This may be the last time I post in Boosh Clown for a long time. I come to you from Mazatlan, Mexico. It´s fucking hot here. The only thing sweating more than me is my water bottle which has accumulated a nice little puddle on the computer desk. I just got into Mazatlan after a 24 hour bus ride from Mexicali. It was the longest bus ride I have ever taken and I will never do it again. For most of it I sat next to a guy that smelled like old cabbage whom I could barely understand. He was going to Durango, which is 8 or so hours from Mazatlan. This guy takes a 32 hour bus by choice. Says he prefers it. Something about how he enjoys stoppping for tacos. We must have stopped for tacos at least 73 times. Crazy fuckers. This morning at 7:30 I ate two tacos that appeared to be boiled chicken, and a half liter of Coke. I don't even like Coke. Anyway I made it, and in two or so days should be in Mexico City, where the air is sweet and the sewers are even sweeter. I got sick a few days ago, I think from some tacos I ate on the street in Tijuana. Tijuana was interesting. I saw several white horses that had black stripes that I think were sharpied on to look like zebras. I got asked if I wanted to go to a "Titty Bar" about every 3.4 seconds.
Anyway, hope you all are rippin' it. Shout out to Jenny Newman, who's birthday it is and who can definitely appreciate the Al Pastor shananigans experienced earlier. Damn, doo. Shit doo. Rippin' it.
- Boosh Clown
Song of the Day: Me being a douche bag and not owning an MP3 player and therefore having to suffer through the desert in northern mexico without even being able to blast "We like to Party" by the Venga Boys.
p.s. I promise I'm not turning into a hippie. I hate hippies. I just put on deodorant.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Devil is a Fairy
I met the anti-Christ two nights ago. She sidled up out of nowhere to take a seat on a bench near where Dan and I were playing ping-pong. She sat in the corner and drew her legs up into her chest, her black-clad figure blending into the shadow cast by the wall which accented her dead pale skin and bright-red lipstick. After making eye contact with Dan she asked him to bum a cigarette, and then began to talk wistfully about a drug called "DMT."
"It’s like when you’re born," she started, "and you enter the world through a black tube- it's the same as what happens when you die. Anyway, 'DMT' makes you feel like that. You should try it."
I left to go to the bathroom and consider her suggestion. When I came back she had somehow roped Dan into sitting right next to her, and was still thoughtfully meandering through her explanations of the supposed wonder drug. I listened to her, speechless for several moments, and before I could contain myself sputtered, "Wait, are you on this drug right now?"
She paused for a moment and then responded in a melancholy tone, "…fuck youuu."
I quickly tried to explained: "No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I’m not trying to be a dick." This seemed to satisfy her and we quickly changed the subject.
It turns out the all black-clad mystery girls’ name was Korin. To picture Korin, take the weirdest girl you could ever imagine meeting and multiply that by a thousand. Now you’re ready to meet her. After I questioned her sobriety she suggested we play a game where we divulged scandalous details about our lives. Korin started and said, "When I was 17 I won a poetry award."
I considered her first play and thought to myself, "Weak, this girl is just a lame hippie-goth."
But then things took a slight turn for the weird.
"I once knew a woman named Cricket who killed a man," she chirped.
"How," we both asked.
"She burned him."
We paused to consider whether or not Korin being completely insane might cause her to fabricate such a story but did not challenge it.
Then Korin told us she liked frat boys, an interesting development. Apparently one time she was at a goth bar and everyone was "really cliquey and rude," but then she went to a frat bar and everyone was really "open-minded and cool*." This immediately caused me great indignation. "I thought you were going to say that you realized frat boys and goth guys were exactly the same," I said, " i.e.**, really cliquey and close-minded, because that would be an astute and valid observation, because frat boys are not open minded." But apparently they are. At least to Korin
By round three of the game we were struggling for material. It was Dan's turn so he said, "After the bar tonight I have to go clean a church," but before the words were even out of his mouth Korin had countered. She had a maniacal glint in her eye and was smiling like Joker from Batman. "One time," she said, "I took shrooms and got arrested by the police for being naked on Roosevelt Way except for a pair of fairy wings." Alright Korin...
Now it was my turn again. I scanned my memory bank for times when I had taken illicit drugs and dressed up like a mythical creature but drew a disappointing blank. Clearly, Korin was a tough opponent. Aside from people that have recently escaped from mental wards, I can’t think of too many that could compete with her.
Then the game started to die down when Korin said, "When I'm 35 I want to move to Spain and live there until I die."
