I don’t know man, fuck is on your biscuit?

When I was a kid, I was always sticking up for the underdog.  I don’t know why, that was just my deal.  I’ve always been outspoken and, as “the pastor’s daughter” at a small private school, I had influence. People just didn’t mess with me. Or if they did, my ADD caused me to be too spacey to notice the mockers, so their bullshit was wasted on my dumb ass.  I was often totally checked out, daydreaming…staring into space.  And since my parents treated me like a normal kid, I didn’t quite develop all the bullshit baggage that pastor’s kids are known for.  So, whenever someone was getting picked on by others, I’d get all up in the bully’s shit. I learned early that it doesn’t take much for me to get people to do what I want. Privilege aside, that was just my reality, and I was aware of it.

Today, I want to explain some aspects of bullying. Because what I learned was that bullies BRING OUT the bully in me.  And in all honesty, I don’t LIKE how that feels. I don’t like BECOMING the bully. It feels shitty to me. And once I’m in the mode, I want to DEFEAT the bully. And I’ll stop at nothing to defeat. I become what I hate.  Isn’t that how bullies are developed in the first place?

In everyday life, I don’t find myself encountering bullies in person very often.  I think there have been three or four people in the past ten years of my life where I remember thinking “this person is a bully, and they are making me want to bully”, so I very intentionally separated myself from them. Otherwise I’d just sink to their level. I’d make sure that I could do what I could to help the underdog but, at the end of the day, those people will always be bullies. I can’t change that. Especially by treating them in a way that probably turned them into that in the first place. I’m sure they were bullied as kids or whatever, by their parents or someone else, and they have this chip on their shoulder. I can’t fix that chip. I have some empathy, but I also have sought out counseling to help me change the parts of me that are hurtful to myself and others. If you aren’t doing that…. now is the time to man the fuck up.

Every once in a while…. I am made to feel like shit by a man.  It doesn’t happen to me as often as it might happen to other women… I often don’t give a shit about what people think anyway, and I surround myself by good men.  And don’t get me wrong—women can be extremely hurtful to one another. So I’m not trying to be a man-hating femi-nazi here.  But when it happens—when a man says something that leaves me feeling like trash simply because I have a beautiful ‘gine—I get Really. Fucking. Pissed.

Today I am done. I am fed up with people with penises who think that women live and breathe for men.  I am so over that.  I have learned that there is a certain population of men who literally think this. They think when I get dressed and do my hair and my makeup and put on cute clothes, that I am doing it to get THEIR attention.  The fucking audacity of this is mind-blowing to me.  I cannot imagine walking around this earth presuming that people are acting in such a way to get my attention—simply because I am a penis-bearing human. (If that were the case, which it is not. Mama has the lovely labias).

I was recently reminded of how fucking mental this makes me— a really cute picture was taken of a beautiful girl and posted on Facebook. There was nothing weird or inappropriate about the picture, she just happened to look crazy fucking hot, as per the usual.  And it inspired a couple of male friends to say something about it. And it wasn’t “hey girl, you look great, have fun, you’re awesome.”  The comments were more along the lines of “why are you dressed like that?” and how she clearly wants attention so why can’t they say whatever they want about it…. Bla bla bla. It saddens me that this even happens.  A girl is left feeling so diminished by the comments about her looks, that she decides it may be better to hide. To not show her beauty. To not shine…

I am infuriated. I apparently have friends that are bullies.  And I CAN’T FUCKING STAND THIS.

I am here today, friends, colleagues… to offer up some wisdom for you. And YES it is wisdom so listen real close. Because after this, bullies get deleted from my life.

She dressed that way because I asked her to. BECAUSE SHE LOOKED AMAZING in that outfit. So she did. She wore the outfit I liked. Now, ultimately I don’t really care what she wears.  But she had a few options of clothes that fit her style, and I told her which one I liked the best.  Lesson you should take away from this: NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU THINK. That night was all about us. Not you.

