleverly disguised as UPS drivers, but we knew better. We had been warned of this common ruse the night before by the local bartender. In an attempt to evade them, we quick jumped in the car and sped out of the parking lot heading south. About an hour later we suddenly realized that we had been driving with no known destination and had actually intended to stay another night in the national park. Although at this point our drug induced paranoia had subsided, we had gone too far to turn back. This was a real crossroads in our adventure. A very limited internet search narrowed down the possibilities to two feasible options: East to a KOA on the beach at Lake Isabella or South to a campground located a mile outside of Bakersfield. As with all important decisions we looked to the moon beads to give us direction. We asked the moon beads “Should we go to Lake Isabella?” Spencer drew the first stone, and the answer was NO. We accepted the decision and headed on towards Bakersfield.

After a few miles, for some unknown reason, we decided that it would be a good idea to take logic and our own preference into consideration on this decision. According to its website the Lake Isabella KOA was home to a bar, a pool and a lakeside view. The Bakersfield campsite, on the other hand, had bathrooms. We chose Lake Isabella. Around two hundred miles later we arrived at our destination at about 11 p.m. We went to bed almost immediately where, like every night we’ve camped so far, I froze my ass off. I will give you a little piece of advice when buying a sleeping bag; avoid the Slumberjack brand at all costs. When I was looking to make my sleeping bag purchase the fine people at HomelessCamper.com assured me the Slumberjack was fit for as low as 30 degrees above zero. I didn’t think we would be doing any sub-artic camping and it was considerably cheaper than other less comical brands, so I bought it. This would prove to be one of my poorest decisions.

The following morning we woke up early (11:30) and surveyed our surroundings. We immediately promised to never disobey the moon beads again. This was without a doubt the most horrible place I have ever been in my life. The campsite was set up in the middle of a dirt parking lot and was in no way even in the proximity of a lake. Worst of all they had the nerve to charge us 25 fucking dollars (5 times more than our daily road tripper budget).

The next morning we made another terrible decision in the form of a desert marathon. We ran for approximately 25 minutes and covered nearly ¾ of mile and it almost killed us. It turns out smoking pot and sitting in a car all day doesn’t really keep the ol’ body in primo shape. After the run we showered up in the treacherously hot KOA shower and hit the road. We still had no idea where to go, so we headed to the sole local attraction, the Silver City Ghost Town. We would soon learn that “Ghost Town” is an abundantly used term for shitty towns that very few people choose to live in anymore for good reason. During our visit to Silver City we met the ghost town museum owner who turned out to be pretty cool. He told us all about the exciting world of ghost town museum ownership. Ten years ago when he “lost his mind” and purchased the museum he had no idea that he was in store for jampacked days of nearly 3 calls (almost exclusively prank calls) and an annual income of around $487. When we told him that we were on a road trip with no real plans he offered to draw us a map of all the most “bitchin” attractions in South Eastern California. We have realized we are horrible at planning out what to do so we decided to just blindly follow his map out for the next few days. The first stop on the map was the Trona Pinnacles, which he assured us were especially “bitchin”. Now that we had a place to go and a very poorly constructed map to guide us we were free to relax for the day. We went to a local coffee shop where we worked on the website for a bit. It was a pretty peaceful place until the old crazy town drunk walked in. His initial request for whiskey was turned down so he went with their suggestion of iced green tea despite his obvious distaste for the fact that it was “good for you.” He then spent the next 2 hours staring blankly at the wall while mumbling what we deciphered to be anti-Semitic rants. He was quite an enjoyable character. After ordering our 13th round of free waters they kindly asked us to either buy something or leave so we headed off for Trona.

Once we got on the road we realized that our map was completely useless. It turned out to simply be the museum owner’s sad attempt to lead us right back to the Silver City Ghost Town. We decided to rely only on our AAA map of California and our own navigational skills to find the pinnacles. Surprisingly, this ended in failure so we stopped off to ask directions at a small gas station. From the outside the store sort of looked like any shitty small town gas station. Inside, however, I was treated to the most concentrated dose of white thrashness I’ve ever experienced. The store was completely filled with hillbilly merchandise including an aisle consisting entirely with AirSoft guns and accessories and another aisle stocked with only bottles of Boones Farm. Loitering around inside was your standard cast of Podunk characters, none of which appeared to work at the gas station, or any other place for that matter. Perusing the Cheetos selection was a blonde woman that appeared to be about 23 months pregnant. She was wearing sweat pants and a wife beater that were completely soiled in what appeared to be either BBQ sauce, blood or a mixture of the two (most likely the result of a recent backcountry abortion/cookout gone wrong). In front of the counter stood an old female logger sporting cut off jean shorts, red flannel shirt and single brown tooth. Jittering away next to the logger was your everyday meth-addicted African-American AirSoft enthusiast trying to scrounge up enough money for a new target. As I attempted to formulate a question that they might understand the pregnant woman walked up to the counter and paid for a 3-pack of Donkey Dicks** and a carton of smokes with a pile of dimes and nickels. I was rendered speechless and immediately walked out. Spencer had a hard time believing my story so he went inside to find out for himself. After the initial shock wore off he was somehow able to ask for directions but despite the fact that the pinnacles were located less than ten miles away, these Foxworthy punch-lines waiting to happen had no idea what he was referring to. He didn’t press them anymore and got the fuck out of there.

We ended up finding the park on our own via a small wooden sign on the side of the highway. After thirty minutes of driving through the dessert in pitch black darkness, we pulled over and set up camp. The next morning when we woke up we realized that we had illegally set up camp right in the middle of the actual Trona pinnacles*. We had originally planned on doing mushroom and fully enjoying the Pinnacles but luckily we made our first good decision in days and decided against it. Though the site was amazing, our water supply had run out the night before and we were in the middle of a sweltering desert. I assume the mushroom experience would have been something pretty similar to what it feels like to be in hell. After we hiked around Trona for a while we decided we would head up north and check out Death Valley National Park.