"Why don't you move there now and do us all a favor, you fucking lunatic," I thought to myself.
She spoke with a weird accent that seemed to me indicative of a mind riddled by years of heavy drug abuse. She was from Greenwood (about 8 miles north of Seattle), so Dan suggested maybe it was just a "Greenwood Drawl," and to be fair who knows what lurked beneath Korin's hippie-goth exterior that would influence her speech patterns.
We smoked some cigarettes and talked some more. Korin wanted to keep playing the game all night, but Dan and I were tired of hearing stories about fairy wings and women named "Cricket" who burned people alive. I think she could sense our waning enthusiasm because she very promptly sat up and said, "I'm going to go." Without much adieu she headed for the door and just like that Korin was out of our lives.
We marveled at the conversation we had just had with a girl who's brain seemed to be cruising steadily at an altitude of 35,000 feet while her body hung out on a bench and smoked cigarettes at "Teddy's" on 65th. It was certainly an interesting evening. Have fun in Spain, Korin.
-Boosh Clown
Like of the day: Havarti
Hate of the day: The Fountain
Song of the day: Flow Natural by Tito "El Bambino" featuring Beenie Man
*The actual reason she liked frat boys was somewhat disturbing. Apparently one of her friends had gotten a frat boy drunk one time and "fucked him in the ass." The logistics of this were not clear but certainly led to speculation and cringing. "So," said Korin, "I want to get a frat boy drunk and fuck him in the ass."
** I didn’t actually say "i.e." out-loud.
"It’s like when you’re born," she started, "and you enter the world through a black tube- it's the same as what happens when you die. Anyway, 'DMT' makes you feel like that. You should try it."
I left to go to the bathroom and consider her suggestion. When I came back she had somehow roped Dan into sitting right next to her, and was still thoughtfully meandering through her explanations of the supposed wonder drug. I listened to her, speechless for several moments, and before I could contain myself sputtered, "Wait, are you on this drug right now?"
She paused for a moment and then responded in a melancholy tone, "…fuck youuu."
I quickly tried to explained: "No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I’m not trying to be a dick." This seemed to satisfy her and we quickly changed the subject.
It turns out the all black-clad mystery girls’ name was Korin. To picture Korin, take the weirdest girl you could ever imagine meeting and multiply that by a thousand. Now you’re ready to meet her. After I questioned her sobriety she suggested we play a game where we divulged scandalous details about our lives. Korin started and said, "When I was 17 I won a poetry award."
I considered her first play and thought to myself, "Weak, this girl is just a lame hippie-goth."
But then things took a slight turn for the weird.
"I once knew a woman named Cricket who killed a man," she chirped.
"How," we both asked.
"She burned him."
We paused to consider whether or not Korin being completely insane might cause her to fabricate such a story but did not challenge it.
Then Korin told us she liked frat boys, an interesting development. Apparently one time she was at a goth bar and everyone was "really cliquey and rude," but then she went to a frat bar and everyone was really "open-minded and cool*." This immediately caused me great indignation. "I thought you were going to say that you realized frat boys and goth guys were exactly the same," I said, " i.e.**, really cliquey and close-minded, because that would be an astute and valid observation, because frat boys are not open minded." But apparently they are. At least to Korin
By round three of the game we were struggling for material. It was Dan's turn so he said, "After the bar tonight I have to go clean a church," but before the words were even out of his mouth Korin had countered. She had a maniacal glint in her eye and was smiling like Joker from Batman. "One time," she said, "I took shrooms and got arrested by the police for being naked on Roosevelt Way except for a pair of fairy wings." Alright Korin...
Now it was my turn again. I scanned my memory bank for times when I had taken illicit drugs and dressed up like a mythical creature but drew a disappointing blank. Clearly, Korin was a tough opponent. Aside from people that have recently escaped from mental wards, I can’t think of too many that could compete with her.
Then the game started to die down when Korin said, "When I'm 35 I want to move to Spain and live there until I die."
"Why don't you move there now and do us all a favor, you fucking lunatic," I thought to myself.
She spoke with a weird accent that seemed to me indicative of a mind riddled by years of heavy drug abuse. She was from Greenwood (about 8 miles north of Seattle), so Dan suggested maybe it was just a "Greenwood Drawl," and to be fair who knows what lurked beneath Korin's hippie-goth exterior that would influence her speech patterns.