The second thing goes a little deeper for me.  The idea that you can say whatever the fuck you want because someone, in your mind, is INVITING it.  And this, ladies and gents, is part of the root philosophy of what has become known as “rape culture”.  There is an inherent disrespect for women at the core of this way of thinking.  Because, at the end of the day, if someone is “asking you” to treat them poorly… with less value than they really actually have as a person… so you’re going to do that shit???  And in this particular circumstance, how is looking nice for a night out with your girlfriends perceived as being asked to be treated poorly again?

What if we went ahead and reversed things.  I mean… a moderately chubby guy who goes out dressed “nerdy”, wearing Airwalks from Wal-Mart or some shit like that MUST be just ASKING to get rude and degrading comments, right? Otherwise he’d obviously work out, eat well, and get a fashion consultant.  At MINIMUM…. Shop at Target.  He clearly wants to be treated like shit. Duh…  It’s like this guy in a wheelchair who vandalized a church for loving gay people. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE.

So I will leave you with this:

  1. I’m sorry someone treated you poorly or disrespected you in life, inspiring you to do the same to others. That sucks for you and it sucks for the people around you.
  2. Deal with your shit, and start being a better person.
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Gunning, and other useful prison terms.

Not too long ago Relevant Magazine published an article called “Is Masturbation Sin?”  by Jesse Eubanks. My first thought was, “your face is a sin.” But then my second thought, the more mature one (which is always second or possibly third in the lineup), was “maybe I should read this bullshit.” So I did.  And so did Sugardaddy, who had some interesting insights. (Thank you, my sexy little homersexual).  We will share these with you here.  The article is from a man’s point of view. He didn’t seem to elicit the perspectives of a woman when espousing his ideas, so I will do that for him here. I’m not going to be one of those people who stands around and complains that someone else didn’t do something helpful. No one likes those people.

The main issue Sugardaddy took with the article was that “disconnectedness” was being blamed on stroking the salami.  And as a man and woman who have been married for ten years and have experienced the gamut of “marital issues”, we can attest with the strength of a thousand suns that arm wrestling the one-armed champ is NOT the culprit for disconnection between us. Not even close.  I can expand on that at a later, more drunken, date.  And then on top of that, a female’s perspective on masturbation was no where to be found.  Here women are still struggling after FOREVER to understand their bodies, their sexuality, their needs and desires… much of this achieved through the exploration that is masturbation, and this goes straight up ignored during his belittling of the act.  That and– Sugardaddy just likes to watch me masturbate, so Eubanks can just go suck a cock.  With that being said…

In prison, masturbation goes by the term “gunning”. Therefore, in order to accurately relate to you as the prison bitch that you are, I will henceforth refer to it as gunning for the remainder of our time together here on this blog. Maybe by reading it, the chances of your gunning session being interrupted by a large greasy 55 year old white biker inserting his super-nast rod in your brown star… will increase.

What I don’t think people understand is that… gunning is one of the keys to world peace.  If everyone would just take a moment and partake in a little anal play while applying a vibrator to sensitive areas, mass conflicts would be resolved!  Babies would be reunited with mothers, mothers would stop getting acid thrown on their faces, chemical weaponry would cease to be used against your friend and neighbor.  It’s when dictators or mothers begin using butter or the blood of Jews as lube that we need to stop and say to ourselves “maybe something is wrong here.”

45387908714429798_7DvJ8hS6_fIn the article Eubanks states, “When we attempt to find fulfillment outside of God’s design, we may find temporary enjoyment, but ultimately it leads to pain, disconnection and death. It’s like donuts. They are delicious and when I eat them, a smile emerges from ear to ear. But they do not bring a lasting fulfillment and when my life is littered with donuts, it ultimately leads to pain, disconnection, death and husky jeans.” What I can gather from this is that 1) Eubanks has never actually gunned (or maybe he did it wrong?); and 2) is under the (false) impression that he can do a better job of flicking the bean than a woman can. Does he even know what a bean is, when I use that term? Tell us Eubanks, are you a master of the clitoris, so much so that you and your crusty donut must be the only one who touches it, and no one else?! PPBBFFFFTT! Holy shit, that’s funny to me.