(Trona Pinnacles)

Everyone we had talked to so far had said it pretty much sucked, but boy were they wrong. We spent the rest of the day eyefucking the shit out of the natural beauty of Death Valley. Aside from the scenery we reached 2 person milestones at the park: standing in the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere (the only hemisphere that matters) at 270 ft below sea level, and confirmation that Mr. and Mrs. Garcia were not just shroom-based hallucinations (we saw them once again at the gift shop and once again failed to get their picture). Oh also besides that it was 109 fucking degrees in the middle of fucking March.

After leaving the park we were again at a crossroads. It was once again time to ask the moon beads for direction. We narrowed down the possibilities to either Las Vegas or The Coast. The moon beads said Coast, and this time we obeyed. We were planning on just camping on some random beach, but I called my Uncle who lives in Laguna Beach and he said we were not that far from his house so we just headed there. Then Spencer paid me a dollar***. I’m sure some other funny stuff happened, but I got some mushrooms that are burning a hole in my pocket so you are going to have to use your imagination.

*The Trona Pinnacles are these really cool rock towers that are in the middle of the desert. You might know them from such blockbusters as Planet of the Apes, Star Trek V, Eddie and Trona Pinnacles: The Movie.

**A rural idiom**** to describe a 24-ounce can of beer.

***In his own farts

****Euphemism*****

*****Word

-Corey

Mr. & Mrs. Jerry Garcia

2007-03-17T16:11:00.000-07:00

A little over a week into our journey, we were hit hard by a case of mushroom fever and felt the need to find a forest of giant trees, stat. After some intense research we determined that the most shroomable grove of redwoods was located 150 miles south in the Giant Sequoia National Park. Fully reloaded with snacks and supplies* we headed out on our first real road trippin adventure. Just miles before we reached the park we came across an immense and unguarded orange grove. Living by the road trippers code we pulled into the grove and helped ourselves to a free armful of grenade-shaped, pesticide-covered oranges. Not long after the orange grove the road began to unexpectedly climb the side of a mountain. In less than 15 minutes we had climbed to 6,000 feet above sea level and wasted half a tank of gas doing so but at least were treated to nearly perfect sun staring conditions:

(sunset)

We were nearly out of gas and daylight, and had yet to see a campsite that wasn’t covered in a foot of snow. A few weeks ago we would have panicked in this situation, but we had watched a handful of Survivorman episodes recently so we were fully prepared to pull over and dig out a snow cave to sleep, and most likely freeze to death, in. We ended up using our road savvy to make it to the closest town (Three Rivers, CA) by coasting down the backside of the mountain. Home to a gas station and small dive bar, Three Rivers turned out to be a great detour. That night, the bar just happened to be featuring one of Eastern California’s finest jam bands, The Jam Band. The Jam Band was comprised of three generations of failed rockers (a middle-aged man on lead guitar and vocals, a 16-year-old hobbit on drums, and a 70-year-old Dead Head on bass, keyboard and acid). Nothing ignites my thirst for alcohol like a 10-minute keyboard rendition of what I believe was Smoke on the Water so we headed to the bar and ordered a couple beers from the bartender (who was, quite possibly, an extra from Pirates of the Caribbean). Apparently, this bartender had been around for a while and had figured out a more efficient method of checking IDs. Instead of asking for our licenses, he simply asked us if we were cops (“if you’re cops you have to tell me and then you can’t arrest me because that’s an illegal sting”). With our poorly planned sting attempt all but ruined we settled for getting a buzz on with the locals. We felt slightly uncomfortable with our outsider status until we noticed the two rival road trippers from Team O’Douls and realized that we were only the third and fourth faggiest dudes in the bar. Two hours and around 100 beers later we realized that the only chickies there had their hearts set on blowing the bass player so we left to find our campsite. As we were on our way out, we ran into the band members returning from a back alley and deeply regretted our missed opportunity to smoke meth with The (one and only) Jam Band. Spirits low, we hit the road and resumed our campsite search. Seven Bear Warning signs later we were convinced that The Pakwashi Camping Grounds would be our home for the night. We fired up the camping grill and cooked ourselves an exquisite feast of hobo chili (one can dynamite hot chili, one can Tabasco chili and several pieces of old burnt garlic bread). This choice would come back to haunt us the following morning, when we woke up with a mean case of hobo diarrhea. The morning wasn’t a complete loss though, thanks to Corey’s clever ploy we got out of paying the $18 fee for our campsite**. My clever ploy of throwing the rest of the garlic bread near our neighbor’s campsites in an attempt to provoke a bear attack, however, was less successful.

Our first stop that morning was the Sequoia National Park Ranger’s Station to get some trail maps. The ranger informed us that the best trails all required snowshoes and advised us to take some lower elevation trails. It was obvious that the stupid old ranger was not a fellow shroomhead or snowtrekker, so we went against his advice and set off on the snowshoe trail. Fifteen minutes of deep snowtrudging later, we came across a perfect shroom-eating pot and got to work on mind expansion. Corey chose the old chewing tobacco method*** while I stuck to my tried and true method of trying not to throw up as I force the mushrooms down my throat. We made an effort to continue up the path but our snowtrudging attire of basketball shorts and running shoes made it foolishly difficult.