We smoked some cigarettes and talked some more. Korin wanted to keep playing the game all night, but Dan and I were tired of hearing stories about fairy wings and women named "Cricket" who burned people alive. I think she could sense our waning enthusiasm because she very promptly sat up and said, "I'm going to go." Without much adieu she headed for the door and just like that Korin was out of our lives.
We marveled at the conversation we had just had with a girl who's brain seemed to be cruising steadily at an altitude of 35,000 feet while her body hung out on a bench and smoked cigarettes at "Teddy's" on 65th. It was certainly an interesting evening. Have fun in Spain, Korin.
-Boosh Clown
Like of the day: Havarti
Hate of the day: The Fountain
Song of the day: Flow Natural by Tito "El Bambino" featuring Beenie Man
*The actual reason she liked frat boys was somewhat disturbing. Apparently one of her friends had gotten a frat boy drunk one time and "fucked him in the ass." The logistics of this were not clear but certainly led to speculation and cringing. "So," said Korin, "I want to get a frat boy drunk and fuck him in the ass."
** I didn’t actually say "i.e." out-loud.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Rare grizzly-polar bear hybrid attack claims the lives of 20 in Powell River, BC
"They're not so different from us," people chuckle. "After all, we're just separated by an imaginary line that was created by politicians. I mean, maybe they shot-gun beers a bit more than us and could more easily dodge a grizzly bear attack while walking to the grocery store, but really, they're not that different from us." But here's the thing I've discovered: they are.
Over the last week I have learned that Canadians are latently responsible for the war in Iraq, poverty in Bangladesh, and the destruction of thousands of acres of rainforest in the Amazon. And, while the reasons are seemingly innocuous, one probes a little deeper and discovers the root of all evil: hell has indeed frozen over and Satan's right-hand man is Paul Martin.
For example, did you know that Canadians will NEVER say "Take a shower." It is always, "Have a shower." They look at you innocently and ask, "Are you going to have a shower?"
"Yes," I then respond, "One day I am going to have a shower. First, however, I hope to own a home. But in that home I hope to have a shower. For now, though, I am slightly more concerned with my personal cleanliness than I am with potential mortgage payments. Therefore, I am going to take a shower." Jerks.
Ok, so maybe I am blowing this a little out of proportion. Maybe. Probably not, but maybe. Canadians DO say some funny shit, though (at least in my mind. p.s. right now I am watching Laguna Beach at Jenny's house and it is awesome. Rocky is pissed/hella bummed. She just said, "I don't think I can cry anymore." Oh, Rocky, I'm here if you need a shoulder to lean on). Anyway back to funny shit Canadians say. They almost always say "washroom" instead of "bathroom." Instead of saying "7th grade, 8th grade, etc. they always say "grade 7, grade 8." They have NO concept of the freshman/sophomore/junior/senior system. They call fifths of liquor "two-sixes" or "twixers," and a pint of alcohol is a called a "mickey." I know that these details seem rather miniscule, but I have a great time noticing them. They always make me laugh, and we should at least be open to the possibility that they have been the catalyst of all major world conflict (people have explained the Vietnam war with myriad reasons, but no one has ever considered the fact that Canadians pronounce the letter "z" "zed" instead of "zee" as a reason. I'm not saying this minute cultural difference helped the Viet Cong to better organize its attacks, but stranger things have happened.)
All things aside, I have had a pretty decent time since I've been here in Powell River, BC. And by decent I mean that this place is fucking great. On the second night I shotgunned 4 beers with a guy named Pat and then went to a rad dive bar which happened to be the most popular place in town to watch the dad of Spencer, the guy who's house we were partying at, play covers of hit rock songs in his band "High Strung." They headlined the bar as it's only act for the entire weekend. The place was packed and I was severely intoxicated. At one point I headed back towards the smoking room to look for Jenny and saw her with the biggest, happiest grin I have ever seen, surrounded by hordes of young Canadian revelers looking similarily jovial. Canada is great.
Then last Saturday we went to a placed called Savary Island. It is considered the "tropics of Canada" (which would kind of be like calling Flagstaff the "Antarctica" of Arizona). Hundreds of young Canadians lined the beach playing soccer and making sand castles. Some appeared to be beer-bonging out of a gasoline funnel. I saw at least 4 hockey players with maple leaf tattoos, and learned that the girls that have sex with said hockey players are affectionately deemed, "puck-fucks." I want to be a puck-fuck. Then I saw tons of blood-red jellyfish that looked ready to murder unsuspecting swimmers, and picked up a live crab from the water after chasing it around for 15 minutes and shrieking like a 4 year old girl everytime it waved its pinchers at me. To top off the afternoon we took a water-taxi back to the main land. While waiting for the water taxi I watched a little boy that couldn't have been more than 4 years old jump off the 15 foot high dock we were sitting on into the water. His nickname was "Mac Dawg," and he certainly lived up to his gangster name by jumping off something that in feet was more than three times his age.
