Silly Willy Evades "Locked Up Abroad" TV Crew

There is an elementary school in my neighborhood, owned and operated by the university, which is a clear mind-fuck, to lock kids in our system from ages 3 through 22. Every afternoon the kids are tethered together with rope like some sort of stupid human centipede, and paraded around our block by a bunch of immature 30-something year old bitches on a power trip to re-create their own shitty childhoods.

So I am sitting on my front porch, throwing rocks at these kids, wondering what would happen if I tied a bunch of their teachers together and made them take that walk of shame around the block. I cannot for the life of me, imagine why they would want all of these poor children tethered together. What if one kid walks into the street and gets hit by a car? All the rest of those kids are toast! What if I hit one of those kids in the back of the head with THIS rock? DOMINOES!!! But I digress. Here I am, enjoying a beer, throwing rocks, and a long black limousine with two Nigerian flags on its hood, pulls up in front of my house. I could tell by the sound of the Deadmou5/Mozart mega mix coming from the limo, whoever was inside was rich and down to party. I watch as this guy gets out of the limo:

WHAT A HOMMIE!!! So as you would imagine, I couldn't even contain my capitalism boner when he flipped his limo driver (obviously on an absurd retainer) a bag of buffalo nickels and instructed the man to go buy him a DoubleDown at KFC. As he strolled up the walkway to my house, I began to rack my brain. Who do I still owe money? Have I spoke poorly about the Nigerian IP addresses that frequently visit this site? Where is my Louisville Slugger? Too late, the man, who introduced himself as "Mr. Willus," had breached what I like to call "Mr. Hustle's bubble of security," with a hug and a firm handshake...

...Rewind to early January...

For some reason I decided to reply to one of those classic 419 scams on the gut instinct that not all Nigerians falsely represent themselves as the legal consult of a former billionaire military general who passed away in battle. I mean, give me a break, the late general had to have at least one lawyer, they can't ALL be lying. Call me a betting man, but maybe this was legit! All I did was give him access to the sizable trust fund I bought at Damariscotta Bank & Trust!

...Cut to present day...

Mr. Willus reveals to me that he is indeed who he says to be and that if I can simply authorize the transfer of $10,000 to his account, my funds (estimated at $7.4 million) would be instantly deposited in my trust fund. I took a deep breath and called my accountant. Minutes later, Mr. Willus instructed me to input our secret 4 digit code into his iPad. I looked on, James Bond style, as my account total climbed towards $7.4 million. It is at this point that I realize, FUCK, I AM RICH!!!

The rest of the day was pretty standard. Mr. Willus and I ate Double Downs in "fuck-you-amounts," and talked about what we would do with our new-found wealth. He expressed his predilection for white women, against which I had no argument. The natural progression of the conversation found us at a strip club, making it rain on ho's with the aforementioned stash of buffalo nickels. Alas, the fun had to end somewhere, and as I watched his limo pull away from my house, I couldn't help but wish that "Silly Willy," as I had come to know him, would stay here, stateside, working as my personal lawyer. Unfortunately, someone has to represent all rich people in Nigeria, and it simply wouldn't be fair to take that away from those fine people.

So here's to Silly Willy, and if you ever get an email from an anonymous Nigerian, quit being such a typical close minded American, and send that dude what he is asking for, and maybe, just maybe, you will soon be housing Double Downs and swiping buffalo nickels at Platinum Plus with your new friends.

FUCK OLD MONEY.

DUDE, HEY!.....Thanks for the advice....asshole.

It has been too long.  Too many days have past for me to count back to my last post. Hear now, as best articulated by the ever-so eloquent poet Marshal 'Eminem' Mather's  "I'm Back!"

I would like to extend a big fat FUCK YOU to those who have been inundating me with their invaluable wisdom.  

I realize that the reader may require some history to provide this provocation with some context-  Allow me.

So my life has been taking turns lately that I hadn't previously planned for. It can be a bit overwhelming sometimes, but exciting nonetheless.  Last semester I decided to drop out of school and apply to music school to major in production.  So I did.  However, during the application process I started working. I found that I liked it so much that I bailed on the music plan all-together .  This set a whole new plan for the future in motion.

The commercial real estate business is fantastic.  Innovative architecture, aesthetic appeal, creative solutions, social net-working, opportunistic motivation, asset management, managerial theory, collaborative dynamics,  I mean the list of awesomeness goes on and on.  I get to play around with all of these concepts, and accurately represent myself in such a way that is not necessarily condoned in other occupational facets. Essentially I am only limited by my own rational.  So what is my rational?  What are my limits?  I know that an investment, in a "2012 survival kit" factory should be supported by a well conducted market analysis. Not just approved or disapproved on a gut instinct.  But where does that thought pattern come from? If a plan for this factory was proposed to me, of course I would look at the analysis, but I would consult my gut instinct too.  I can't explain my gut. It's pretty big, it has some unique hair growth.  Is that the best description of my rational? Do other people no the make up of good rational?  A lot of reasoning can be imposed, and proven business models can expire, so what kind of rational keeps budgets in-check and cash flow predictable?  I'm not sure, but everyone else is.