(Snowtrudging)

With our feet frozen solid, we changed directions and headed toward a slightly less adventurous snow trail. The trail contained several towering sequoias, circling a snow-covered meadow. I had trouble determining if my amazement with the brilliantly colored, giant trees came from my love of nature or the handful of mushrooms digesting in my stomach. Either way, I was rather impressed. Almost as impressive as the trees was our spotting of an older hippie couple who finally answered the question of what it would look like if Jerry Garcia had married Jerry Garcia and then went on a hike through the redwoods. After our first trip around the meadow, Corey could no longer stand the anticipation and decided to give his recently purchased kaleidoscope a test run. Judging by the stares he received, Corey determined that using a kaleidoscope in public is just about as socially acceptable as jerking off right in the middle of the trail. I can’t even attempt to describe how great the scenery was so here are a few pictures that hopefully do it a bit of justice:

(Us in front of huge tree)
(Corey next to gigantic tree)

(Our favorite shroom root)
(Corey's attempt to recreate the mushroom experience with the use of photoshop)

As we began to come down we found a cool spot where a sequoia was growing over a large boulder and decided to climb up to it. Sitting on the boulder, slightly hidden from the view of hikers beneath us, we watched a family struggle to contend with their unruly children. We quickly learned that Nathan (the youngest and most unruly of the bunch) had been rather insistent on taking a “nature hike” and then immediately ruined it for everyone by screaming and refusing to walk any further. This was clearly not the first time Nathan had requested, and then subsequently ruined, a “nature hike” because his mom promptly pulled out the “nathan leash” and dragged him along to the car for what we imagine was quite a beating (the fact we were laughing hysterically and attempting to take pictures of the situation less than 15 feet away only added to the misery that Nathan’s family was going through).

Feeling fairly accomplished for the day, we headed up a less populated trail to smoke a joint and lose all motivation for life. All we did after that was visit the largest living thing on the entire planet...that’s all (read in Gareth Keenen voice).

(picture of General Sherman Tree the motherfucking largest living thing on earth)

I wish I had a more miserable/humorous story to tell, but all in all it was a great experience for our first mushroom-fueled adventure of the trip.

*The night before, Corey’s girlfriend’s mom took us on a drunken shopping trip and bought us such useful items as ramen, girl scout cookies and a comically oversized bag of Hoody’s peanuts.

**Due to our pending case with the National Forest Service we cannot go into further details about this ploy.

***He chews up the mushrooms, lets the disgusting black paste sit in his mouth for around 20 minutes and then swallows the whole concoction because Richard deems this to be the most efficient manner of mushroom consumption. Just writing that makes me want to throw up.

-Spencer

Official Road Trippin Map

2007-03-16T17:49:00.000-07:00

To make up for my dog rant I spent the last 4 hrs working on this map. I hope it helps you better follow our magical journey. I will try and update it every week or so.

-Corey

What Became The Dog Post...

2007-03-16T13:18:00.000-07:00

We stayed 4 very relaxing days with my girlfriend at her parent’s house in Castro Valley. It is located a few miles east of Oakland and is considerably less “urban”. It is a nice place and her mom spoiled the shit out of us with gourmet meals and actual beds to sleep in.

(Thursday March 8)
After a very long and very scary night of driving we took full advantage of the fine accommodations (I got to stay in her room, Spencer was forced to stay in the cats’ room*) and slept away the majority of the day. We finally got up around one and then spent the rest of our day in a dirty fly-infested Quizno’s trying to get this website site up and running for our hordes of fans…you’re welcome (read in a condescending voice).

The rest of the night was pretty chill. The main activity for the night was a short hike up to this view point overlooking the Bay area. At the top of the hill was a memorial to children who died violent deaths, sort of a buzz kill but it was a cool view. The only other interesting thing about the hike was there were about 500 stupid fucking dogs running around. This will definitely come up again in my posts so I will go ahead and explain it now, I hate dogs. I know everyone loves dogs and they are so great. But I don’t like them. I don’t think they are funny or cute or of any use at all. They cost a fuck load of money, ruin your shit, and in my experience they are all around assholes. Also, I don’t really think your dog really cares about you. The only reason your dog pretends to give a shit about you is that you are its only known source of food and living at your place is a lot better than the street. I would like to see how much your beloved companion cares about you if you stop feeding it for a few weeks. I think it is pretty retarded that people find the need to buy these complete free loaders to get some form of companionship. If I ever get to the point were I need to have a dog as a friend/crutch I am going to just go ahead and shoot myself**. I immediately regret that strange violent dog rant. Oh yeah, after the hike we had dinner.

(Friday, March 9)
The next morning my girlfriend called in sick to work and we all headed into San Francisco to check out Golden Gate Park. We weren’t expecting much and we were pleasantly surprised by the incredibly large and beautiful park. Also it was completely filled with homeless people. There was one open area where a ton of hobos had created an enormous drum circle. Not being able to resist the mind-bending beats coming from the circle, we immediately headed over to check it out. Once we got close, however, we noticed something much better than a stupid ol’ drum circle. If you guessed bum fight, you were correct. From what I can tell (I didn’t get all the facts) it appears a rather surly little hobo attempted to steal a small stash of pop cans from a larger dirtier hobo’s shopping cart. As I am sure you are aware, this is very taboo in the bum community and did not go unpunished. He was verbally and physically accosted by the larger hobo amid a chorus of taunts from the rest of the normally subdued members of the drum circle. It is kind of sad that after one poor decision this little hobo has earned himself a permanent black eye in the bum community and now,, officially,, fits in nowhere. After the excitement of the bum fight we agreed to end our park experience on a high note and headed back home.

That night we decided we would all go out to a club in Walnut Creek for my girlfriend’s cousin’s birthday. The club was pretty lame and we only drank old drinks that people left on the table in an attempt to stick with our roadtrippers budget***. After the club we went to my girlfriend’s sister’s place where the night ended in the usual fashion of everyone going to bed while Spencer sat alone drinking all the free beer and watching the end of Clerk’s 2.

(Saturday, March 10)
We spent the day at Pacifica, a little beach town outside of San Francisco. After hanging out there most of the day we checked out a few more sites (I drove around aimlessly looking for the very elusive Golden Gate Bridge while Spencer and my girlfriend slept). After that we headed home where I spent the rest of the night watching a movie with my girlfriend. While I was being a completely lame road tripper, Spencer went downtown to hang out with our buddy Tristan.

