Well folks, Indeed, I have let down the spirit of the nightowls. I have been staying sober. But this friday, Kronik shall be in town and we will be hammered off our asses.
But I want to know about the rest of you. Cuban? where are the drunk stories? Jolly? Mongo? Hell they don't even have to be drunk stories. Just posts of ridiculous. Vin, I know you have some. It is getting pretty bad, that it is just Kaiser and myself doing the posting.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
An update.
Got drunk, bought a paralyzed kitten for 4$.
One week later, got drunk. Get attacked from behind, finish the fight by coating a new shirt in his his faceblood.
The end.
One week later, got drunk. Get attacked from behind, finish the fight by coating a new shirt in his his faceblood.
The end.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Something
Well i'm bored as fuck. theres nothing interesting on the internet, roomate is sleeping so i cant do anything noisy. So lets ramble about some shit.
Going Big. I like to think of going big as a term of enlightenment. Bros with popped collars and fake sun tans are hitting the clubs this very minute, thinking they are going big. They order jaegerbombs, but likely have a favorite energy drink included in the shot, like it makes a fucking difference. in between their shots, which they probably call J-Bombs or JB's, they'll slow down with a couple mike's hard lemonades, and maybe even a natty light they'll pretend to chug.
Aside from their faggotry in their inebriation technique, they will ignore the thus far unwritten rule that conquering an area involves rallying the locals around your group, and eventually becoming the epicenter of Going Big for everyone in the vicinity to gravitate to and learn the ways of the Nightowl.
Not the Bros. In between hugging eachother and posing for "prison inmate stare" group photos where they throw fake gang signs at their iPhone camera, The Bros will annoy the living fuck out of each and every bartender, waitress, bouncer and customer in the place. Screeching noises they call laughter coupled with atrocious attempts to freestyle rap into an empty mike's bottle one of them spilled are the acts of the hour. Constantly referring to women as bitches and any man not in the group as fags will ensure that nobody within the area code will intentionally speak with the Bros or party in their remote proximity.
In short, These are the Antimatna. They are not without use however, as their presence allows the Nightowls to leave that much clearer of a mark on any society we touch. The Bros will always be just another group of "those fucking idiots" to the people unfortunate to meet them, which alone brings the Ministry's influence all the higher in the eyes of the soon to be conquered.
For me personally, the Watchhogs, Turkeynecks and SajMaj Express' of the world have fallen by the wayside. The Bros are now the most pathetic of species to me, and seeing them fail time and again to truely Go Big is a priceless bonus to take home.
Going Big. I like to think of going big as a term of enlightenment. Bros with popped collars and fake sun tans are hitting the clubs this very minute, thinking they are going big. They order jaegerbombs, but likely have a favorite energy drink included in the shot, like it makes a fucking difference. in between their shots, which they probably call J-Bombs or JB's, they'll slow down with a couple mike's hard lemonades, and maybe even a natty light they'll pretend to chug.
Aside from their faggotry in their inebriation technique, they will ignore the thus far unwritten rule that conquering an area involves rallying the locals around your group, and eventually becoming the epicenter of Going Big for everyone in the vicinity to gravitate to and learn the ways of the Nightowl.
Not the Bros. In between hugging eachother and posing for "prison inmate stare" group photos where they throw fake gang signs at their iPhone camera, The Bros will annoy the living fuck out of each and every bartender, waitress, bouncer and customer in the place. Screeching noises they call laughter coupled with atrocious attempts to freestyle rap into an empty mike's bottle one of them spilled are the acts of the hour. Constantly referring to women as bitches and any man not in the group as fags will ensure that nobody within the area code will intentionally speak with the Bros or party in their remote proximity.
In short, These are the Antimatna. They are not without use however, as their presence allows the Nightowls to leave that much clearer of a mark on any society we touch. The Bros will always be just another group of "those fucking idiots" to the people unfortunate to meet them, which alone brings the Ministry's influence all the higher in the eyes of the soon to be conquered.