I have found that some how there exists this ENORMOUS population of business savvy laymen.   This underground of potential financial mentors and billionaires has accumulated such a wealth of infinite wisdom that you could fill the Marianas Trench with all the money they could have made.  They can all be related to that kid in high school that could throw a base ball 109 MPH, but went to school for elementary eduction. He could have probably gone pro, but he just wanted to teach 3rd grade cursive.  All these people say they could have gone "pro."  I mean they REALLY use to get the biz.  Just like that kid teaching cursive, they used to walk the walk damn good.  They don't walk it so much anymore, but they now know what they would have done if they kept walking. With utter confidence they speak the language of MAKING MONEY, and they all want to let you in on the secret.

When I tell people about my current situation and job I have to prepare for this super obnoxious chuckle they do.  It's eminent! It's like an allergic reaction where they just start blurting " Oh, I remember when I was young and thought I had it all figured out. Oh man I was on the road to HUGE DICK STATUS, but I made a wrong turn.  Here, let me use this crayon and napkin to make a shitty map for you of where I turned and where I should have turned."  I always hear them out to be polite, and you never know when you'll need a napkin.  I used to listen intently hope to pick up some tiny snippets of goodness, but now I just wait and graciously accept the napkin

So that is where the huge "fuck you" extension spawns from.  If I hear one more "Its all about the right networking", or "It's simple-make sure you identify your target" I'm going to start punching dick holes.  I'm not sure how, but when the subject of business is brought up everyone has developed some simplistic philosophy thats implementation ensures success. It's a god damn plague.  This simplest business model is easy; buy some shit, sell it for more shit.  SHA-BOOM!  Vocalized common sense is not advice- its a perversion of the original function for which words were meant.

Maybe I need to practice tolerance, or maybe I have highlighted a trend in ignorance and can apply for philanthropic funding to stop this infectious disease.  Either way....I give you Blog Bitch 3.



With Love,

Capt. WIn

Fart Blood

The Legendary: A Film About The Roots from Cam Be on Vimeo.

You go Glen Coco!

Because at 1/4 capacity, the Pio drum line goes 4/4. Happy weekend.

Talent Show Saturday

Now I promised myself I would never use the BMT as a vehicle for steeze, and I certainly would not want to cast a shadow over "Explosion's" inevitable post grad sob-fest, but when I saw this video, I nearly quit snowboarding... I mean, whats the point? If some dude named Mr. Sauve (close enough to suave) is going to just front board my face while I am walking down the stairs to the parking lot, I don't even have a chance of making it to the lift.

Throwback

After a two year hiatus the record company fat cats decided it was chill if people made their own music videos and post them on youtube. Well before this one could grow to be Party In the USA HD it was cut short. Let it be resurrected or let it forever sit at the 4 figure mark. Perhaps it's already pasted its tipping point. Well in any case. Let's get drunk.

Woah.

Are you kidding me? Gabourey Sidibe? Pale kid digs deep here, real deep. In case you were like me when you saw this video and said "OK, dude spend the better part of 6 months writing and rehearsing this." No, no my friend, scope these credentials:

-Featured on Season 6 of "Russel Simmons Presents Def Poetry' (HBO)
-2006 Youth Speaks Grand Slam Poetry (Champion)
-2006 Brave New Voices International Poetry Slam (Champion)
-6 consecutive Youth Speaks Grand Slam Finals (record)

So basically he's exactly like Busta Rhymes, but you probably wont see him assaulting his fans... As long as he doesn't go using that cat as a weapon...

Creepy Child

Perhaps the weirdest thing you will see today. Enjoy!

Rendezvous

A college buddy of mine sat down with me the other night and bought me a beer. He was also drinking a beer. We were in a bar. We sat at the bar together and my long tongue lapped up the delicious brew. I peed  only once. My college buddy went twice. I drank I think three beers total. He drank five beers. I told him that it was a really fun evening and he agreed. At one point during the night a girl came over and asked if we had change for the Buck Hunter machine. I said "No, I don't have any change. Please ask somebody else." I don't know why, but that really got to me. I don't like how girls think it's just ok to come up and ask for things, like guys know all the tricks. I mean come on lady, I'm just one man!!! It got sufficiently awkward after that. After the drinks, we went to Subway for some six inch subs. I had a coupon, which made my sandwich very inexpensive. It was good to save money on that day. The man who made the sandwich asked me what kind of drink I wanted. I told him, "You know sodas are really bad for people. I think I'll just have water." So he said, "Bottle or tap?" I said, "I'll take a tall glass of New York's finest." My college buddy let out a hearty chuckle. But the cashier from Kashmir rolled his eyes. I sat down at the table and broke spoons. It probably cost Subway around 65 cents. I was pretty cross. My day ended when my college buddy paid me $700 to go down on his girlfriend while he watched "How I Met Your Mother" That last part wasn't true. But I can dream. I do dream.

Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

On occasion, I come across things that make me wonder if I remembered to update the stock of vintage porno-mags in my bomb shelter. The mere thought of these things makes me want to wrap myself in tin foil, settle my debts at the Clearwater Casino and pre-set my fantasy roster through the rest of the season. And if I didn't already know my shit from "I am Legend," I would have already traded my roommates dog for a pallet of chicken flavored ramen and a garbage bag full of astronaut ice cream. Unfortunately I am going to need that dog, Luke, to fight off hipsters, Four Loko addicts, homeless ex venture capitalists and overachieving foreign exchange students. My friends, the apocalypse is upon us:

Hipsters:

How many hipsters does it take to play a game of Monopoly? One to use the money for origami, one to turn Park Place into a Salvation Army and another to quit the game, call all of his friends, turn the whole scene into a fixed-gear fuck-fest and use the thimble as a condom. However, it only takes one hipster to tip me off to the approaching apocalypse. The other day I was crossing the street to my favorite burrito place when I was verbally assaulted by a grade-A doucher. Naturally, he was on a fixed-gear bike and he was PISSED. Specifically pissed at me. He looked directly into my eyes as he rocketed by and said, "DID YOU LOSE YOUR CAR KEYS ASSHOLE?" I took this to mean that he was implying I had lost my car keys, was forced to walk and hated my life because of it. Let me make it insanely clear that I was on foot, less than a block from my house and enjoying the autumn vibe. Was he tipped off to my disdain for environmental responsibility by my lack of style? Was it the fact that I didn't complement him on the painfully average Peter Bjorn and John song I could hear coming from his authentic Walkman? Hey asshole, I did not lose my car keys, they just aren't attached to my belt loop, unlike the rest of you horn-rimmed dick wads! Listen people, unless you want v-necks to become the new business casual, "hide ya kids, hide ya wife."

Four Loko:

Dig deep. Think. What happened last time you drank at least one of these? If your answer is anything less consequential than waking up in a front lawn, on a roof, in a pool, in jail or in South East Asia, congratulations, your name is probably John A. Belushi and you should check into rehab right away. If any of those post Loko symptoms apply to you, here is why:

• Developed by 3 Ohio State Alumni
• 660 calories
• Ingredients: Caffeine, Taurine, Guarana, and Wormwood
• 12% ABV
• $2.50 MSRP

Wormwood sound familiar? Think absinthe. Four Loko is not an alcoholic beverage, it is a liver seeking missile. To give you an idea of what a person who has drank more than one Four Lokos is capable of, I once watched a kid take off all of his clothes, jump off of a two story house, land on the sidewalk and roll into the street where he was promptly picked up by the cops. The police assumed he was on PCP. Now I know what you're saying, "come on bro, this stuff tastes like candy and gets her pants off faster than Season 2 of the OC!" Listen, I get it. How about you take that two dollars and fifty cents, distribute it among your friends and that sloppy grizzly bear across the bar and tell them: "you're welcome." Your friends will thank you and that grizzly bear wont turn into the smoke show that Four Loko promised you.

The Economy:

This picture is a pop up ad that many of you may have seen over the last year or so. What? Pop ups don't piss you off? How about a pop up featuring two passed out kids from Delaware gettin' gay and makin' $571/day? Is this supposed to be our plan for beating the recession? I guarantee that this would not exist if the economy wasn't so shitty. Some clever asshole knew that people were desperate for quick cash and boom, the company was born, and you can't blame the dude. I mean come on, in this economy? The best part is that the same asshole that started this business is probably the only one making 600 bucks a day. Thank god I've already stocked my bomb shelter with post apocalyptic currency because this problem is not going away any time soon. You might not be dumb enough to click on it, but you sure as shit know that your broke, Four Loko crazed, hipster roommate is ready to experiment with his sexuality.

Foreign Exchange Students:

Please understand that I applaud these guys for coming over here to take it to the limit and see just how far they can push me. I don't have an issue with going abroad to school, in fact, I'm for it. However, when the girl in front of me is rocking Facebook in some foreign language and pretending to be interested in whats going on while somehow pulling in a 4.0, I lose my shit. Hey, I could just as easily go to school in South America, play the "lo siento, no hablo español" card all day long, and probably bring home a couple 4.0's myself, but thats just not how it should work. Honestly, I am afraid, because before we know it, everyone and their mother will have an engineering degree from Carnegie Mellon and we will be asking ourselves why we let so many foreigners into American schools. Not saying they have got to go, but I've already got a full college curriculum that I downloaded from Napster loaded up on the computer for those long days in the bomb shelter. Just don't come asking to "travel abroad" to my underground sanctuary for classes, because its not happening.

How far off is the apocalypse? It's hard to say, because of the relative unpredictability of the aforementioned threats. However, If anyone wants to get serious, I'll be kicking it Desmond style, in the "hatch" I built underneath the part of my backyard that the dog shits in. Consider yourselves warned.