In an attempt to catch another coveted bum fight, I rode the BART (the Bay Area’s outdated two-rail version of Seattle’s soon-to-be-revolutionary monorail (the only difference being that the BART currently runs longer than 3 blocks)) to Tristan’s place. For those of you who don’t know Tristan, he is our fraternity brother who has recently traded in his former position of resident hole-puncher/table-fighter at Delta Chi for his new position of financial analyst/slave to the man. He lives in an upscale apartment complex with his girlfriend Katie, alongside people with “real jobs” and “futures”****. Immediately following the grand tour of his building, which features a rock climbing wall and numerous expensive paintings, I helped myself to a few complimentary shots of vodka and a delicious concoction of long island ice tea mix with some sort of juice. Halfway through my drink, Katie’s friend showed up with the guy she’s fucking and we got ready to hit the clubs. After two days of being the third wheel with Corey and his girlfriend, it was a nice change to be the fifth wheel of the group. We ended up going to Club NV (pronounced like envy but hipper) at the insistence of Katie’s friend. Despite the immense gap between our income levels (she is the personal assistant to Steve Jobs, and I was recently fired from being the personal assistant to Ron Morgan, Mediator/Disbarred Attorney) she did not offer to pay the outrageous $20 cover for me. Not having all my wits about me, I made the huge error of ignoring my budget for the night because I had a feeling that this could be the first non-miserable club experience I’ve ever had…I was wrong. The only memorable event was Tristan shattering the overpriced drink in my hand, due to his inability to control the power of his cheersing. Fortunately the girls weren’t enjoying the ratio of smelly Indian dudes to us and we were able to leave after about an hour. Some other moderately funny things happened but I feel the night could be best summed up with this picture:

(Sunday, March 11)
The majority of the day was spent preparing for the big family going away dinner for Spencer. No one really seemed to care that much that I was leaving. All the loveable members and future members of her family showed up, including me, Spencer, girlfriend, mom and dad, sister and Little Tony, and cousin. It was a fantastic meal of Tri-Tip, garlic red potatos, salad, mud pie ice cream cake, and Mochi Balls******. We were also treated to some of the finest dinner conversation I have ever been privy too. Here are a few of the key topics of conversation:

-How niggers are only niggers when they act like niggers

-Explanation of a “donkey show” and her cousins’ experience in the army with a “monkey show”

-The unveiling of the families’ secret nickname, Lil Tony, for sister’s fiancé.

-Several examples of how gay regular Tony is.

-Girlfriend’s mom on roadtrippin- “That’s ok Spencer you should enjoy life when you are young, you just have to get your life together by the time you are 24”….I just turned 24.

-Cousin’s constant use of the terms “fuck”, “blunt”, and “mangina”. In such memorable sentences as “At the fucking wedding I’ll be smoking a big fat fucking blunt right in the aisle.” or “If someone threw my fucking baby I would take out my mangina and slap them right across the fucking face”.

The excitement of the meal was soon replaced with some of the most intense boredom I have ever experienced. Upon my good friend Josh’s recommendation we decided to watch the “Science of Sleep”******, which true to its name put everyone to sleep almost instantly.

The next morning we packed up the car and hit the road for what would prove to be quite a wild adventure in the Redwoods.

*The cats sleep outside.

**Spencer’s note: I do not share this view and am feeling a little uncomfortable about continuing on this journey with Corey, the dog-hating maniac.

***Three dollars a day or whatever you can panhandle/find in dumpster/donate blood for.

****Also known as squares.

*****Delicious balls of ice cream covered in the perfect compliment of raw dough and flour. May taste like a ball of rotten mangoes covered in human skin to the less refined.

******Terrible

-Corey

The Ira Experience

2007-03-14T20:50:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, we have made a pledge to see every dinosaur park in the United States and plan to make good on that. On the way down the Oregon Coast we spotted our first park. The park was $7.00 to tour but free to take pictures by the T-Rex out front. We decided to take the more road trip budget friendly option. Although the tour was grossly over priced, Corey found the kaleidoscopes to be priced just right.

Driving through southern Oregon in the rain with no known destination and just a one man tent to call home, our zest for the road was at an all-time low (out of the 5 days since we had left). Luckily, a beacon of hope was sent our direction in the form of a man in his late 60’s. His name was Ira, and he transformed our way of looking at the world we live in. When we first came across Ira he was on the side of Highway 101, waving at cars and giving them the double thumbs up. Looking like a man with trippin experience, we naturally decided to stop and ask him for some advice. After convincing him that we were legit, Ira invited us to experience what it feels like to “just walk and give people love.” We accepted enthusiastically and we would not regret it.

Ira was born in the Bay Area and spent a good amount of time in Haight-Ashbury during the 60’s and 70’s. He remembered these times fondly, telling us, “you could spot a flower child from 2 blocks away because you could just feel their energy and you would just have to go up and hug them.” To make a living Ira became a “Techie Nerd” for IBM, where he fixed computer systems for large businesses up until 1979. His story becomes a little hazy from that point but picks up again 3 years ago when he was diagnosed with cancer. The doctor types gave him very little chance to live and suggested chemotherapy. Not being one to follow orders, Ira chose to simply walk the cancer out of him. Three years later, guess who’s cancer free? Probably not Ira, he hasn’t been back to get a check up yet. So now he walks up and down the highway waving and pointing to people, adding a little brightness to their days. Ira doesn’t worry about money anymore; he relies on the fact that a sufficient amount will show up when he needs it. He also doesn’t worry much about other futile matters such as time or dates. This is a lot like a road tripper’s mindset in which you simply live for the moment. One thing Ira is worried about, however, is the plight of the “unhoused.” He complained to us on more than one occasion about how unfair it was that staters wouldn’t let homeless people sleep on the beach in peace. While I am in agreement with Ira, I believe his highly pro-hobo stance could have had something to do with how close he is to joining their ranks in the near future.