For me personally, the Watchhogs, Turkeynecks and SajMaj Express' of the world have fallen by the wayside. The Bros are now the most pathetic of species to me, and seeing them fail time and again to truely Go Big is a priceless bonus to take home.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Mons Venus
Some of you might find this a little strange that I am writing about this and not the Cuban, but I feel as though this place needs to be mentioned. Through the word of mouth I herd of this strip club called Mons Venus and that unlike normal strip clubs this one is very unique. Unique indeed, not only do you get to touch the strippers who are completely naked, fondle them but the lap dances are a respectable $20-$30. There is no Champagne room at this place no booth to secretly hide while you get your dance, no way! this is all done out in the open so everyone can see the show. As the Cuban and I were just watching the madness going on around us someone bought a dance sitting next to us. little did I know but I soon find out why this place is so popular. As I gawk at the un-tattooed, un- pierced, amazingly gorgeous blond doing a hand stand split backwards beside of me. I realized none of these girls had fake breast, all were what looked like to be in there 20s, they all had the proper amount of teeth and seemed to have a very good personal trainer. I wanted a t-shirt from this place but they did not have my size, plus the Cuban said per rules I could not get a t-shirt with out a lap dance. Anyway hopefully I will next time.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Hockey and Tennis
To everyone whos been telling me it must be great to have the Penguins and Steelers win championships the same year: Fuck You, i hate the steelers, im not from pennsylvania.
Im am happy though, seeing Fez following the team and getting riled up over this too, thats a first for as long as I've been a fan of hockey. I'd love to talk about the penguins winning the cup and all that kind of stuff but, there is some business to attend to.
namely this:
An ad for ticketmaster abusing sacred language of the Nightowls. They didnt even get the damn wording right. Of all the sporting events there are, does tennis really seem like the one to go big at? aside from the occasional stabbing, the people who go to tennis matches are probably there to catch up on their sleep.
Going Big at the US Open would get you ejected. So fuck ticketmaster, this is the highest degree of false advertising.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
No, you cant have weed
There are much more important things that need to be legalized first.
1.
I want the right to strangle the fuck out of people who absolutely cannot function without someone feeling sorry for them 24 hours a day.
2.
I want the right to throw a coffee mug at the forehead of anyone who, whether they are even included in a conversation or not, is determined to make any topic that can be spoken verbally about themselves.
3.
Being drunk in public hurts nobody but the taxpayers when the arrest is made. being a buzzkilling narc can potentially lead to large quantities of civil unrest. do the math.
4.
I want the right to open-palm-throat-strike anyone who asks me if im doing alright more than once a month.
This list is completely unsatisfying in its briefness, but the rage boiling over is preventing me from thinking straight enough to write anymore at this time.
1.
I want the right to strangle the fuck out of people who absolutely cannot function without someone feeling sorry for them 24 hours a day.
2.
I want the right to throw a coffee mug at the forehead of anyone who, whether they are even included in a conversation or not, is determined to make any topic that can be spoken verbally about themselves.
3.
Being drunk in public hurts nobody but the taxpayers when the arrest is made. being a buzzkilling narc can potentially lead to large quantities of civil unrest. do the math.
4.
I want the right to open-palm-throat-strike anyone who asks me if im doing alright more than once a month.
This list is completely unsatisfying in its briefness, but the rage boiling over is preventing me from thinking straight enough to write anymore at this time.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Shirts?
Whats going on with these? Fez I know that your busy getting Anally violated in Vegas... I need to flaunt the Gunnamatna colors in Afghan when i get shitty drunk on friday.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Vegas
90 minutes in Vegas, a pit boss put her finger in my ass...... Let me rewind.
Before I even left my house, at 11:30 in the morning, i had already had 3 beers. On the drive to Sin City, I finished another 16 which had me showing up in Vegas a little smashed already. Well i decided to play black jack as soon as I got there. The drink people at the Sahara are great for letting you have 2 drinks all the time.
Well the Pit Cougar (yes, the cougar magnetism is at fault for this), was flirting with me, i didn't think anything about it, because i was in a friendly mood. Even after i lost my money, I was still happy because i got plenty more smashed.
Having no more cash to gamble with i went to the in casino convienent store for liquor and snacks. And who happens to show up, the pit cougar (my friend believes she followed me to the store, like an actual wild animal stalking her prey), I had already paid for my stuff and while my friend was paying for beer and cigarettes, she started to get close to me.
Mind you, at this point, I am far from sober. My senses were dulled, so in the wild, i would have been the gazelle with a broken ankle...easy prey.
I offer her a cheeto (yes an actual cheeto, i bought some snacks at the store)....now i don't know what that means in vegas, but in Wyoming, that means would you like a tasty snack.
Well she passed on the cheeto and slid her hand down my pants and credit card swiped my B-hole. Now her finger never actually penetrated the barrier, but i clammed up. Walked out of the store with out saying a word. The terror of a strangers hand giving you a tap tap at your back door is not something i want for anyone.
The best part, is my friend said that he thought she a knife to my back. He said the look on my face was that of pure fear.
After that incident it was a fun two days, I got drunk, vomited at Denny's, passed out shitting at Walgreens, made an ass out of myself at the club, and eventually hit a lucky streak at gambling in Ceaser's Palace. My liver hurts, I feel like a rape victim... Cant' wait till we have a nightowl reunion and go to vegas.