He goes on to ask, “How can a spouse in the real world ever compete with the on-demand response of our fantasies that masturbation encourages? …In real life, people don’t want to have sex at the drop of a hat all of the time. People have emotional and spiritual needs that often must be met before they are ready for physical intimacy. There are no issues of love and forgiveness and struggle in the world of fantasy. There is no deep connection.”  I don’t know, maybe he never gets turned down by his wife. Let me tell you when Sugardaddy gets rejected: when the baby is crying, when I haven’t slept in days because the baby won’t sleep, when the 4 year-old won’t stay in her bed, when I have morning mouth, when I’m bleeding heavily, when I’m on a business trip, when I’m bloated, when either of us is sick sick, when one of our kids is in the hospital for months on end, when we’re stressed…. oh wait that’s potentially a lot.  Far be it for me to deny him a little cum in the bucket when I just don’t feel like giving it up.  And I’ll be damned if I’m seen as some sex slave who has to pleasure my man every time he gets a little wood. Which is a lot. Fuck that shit. If he wants to lead Pedro down the road of bulimia, he has my blessing.

Cracka rap needs more ass.

The Food & Wine Hedonist recently asked me to write a music piece for his blog.  GO READ THAT SHIT. It’s about the white parent raps that go viral and annoy the shit out of everyone. BOOM!

CLICK HERE for some food and wine hedonism, sprinkled with commentary from yours truly about how people should eat shit.

Pimpin’ ain’t dead cuz I be the lifeline.

Well it looks like someone found this blog by googling “Troi getting fucked”. I’m glad you all are paying attention to the blatant sexuality within Star Trek: Next Generation that I find just downright offensive.

You know, I had thought about writing something prior to the election, but I really just didn’t have the time for you sexy crackas. But now… now I do. And the amount of bullshit being spewed in your direction by the media has likely been cut in half which, like your vagina, leaves a nice wide margin for MY bullshit. You’re welcome, little grasshoppers.

It strikes me as funny that we as Americans are so keenly aware of our consumer culture, full with disgust by the Christmas shopping tramplings for $3 coffee makers and tickle-me-elmos, yet have a striking lack of self-awareness when it comes to our consumerism when it comes to politics. We’re the SAME MUTHAFUCKAS, people! The average person who falls for the marketing gimmick on Monday is the same person who votes on Tuesday. And we fall for the same bullshit. Like “Republicans hate women” and “Democrats hate babies”. Now, at the end of the day, it’s clear that certain political parties don’t seem to understand real economics, or actual structural racism (or solutions thereto, respectively), but this isn’t exactly what I’m talking about.

It’s clear to me that American political figures (and more so Presidential figures) act as the face of a brand. Each political party is trying to sell you something. It’s similar to the Bud Light commercial showing you a hot girl in a bikini drinking low-calorie beer. If you drink our beer, you will look like her, feel like her, have what she has. And we all know that’s a bunch of bullshit. But we still behave as though it’s true. So these political figures tell us some bullshit about what they will help us become as a nation. How we will be, what we will feel. Are you picking up what I’m laying down? They make you believe that they will make you richer, that the other will make you poorer, that they respect you, that the other wants to control you or love you and leave you.  That they will fix your family and strengthen all families for generations to come, while the other hates you and wants to destroy your freedom to love.

There are seeds of truth in all lies. That’s why they are so goddamn convincing.  I would like to challenge you to be smarter than this. Have some goddamn self-awareness.  Now that the election is over, maybe you will hear me… American politics is a marketing game just like any other.  Can you see through it?