The sun was beginning to set and Ira explained to us that it was time for his daily ritual of taking a serious walk down to the beach to stare at the sun. We tried to keep up as he jumped nimbly from log to log; this was obviously not his first trip to the beach. When we reached the shore Ira instructed us to throw on some tunes and stare directly into the setting sun. His selection for the day was The Moody Blues. As we stared at the dimming yet still painfully bright sun Ira explained that all we needed to do was relax and focus our entire minds on the sun. He warned us not to worship the sun but rather to just think of it as a cable through which you receive the information and energy that it’s sending. Through this ritual, as Ira explained, he was able to receive energy and love directly from the sun.

Although our decision to spend time with Ira was based on the fact that he appeared to be a crazy old kook, our opinion changed over the course of our time spent with him. Yes, he had some ridiculous ideas but it was refreshing to talk to someone so happy and so disinterested in standard success. We found his unconventional happiness somewhat inspiring. Though I sense our draw to him might be slightly due to our ever-quickening downward spiral into insanity.

Here are some bits of knowledge (some crazy, some not so crazy) that Ira kindly bestowed upon us:

-Governments and corporations are shaped like pyramids: there are only a few at the top who reap all the benefits, while the vast majority is stuck at the bottom with nothing. The universe, however, is shaped like a sphere. What’s at the center of that sphere? You’ll have to develop your own answer because he wasn’t willing to tell us.

-Always keep an open mind and an open heart. Always keep it positive.

-Never stop learning and don’t discriminate against the information you take in. Take in all the information you can and then you decide, not your parents or the media, what you believe and make your decision from your heart.

-In order to stop the wars (you want to stop the war don’t you?) all you have to do is make a flag look all worn out on your computer. Then, simply add the words “bring her home,” or if you want to make it more personal, “bring them home.” Once you’ve got your flag made all you have to do is wave it in someone’s face once in a while. Not as difficult as you imagined, is it?

With our hearts and minds refreshed we continued south to California. We were unable to find any decent campsites and Corey needed to get to San Francisco to see his girlfriend that weekend so he drove like a madman for the next 8 hours. We ended up getting to her house outside of San Francisco around 3 in the morning.

In other news, we recently realized how little planning we put into this trip and that we have no idea what we’re doing. If you have any suggestions of where to go and what to see, let us know.

-Spencer

Quick Update (3/11)

2007-03-12T08:50:00.000-07:00

Hey guys thanks for all the comments and emails. You have given us just enough of an ego boost to keep this website going. As for new posts we have 2 new posts in the works telling what we have been up to the last 6 days and we might also put up few other posts about random stuff (I would like to put up our 3 old live journals, an explanation of where bumhaircuts.com came from, and some other stuff like that).

As for the future of the trip, we are just about to leave San Francisco. Our plan is to search out some form of Redwoods and enjoy a few days of hiking, camping, and mushroom induced insanity. After that I assume we are going to try and get a little further south maybe LA or Death Valley. I will keep you posted (possible pun).

Oh also if you want to receive an email when we update I might put some list together and send out an email. So if you want on this list send your email to bumhaircuts@gmail.com.

-Corey

Jake's Gunshop

2007-03-07T11:07:00.000-08:00

After saying goodbye to Sam we had one more stop to make in Washington before crossing the border into Oregon. This final stop was, of course, to see our old fraternity brother Jake “The Snake” Hoseman. Jake had moved back home to Vancouver, WA after graduating from college to single-handedly run his family’s gun shop (his brother is one apple that fell far from the tree when it comes to gun shop management). I really don’t think I can accurately describe Jake but here are some key facts about him:

a) He runs a gun shop
b) He gets paid in ammunition
c) He will kill you

d) His dad is the Bass Player for Vancouver’s best classic rock cover band, “The Randy Band” (very funny and may be explained in later posts)
e) He hates liberals/gun bans
f) He is engaged to his college sweetheart (Wedding is next St. Patrick’s day so you better start kissing his ass if you want one of the coveted invitations)
g) He once warned me to “not count my sheep” in an attempt to keep my burgeoning mega-ego in check.

For some reason no one we knew had Jake’s contact info so we decided to just call all gun shops in the Greater Vancouver Area (GVA) and ask for Jake. Destiny worked her magic and on our second call (out of a possible 30 gun shops in the GVA) we heard Jakes cheery, newly professionalized voice. He gave us directions but we probably could have found it easily on our own due to its prime gun shop location (in a strip mall right between a European hair salon and a sushi restaurant). Our visit with Jake was short, yet extremely interesting and informative. First and foremost we learned that C&C Gunshop, and Jake by extension, are very concerned about them politician types attempting to enact a gun ban on semi automatic weaponry in Vancouver. Second we learned fully automatic rifles are no longer able to be legally enjoyed in Washington State, thanks again liberals. As we were leaving, Jake offered us a token of friendship to aid us on our adventures: a large, magnetic Support Our Troops ribbon. We were happy to have acquired our first addition to the road trippin bumper* and even happier to let America know that we support the American army enough to place an easily removable endorsement on our car. In conclusion, if you or anyone you know are in the market for a semi-auto AK-47 we suggest getting down to the C&C Gun Shop in Vancouver, WA before the ban goes into effect. (Jake if you read this please keep us updated on the shop and Randy Band)

After our reconnection with Jake we started out on our drive to Corvalis, OR to stay with our Delta Chi brothers at Oregon State University. Along the way we stopped at the Willamette Valley Vineyards to do some wine tasting. The wine was excellent, our new friend Harold’s advice of what casinos and golf courses to visit was even better. With a belly full of wine and a BAC slightly over the legal limit we followed poorly placed signs to Silver Falls, an hour out of our way. It might just be the Richards talking but I found the falls to be quite breathtaking.
Once we arrived at OSU we began what turned out to be a very eventful night. Fist up we watched the brothers lose 13-0 in an indoor soccer game against a team full of arrogant Kuwaitis (to my knowledge, the only type of Kuwaitis). We then went to bed immediately in an attempt to avoid any further interaction with our new friends.