Before I even left my house, at 11:30 in the morning, i had already had 3 beers. On the drive to Sin City, I finished another 16 which had me showing up in Vegas a little smashed already. Well i decided to play black jack as soon as I got there. The drink people at the Sahara are great for letting you have 2 drinks all the time.
Well the Pit Cougar (yes, the cougar magnetism is at fault for this), was flirting with me, i didn't think anything about it, because i was in a friendly mood. Even after i lost my money, I was still happy because i got plenty more smashed.
Having no more cash to gamble with i went to the in casino convienent store for liquor and snacks. And who happens to show up, the pit cougar (my friend believes she followed me to the store, like an actual wild animal stalking her prey), I had already paid for my stuff and while my friend was paying for beer and cigarettes, she started to get close to me.
Mind you, at this point, I am far from sober. My senses were dulled, so in the wild, i would have been the gazelle with a broken ankle...easy prey.
I offer her a cheeto (yes an actual cheeto, i bought some snacks at the store)....now i don't know what that means in vegas, but in Wyoming, that means would you like a tasty snack.
Well she passed on the cheeto and slid her hand down my pants and credit card swiped my B-hole. Now her finger never actually penetrated the barrier, but i clammed up. Walked out of the store with out saying a word. The terror of a strangers hand giving you a tap tap at your back door is not something i want for anyone.
The best part, is my friend said that he thought she a knife to my back. He said the look on my face was that of pure fear.
After that incident it was a fun two days, I got drunk, vomited at Denny's, passed out shitting at Walgreens, made an ass out of myself at the club, and eventually hit a lucky streak at gambling in Ceaser's Palace. My liver hurts, I feel like a rape victim... Cant' wait till we have a nightowl reunion and go to vegas.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Deployment is the mother of invention
Happy mothers day, Deployment, from your son, Invention.
From the same desperate times that brought us the Ripdog, comes two combinations which produce winning formulas for possible go bigdom while separated from a proper fountain of flavaz.
The Seahawk:
Have you ever wondered why the giant refrigerators at the DFAC are stocked to the gills with that shitty ass fruit cocktail nectar? I think i know why. It was done as a favor to an unknown officer who wanted to make sure he never ran out of the shit, so he could mix it with his imported seagrams. thats right. Seagrams is good enough to be consumed all by its lonely, but mixing it with the Infidel Juice (75% Seagrams, 25% Juice" produces a distict flavor likely to surprise an imbibing Nightowl. It somehow is the perfect combination to cancel out the shit flavor parts of the whiskey, while leaving the warm burn that lets you know youre still on the rollercoaster to embarassment. the "Sea" comes from Seagrams, the "Hawk" comes from the surprise attack the flavor brings.
The Fly: Gilbeys' Vodka and Mountain dew. A 50/50 mixture of the two. Remember any time youve ever had a jack and coke, and you could tell how strong it was because you could most definetly choose to examine the volume of either ingredient just by paying attention, something that comes from being able to taste both of them independantly of each other. This one is called The Fly, because in its perfect genesis, creates an entirely new flavor, neither vodka nor mountain dew, and it is definetely acceptable for the territory. If you still dont get what "The Fly" means, go watch the movie of the same name.
Gunnamatna.
From the same desperate times that brought us the Ripdog, comes two combinations which produce winning formulas for possible go bigdom while separated from a proper fountain of flavaz.
The Seahawk:
Have you ever wondered why the giant refrigerators at the DFAC are stocked to the gills with that shitty ass fruit cocktail nectar? I think i know why. It was done as a favor to an unknown officer who wanted to make sure he never ran out of the shit, so he could mix it with his imported seagrams. thats right. Seagrams is good enough to be consumed all by its lonely, but mixing it with the Infidel Juice (75% Seagrams, 25% Juice" produces a distict flavor likely to surprise an imbibing Nightowl. It somehow is the perfect combination to cancel out the shit flavor parts of the whiskey, while leaving the warm burn that lets you know youre still on the rollercoaster to embarassment. the "Sea" comes from Seagrams, the "Hawk" comes from the surprise attack the flavor brings.
The Fly: Gilbeys' Vodka and Mountain dew. A 50/50 mixture of the two. Remember any time youve ever had a jack and coke, and you could tell how strong it was because you could most definetly choose to examine the volume of either ingredient just by paying attention, something that comes from being able to taste both of them independantly of each other. This one is called The Fly, because in its perfect genesis, creates an entirely new flavor, neither vodka nor mountain dew, and it is definetely acceptable for the territory. If you still dont get what "The Fly" means, go watch the movie of the same name.
Gunnamatna.
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