There seems to be a fear of non-“Christian” elements coming into positions of power and influence in our country. As though the “Christian” elements have been so amazingly positive.  May I, for an instant, question this root assumption? We’ve got a fucking hot new senator from Hawaii that is Hindu, and a sweet mature honey from Hawaii that just won the senate seat, being the first Buddhist U.S. Senator.  That’s hot.  “I certainly believe in the precepts of Buddhism and that of tolerance of other religions and integrity and honesty,” she said when she first joined Congress (Huff Post Religion).  Wait wait wait…  Isn’t this what America was founded on??? Freedom of Religion??? Freedom from the European stronghold on what we believe and how we live that out??? God Bless America. Now we have strong, faithful Americans leading us… “us”… The diverse and varied people groups that stand on a thousand different traditions that fortify our identities and sense of self and family and community… ready and willing to dream and build a strong country that is built from the grassroots up. It spans the political and ethnic/racial spectrum. Please, be willing to look across the political and ethnic/racial aisles in America, and see someone who wants something as simple and pure as you do, and is willing to do their small part.

I am a Christian. I am a political moderate. I am a cynic. I am a feminist. I hate abortion. I am a rebel. I am an economist that understands the black market. And I am a marketer. Which means I understand the game, and I’m willing to play it. But my idea of winning may not be something that makes you very comfortable. And I don’t expect you to pander to my ideas so that we can be friends. That would be expecting bullshit, correct?

Even Albinos have lubrication needs.

I decided I needed to go to Planned Parenthood to get different birth control.

The reason being, my old birth control had left me with spotting- random bleeding because God hates me. On three separate occasions I have left a fucking crime scene after a slutty yet fulfilling hook up. The first time I left a decent sized blood pool on the bed (my bad), the second time there was a smaller blood pool, and the last time there was a fucking abortion of blood everywhere. Whoops. Funny thing is, only the last time was because of the birth control. The first two times it was because it was right before I was supposed to get my period and that little “jabbing” was all I needed to open the flood gates. Should I write these guys thank you notes for the timely piercing of my cervix?

This particular Planned Parenthood is located in the “bad” part of town (“bad” because there are poor people there, and nobody likes poor people) on the corner of a very small strip mall. I had been there once before a few days prior without incident, but today was different. The windows are still all covered up so as to deter any neighoborhood poor people or republicans from looking inside to glare judgingly at the ladies patiently waiting for their routine womb cleansing.  How are we supposed to abort the deaf kids named Hunter that are causing conflicts with gun control policies in pre-schools… if we can’t safely get an abortion?

However, as I walked up on this particular day, the door swings open and I am standing face to face with a large and manly female “security guard”. That’s new. Taken by surprise I step back and consider running the fuck outta there but I’m paralyzed by her butch haircut. She finally breaks up the awkward eye-fuck fest and asks me for identification before letting me in through the door.

ME: “Is everything okay? I was here last week and I don’t remember there being a ‘security guard’ (inside giggle) here asking for i.d.”

BUTCH: “Oh, yeah everything’s fine. This is just something we do to make sure it stays that way. We started doing this about a month ago.”

Now that is bullshit because I think I would remember seeing a rent-a-cop guarding the door as under aged penis cushions walk out with their little brown baggies of birth control and condoms, hanging their heads in shame while assholes wave signs in their faces saying “God hates your vagina! What is a vagina, anyways? B-T-Dubs, can I see your vagina? No seriously, I really want to get laid tonight. Don’t worry, we can abort the unwanted child with the VIP program where you can sneak in the back of the clinic for an extra $400, so we can wrecklessly screw while also maintaining our Pro-Life values.”  Anyway, I decide not to pick a fight with Butch McButch-a-lot today as there are pressing matters at hand. I need to be able to get my fuck on without the fear of babies growing in my mother-hole. I sit down and wait to be called.