*A few months ago I got hit by an out of control 18-wheeler during an ice storm. It didn’t really do any damage except it made a small dent in my bumper. Since it wasn’t my fault the trucking company is paying for a new bumper. The cool thing about this is that it allows us to completely cover my bumper with every retarded bumper sticker we find throughout our journey. I assume by the time we get to the Deep South our bumper sticker collection will be good for at least a couple ass beatings. We will keep you posted as it comes together.

-Corey

Bogartville, WA

2007-03-06T13:27:00.000-08:00

Heading into Camas our sole reason for stopping here was to see our friend Samuel (later we would realize that he was what we liked least about the place). Until a few months ago Sam had been living in Seattle with the aforementioned Josh. In an attempt to be closer to his “family” he packed his bags and moved back to his childhood home. The town itself can only be described as a small, generic city with a large, generic bowling alley. One thing I can tell you for sure, though, is that Camas is by far the worst smelling place in all of Washington, save possibly Tacoma. As far as I can tell this odor comes primarily from the Paper Mill/Diarrhea Factory which is conveniently located in the center of town.

The stay with Sam was very pleasant. We were greeted upon arrival with an enormous steak dinner and fridge full of beer. Sam’s mom and her boyfriend Peter are both sweet old hippies and were very cool to hang out with. Hanging out included drinking beers, jamming with the family band (we were on the tambourines) and smoking joints. About halfway through the night we realized that Sam’s room was almost entirely covered in cat hair, which Spencer happens to be highly allergic to. After his standard procedure of scratching his neck and eyes until they bleed Sam offered him a Claritin and the suggestion to get some fresh air. Luckily this worked much better and we were able to avoid the sacrifice of one Mr. Munson P. Farnsworth. At around 4 in the morning we threw in Strange Brew as a way to wind down from our night of partying. Unfortunately we soon discovered that Sam was determined to force us to watch every fucking second of the movie after he began screaming and physically threatening us whenever we attempted to fall asleep. The movie was pretty decent.

Our second day in Camas was extremely nice for early spring in Washington. We decided to take advantage of the weather with a hike to Beacon Rock, which has a great view overlooking the Colombia River. Luckily we got a jump on the day by heading out around 2 in the afternoon and made it to the top with daylight to spare.

(Sam and Spencer (notice the Richard) at the top of Beacon Rock)

Although Sam’s mom and Peter relied heavily on bogarting our joints to get high, they didn’t force us to smoke over half our road trip weed supply which has earned them the top spot in our road trippin best host contest.

- Corey

William Tecumseh Sherman is a Lazy Asshole

2007-03-05T17:43:00.000-08:00

We were well on our way to the party capital of Washington State and home of the Papermakers (Camas), jamming to disc 2 of the Cream Anthology, when we decided to make a quick detour to a rest stop so we could pick up a cup of coffee. I was more than happy to give up the contents of my pocket (six pennies and a piece of gum) as a donation to the Veterans of Foreign Wars Cause, mostly because I'm sick and fucking tired of giving my change to those freeloading civil war veterans. The coffee wasn't quite worth my donation, but it did the trick and gave us enough of a buzz to complete the second leg of our journey.

- Spencer

Our second favorite Ally

2007-03-04T11:30:00.001-08:00

The first few momentous days of this road trip were spent trapped in Seattle smoking our friends out and playing Nintendo wii. We arrived in Seattle Thursday night and went straight to our first destination, our friend Josh’s apartment. Josh is an old fraternity brother of ours who owns a Nintendo wii and loves smoking weed (especially other people’s weed). Our first night was fairly uneventful except for Josh dominating us on the video games he has spent the past few months playing instead of having a job. Josh was also nice enough to treat us an almost non stop onslaught of our official Road Trip Anthem “Road Trippin”. If this song doesn’t get you pumped up for the road you must be some kind of faggot.

-Spencer (standing) and Josh jamming

(Retarded Theme Song)

The next day we ran some errands and then got ready for our big night out/going away party by getting everyone high and playing Nintendo wii. Our choice of venue for the night was our old watering hole staple, The Duchess. The Dutchess is a bar frequented by college students and people over 50 who wish they had been college students. It’s got pop-a-shot, pool, shuffleboard and a full-sized canoe on the wall. They also serve Schmidts in cans $1.15. Nothing too eventful happened but it was nice just to see all four of our friends and some other people that showed up before we headed out into the great unknown. When we got back to Josh’s place we smoked a few more Richards* and ton more laughs from the really funny stuff we probably said. Naturally this led to an old fashioned game of Buzz Cut Roulette. For the uninitiated this game consists of everyone asking the moon beads** whether or not they should get a buzz cut. Once again the moon beads were 100% accurate, instructing only Corey and me to get the coveted buzz cut. Our haircutting method was to use clippers to cut around common kitchen items such as pasta strainers and coffee cups placed on our heads. Needless to say, our new dos were sweet. You can tell a lot about a man from their stance on the buzz cut. Our friend Ian for example ran like a little girl at the first mention of giving out buzz cuts and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.

(Who's ready for a road trippin haircut?)

The next morning Josh’s girlfriend Andrea cleaned up the kitchen, which was completely coated in our hair without complaining or any hint of anger. She is probably the most understanding person I’ve ever known. Our original plan was to stay each night in Seattle with different friends who lived progressively further south but Andrea’s hospitality, excellent sandwich fixins, and ownership of large comfortable couches made us rethink that.

The following morning we ate Hawaiian style burgers and watched the Dawgs pull off a win against UCLA. Later Josh and I went on the creepiest most surreal drug deal I’ve ever been a part of. After getting really high we walked down a dark alley until we noticed a lanky, hunched over, longhaired Asian dude staring at us from a doorway. Without exchanging words he lead us into his bedroom handed me my drugs. We had been told that we would be getting 8 “shroom chocolates” and 10 hits of acid. What he handed me was a small baggie half-filled with shroom shake and another baggie with four sugar cubes individually wrapped in aluminum foil. I had no idea what the going street price acid was and only a vague notion for mushrooms so I ended up paying (140 dollars for what appears to be about 37 dollars worth drugs) about twice their worth. I had no qualms about this however because it was well worth the price to get the fuck out of that place.