BC has been great, and I don't know when I'm coming home. But don't worry, I haven't forgotten 'bout 'merca. Jenny got me a Budweiser shirt that is screaming to be worn. For now though, rip it!
-Boosh Clown
p.s. Skeeter Jack's Outback Shack says, "Just gitter dun."
Song of the Day: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off by Joe Nichols
Over the last week I have learned that Canadians are latently responsible for the war in Iraq, poverty in Bangladesh, and the destruction of thousands of acres of rainforest in the Amazon. And, while the reasons are seemingly innocuous, one probes a little deeper and discovers the root of all evil: hell has indeed frozen over and Satan's right-hand man is Paul Martin.
For example, did you know that Canadians will NEVER say "Take a shower." It is always, "Have a shower." They look at you innocently and ask, "Are you going to have a shower?"
"Yes," I then respond, "One day I am going to have a shower. First, however, I hope to own a home. But in that home I hope to have a shower. For now, though, I am slightly more concerned with my personal cleanliness than I am with potential mortgage payments. Therefore, I am going to take a shower." Jerks.
Ok, so maybe I am blowing this a little out of proportion. Maybe. Probably not, but maybe. Canadians DO say some funny shit, though (at least in my mind. p.s. right now I am watching Laguna Beach at Jenny's house and it is awesome. Rocky is pissed/hella bummed. She just said, "I don't think I can cry anymore." Oh, Rocky, I'm here if you need a shoulder to lean on). Anyway back to funny shit Canadians say. They almost always say "washroom" instead of "bathroom." Instead of saying "7th grade, 8th grade, etc. they always say "grade 7, grade 8." They have NO concept of the freshman/sophomore/junior/senior system. They call fifths of liquor "two-sixes" or "twixers," and a pint of alcohol is a called a "mickey." I know that these details seem rather miniscule, but I have a great time noticing them. They always make me laugh, and we should at least be open to the possibility that they have been the catalyst of all major world conflict (people have explained the Vietnam war with myriad reasons, but no one has ever considered the fact that Canadians pronounce the letter "z" "zed" instead of "zee" as a reason. I'm not saying this minute cultural difference helped the Viet Cong to better organize its attacks, but stranger things have happened.)
All things aside, I have had a pretty decent time since I've been here in Powell River, BC. And by decent I mean that this place is fucking great. On the second night I shotgunned 4 beers with a guy named Pat and then went to a rad dive bar which happened to be the most popular place in town to watch the dad of Spencer, the guy who's house we were partying at, play covers of hit rock songs in his band "High Strung." They headlined the bar as it's only act for the entire weekend. The place was packed and I was severely intoxicated. At one point I headed back towards the smoking room to look for Jenny and saw her with the biggest, happiest grin I have ever seen, surrounded by hordes of young Canadian revelers looking similarily jovial. Canada is great.
Then last Saturday we went to a placed called Savary Island. It is considered the "tropics of Canada" (which would kind of be like calling Flagstaff the "Antarctica" of Arizona). Hundreds of young Canadians lined the beach playing soccer and making sand castles. Some appeared to be beer-bonging out of a gasoline funnel. I saw at least 4 hockey players with maple leaf tattoos, and learned that the girls that have sex with said hockey players are affectionately deemed, "puck-fucks." I want to be a puck-fuck. Then I saw tons of blood-red jellyfish that looked ready to murder unsuspecting swimmers, and picked up a live crab from the water after chasing it around for 15 minutes and shrieking like a 4 year old girl everytime it waved its pinchers at me. To top off the afternoon we took a water-taxi back to the main land. While waiting for the water taxi I watched a little boy that couldn't have been more than 4 years old jump off the 15 foot high dock we were sitting on into the water. His nickname was "Mac Dawg," and he certainly lived up to his gangster name by jumping off something that in feet was more than three times his age.
BC has been great, and I don't know when I'm coming home. But don't worry, I haven't forgotten 'bout 'merca. Jenny got me a Budweiser shirt that is screaming to be worn. For now though, rip it!
-Boosh Clown
p.s. Skeeter Jack's Outback Shack says, "Just gitter dun."
Song of the Day: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off by Joe Nichols
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