Not even a bad drug deal could break our sky-high spirits though, we knew that not everything goes perfectly when you’re road trippin. In fact, it appears that absolutely nothing goes perfectly when you’re road trippin. Luckily our good friend Donny came over and provided us with nearly instantaneous laughs. Around twenty minutes after Donny arrived we began to wonder why he had yet to leave the kitchen or attempt to socialize. We soon discovered that he had come across a few PBR’s and a near empty half-gallon of Southern Comfort then took the liberty of finishing off the stash by himself. In order to get Donny to join the group we offered him a couple Richards, which he took to like a fish to water. No more than five minutes passed before Josh noticed that Donny was starting to turn a lighter shade of pale, a sure warning sign of him losing control of bodily functions, so Josh asked him if he needed to puke. This was apparently the opportunity Donny was waiting for as he proceeded to sprint to the bathroom, push Parker to the side and let loose with a puking session fit for a heroin junkie (link to puke video). That was the last we saw of Donny until we found him sleeping under the table the next morning (link to Donny picture). Unfortunately Donny refused to take us up on our offer of a free seat on the road trip (the trunk).

(Donny's standard conclusion to a night/45 minutes of partying)

Later that night we got insanely high and watched Alice in Wonderland while listening to Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Josh had been saying this way even more crazy than the very underwhelming Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon combo he had forced us to watch a year ago. Despite smoking about 15 Richards each we both failed to find any correlation between two.

After smoking our entire 3-month weed budget in the first 3 days we decided it was time to keep moving. So we ate some Mexican food and got the fuck out of that place before it sucked away what was left of our spirit.

Also at some point during the weekend I machine-washed my pants, shirts and cell phone.

*The Richard is the most efficient way to smoke weed invented by Corey’s old hippie friend. It consists of taking the smallest amount of weed you can put into a bong without it falling through then smoking the entire thing and keeping the smoke in your lungs until it all saturates into your body and blood stream. The Richard can also refer to pooping in a bucket and throwing it out the window, rolling a joint that only consists of a mushroom stem and most everything else a 50-year-old hippie living in his parents’ basement would do.

**A few weeks ago I (Corey) was walking home from the Northwest YoYo championships when I stumbled upon a going out of business sale at a local Hippie store. Seeing this as a premium place to pick up some road trippin supplies I decided I better check out their wares. The entire store was 2 feet by 4 feet and consisted almost entirely of useless garbage (Cds of bands consisting entirely of tambourines, pictures of fairies, and a strange set of New Kids on the Block action figures). On the way out I noticed a little shabby looking purple bag sitting in the corner. Upon review it turned out the bag contained a set of magic moon beads that can tell you the answer to any yes or no question. So needless to say I bought the beads and pledged my allegiance to them and agreed that I would follow any advice they gave. After telling Spencer about them he agreed that we would make any and all important decisions based on the answer they give.

-Spencer

Hittin The Road

2007-03-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

After 2 months of vaguely discussing the possibility of a road trip we decided to complete all the necessary preparation on the date of our departure. “All necessary preparation” consisted of me throwing my 3 pairs of clothes in the trunk, finding a camcorder and purchasing a sizeable amount of marijuana.

Luckily, living in a predominantly hippie town a half an hour from the Canadian border we were able to track down our most important supply within the hour. All we had to do was drive 20 minutes out of town to a house which had last been inhabited in 1978 by a local cocaine czar. The dealer we did business with preferred to be called by his self-given nickname of Dizzle. So we buy our weed from Dizzle and he offers/challenges us to roll matching blunts then he proceeds to smoke the vast majority of both like only a two fisting blunt addict can do. After declining Dizzle’s invitation to “give him hand” by picking up a few bottles sitting around his house we were finally prepared to get one last meal and night of normal sleep at my parents’ house before we hit the road.

Much to my parent’s chagrin I was going to be going on the road trip with the same person who had been there for a majority of my major downfalls in life (see Delta Chi Fraternity, 4th of July at the old Submarine Inn and subsequent Jail sentence for criminal trespassing). They overlooked Corey’s ability to bring the worst out of me, however, because he was willing to take me far away from them for an extended period of time. As a sign of appreciation, my mother prepared us the standard going away meal of lamb chops, salt roll, bake potato with “Mexican sour cream”, goat milk ice cream and a hobo-sized bottle of wine from Costco to take the edge off.

The next morning we said goodbye to my parents, packed up the rest of my stuff into the car and set off on our life-altering super-journey.

-Spencer

Road Trippin Preview

2007-03-01T23:09:00.000-08:00

The Dudes-
If you are reading this you probably know both Spencer and myself (Corey), but if for some reason this blog has gone outside our circle of six friends you might want to check out the bio post that came before this.

The Plan-
The basic scheme is that the two of us are going to get in my car and drive around the US for the next 3 months. We don’t really have a route or actual plan to speak of. We are going to be trying to stay off all major highways and interstates and experience what small town America has to offer.

Our starting point is Bellingham, Washington (which as far as I can tell is the farthest NW point in the continental US) and from there we are heading due south. We are going to be making stops as frequently as we can find distant relatives or obscure family friends to impose on. If we can’t find people to stay with we’ll be illegally camping on the side of the highway.

Along the way we plan to divide up our time between our 5 main trip focal points.

1. Seeking out and interviewing people we find to be “interesting”. These American heroes will be your mentally unstable, your grossly intoxicated, the spiritually enlightened, and many other forms of transients. There is a lot that can be learned from those that pushed the limits of the social norms to the breaking point and never quite recovered.

2. Doing drugs (Mushrooms, acid, paint huffing, Quaaludes) in interesting locations (desert, mountain top, grandparents basement) and seeing what subsequently comes about.

3. Seeing some cool shit around the country (Grand Canyon, all dinosaur parks, World’s biggest tractor tire, Niagara Falls, funny named towns like “Weed, CA” and “Sodomy, WV”, you know stuff like that.

4. Go to as many comedy shows or other funny events (Evangelicals, NASCAR races, etc) as we can on the road.

5. Find peace of mind and our paths in life. By completing the first 4 objectives I see this one pretty much falling into place.

What we are bringing on the trip-
2- Dudes
1- Car
8- 30 liter totes with our shit in them
1- Video camera (we will be videoing pretty much everything we do)
1- Large Bag full of Weed, Mushrooms, and Acid
1- Larger bag full of unsalted almonds
1- Annoyingly positive attitude
1- Dangerously negative attitude

Known Destinations-
- Bellingham, WA (jump off)
- Seattle, WA
- Camas, WA (home of our buddy Sam, a large paper mill and nothing else)
- San Francisco, CA
- Cojo’s Uncles house in the Laguna Beach
- Santa Fe mescaline walk
- Glass thing that sticks out of Grand Canyon
- Bayou
- Any and all dinosaur parks in the continental United States
- A new dimension of thinking
- Also lots of other places

Some of the main goals for the trip are the following-
- Find a new spiritual adviser in the form of an old homeless hippie who we pick up at a truck stop
- Not go to jail with a sentence longer than a month (at a time)
- Go on a vision quest in the dessert
- Try to survive in the wilderness for very small stretches of time
- Restore the good name of LSD which has been unfairly tarnished since its heyday of the 60’s.
- Figure out just a little more about what the hell is actually going on in this crazy world

This Website-
The main focus of this website is just going to be us telling the story of this road trip. We will be putting together the posts jointly, but one person will actually be doing the writing from his voice. That person will sign the bottom of the post and be using a different font. I can't promise this site is going to be funny at all, but I will say that everything we put on here will at least be loosely based on the truth or what we can remember of it. We are going to try and update as often as possible (everyday or so) with stories, pictures, and videos from the road.

Besides all the stuff from this trip we are going to try and put up some other intesting or funny stuff. Such as…

1) Old Live journals from our past journeys
2) Funny pictures, videos, and links that we steal from other funny sites
3) Maybe some other random thoughts and stories we have heard or made up

Well that sort of covers it. Leave a comment or send us an email at BumHairCuts@gmail.com if you have anything funny to say or just let us know someone is checking out the site. We would both really appreciate any feedback. I am excited about what this journey has in store for us and I hope you enjoy the site.

-Corey

Who are Corey and Spencer?

2007-03-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

Corey

Where to start? Well I'm 24 years old. I graduated from college a year or so ago. I planned on going to Law School, but since the fairly obvious realization that that was a horrible idea I’ve been spending my time with a mix of light working, world traveling, and hangin out. My hobbies include traveling, reading weird books written in the 60's and 70's*, laughing at funny shit**, and spending time with my lone friend Lance***.

I would say the biggest staple of my life is that I have no idea what I should be doing with it. I honestly have no fucking clue. One day I am trading currencies for a living and the next I am looking for a plane ticket to Nepal to join a Buddhist convent. I have a true passion for the avoidance of a "normal" or what you might call a "successful" life. I have taken very active steps to avoid any form of monetary, personal, or emotional accomplishment since graduating from College. This is never more evident than me quitting my great job to drive aimlessly around the country in search of horrible experiences that my friends might think are funny. For some reason to me it seems that when it is all said and done a handful of great stories is going to be a lot more satisfying than pile of money.

My passion to figure out what to do with my life has led me to discover two new and exciting avenues of inquiry, Buddhism and Psychedelic drugs. Both have expanded my mind and both have given me hope that there may actually be some meaning out there. I can also assure you that there is going to be an abundance of both in the next few months on this trip.

This road trip is going to be life changing in both good and I am sure horrible ways. Yet, I can honestly say that I have never been more excited in my life for an experience. I feel this is me making my stand that I am never going to work a 9 to 5 job or settle for a normal life just because that is what you are suppose to do.

*Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Dharma Bums, Be Here Now

**Doug Stanhope, David Cross, Zach Galifianakis, Dave Chappelle and others

***Not a real friend…Not ever a real person

Spencer

For the majority of my 22 years on earth my life objectives have been the following: making people laugh, doing drugs and bonin(g) chicks. So far I’ve had limited success with the first two and completely failed at the last one. I enjoy soccer, stand-up comedy and not too much else. Possibly my greatest asset is that I can speak just enough Spanish to where I can possibly pass off as a mildly retarded Mexican.

My parents used to believe that I would amount to something but have recently caught on to my lack of ambition. This revelation has caused them to put all their hopes and capacity to love into their dog Oscar, or Osky as they affectionately refer to him.

However to paint a portrait of my life only looking at my downfalls would only be 90-95% accurate. I have also racked up quite a few accomplishments. The ones I’m proudest of are graduating from college, becoming the Grand Warlock of a Wiccan coven and getting an HJ. Judging by my current life path future accomplishments will most likely include but are not limited to drug-induced dementia, overcoming societal norms (becoming homeless) and giving an HJ for drug money.

I am neither willing nor able to get a job, which has made it necessary for me to explore other income generating options. My most successful venture has been dealing weed and shrooms (successful not in terms of monetary gain but in amounts of drugs consumed). Recently I discovered this internet-based phenomenon called “blogging.” Based on everything imagined in my mind about the ”blogging” I see no possible way that I won’t make a million dollars with this cash cow of the future. Unfortunately I am told that this will only work if I actually have something to write about, leading me to take part in a crazy road trip despite my intense hatred of driving and other people. In the unlikely event that this doesn’t pan out I will probably end up (humorous example of life choice to follow).