MEANWHILE, another bitch is walking up to the door and Butch jumps to her feet to greet this bitch with “can I see some i.d.?” like we’re in some exclusive high class lounge-VIPs only. Well, holy shit.  I should have trusted Butch’s butch instincts. This ain’t no ordinary bitch. This an ALBINO bitch. Wearing grey sweat pants with elastic on the ankles and the legs pushed up cinching her “cegs” (calf legs, where does one end and the other begin? No one knows). Her long flowing white hair pulled up into a rat’s nest of a pony and I’m pretty sure there was an acid wash jean jacket in there somewhere. Planned Parenthood etiquette dictates you do not stare at your fellow jump down/jumpdick, so I cannot recall many of the important details of her physical appearance. For instance, I do not know if she was a true albino (or would it be the feminine “albina”?) with reddish purple eyes. But I digress. The point is, the crazy bitch would NOT stop talking about lube!

She starts asking the receptionist about the security guard and the i.d. requirements, like “when did you start doing this” and “I don’t remember having to do this before”. Basically the same shit I was thinking but kept to myself because I’m not albino and I fucking know better. The receptionist is answering her questions like “we’ve always done this” and “no, we haven’t changed our procedures” et al. But Albina can’t let that shit go and keeps questioning the receptionist like “are you sure?” and accuses her of neo-fascist associations (who knew albinos know about neo-fascism, but whatev). Now, as this whole circle jerk of bullshit is going on in front of me I am sitting there with my eyes down (never make eye contact with albinos, this is just fact) trying hard not to take pictures, laugh until I pee my pants and/or beat the everliving shit out of some bitches. Then… the conversation takes a turn for the worse.

The Albina wants lube with her complimentary bag of condoms. Not just lube, EXTRA lube. But alas, the receptionist explains they are no longer receiving free shipments of lube, therefore they are no longer available as freebies. Oh. Shit. Albina is not having that. How dare we expect her to BUY lube. “Can you contact them and see if they will send another shipment? Or maybe see if another company will send some?” …Albina helpfully suggests. I am fucking speechless. Bitch is asking receptionist to ask various companies for free shipments of lube so she doesn’t have to pay the $5-6 for some lube. But wait, there’s more. Then she goes on and on about her lube preferences. She likes the jelly kind cause it’s not as messy, she likes warming lube because it makes her clit melt, etc. etc… Mind you this whole exchange is being played out in front of a waiting room of at least 5 other people, not a private exam room. It is clear she is quite disheartened about the lack of lube in her gift bag but, when the receptionist tells her there are still condoms in the bag, Albina wants to know if they are the female kind.

Receptionist: “Umm, no… just the regular kind.”

Albina: “Oh.”

This post was inspired by the true stories from four different sources. Thank you for your vulnerability and sacrifice as I serve to educate Amerrrrrica.

What would you say to Ralston?

Today, I have something very special for you dirty crackas.  A regular of Milk & Honey ~ Geeks & Gangstas who goes by the moniker “Doodoomamajuju” has a sweet lullaby bedtime story for you. It’s Friday, and we want you all to start your weekend feeling warm and cozy inside, yet refreshed and intellectually stimulated. I think this contribution by Doodoomamajuju herself directly achieves these things.  Kisses! And enjoy.

Hi Doodoomamajuju*.

Bigfoot may have an upset stomach. He was trying to poop while our four were outside and it looked like he was having a hard time.

-Ralston*

Let me set up this scenario for you… I was getting out of work at noon and wanted to spend the day sitting in my back yard drinking heavily and doing some general plotting (revenge, murder, kidnap, etc). I decided that a day full of “plotting” required a nap, but this realization was shat upon by the incessant yapping of my neighbor’s 4 small dogs (yes, FOUR). If that wasn’t enough, my neighbor (the male of a weird unfortunate looking couple) sent me the message above on facebook. Now, mind you, I had not been able to take the nap I needed and was beyond livid at this point. So livid, in fact, that I was in my kitchen sharpening my knife collection and cleaning my gun(s) (at the same time, yep– that’s talent) preparing for the sheltie genocide that was quickly approaching. Let me also add that this is not the first time my Dahmer-esque neighbor exhibited an unhealthy infatuation with my dog. In the past, he has taken pictures of my dog in my backyard without my consent and gone as far as knocking on my door to let me know my dog “wanted to come inside” the house. So, that just adds to the utter creepiness of this whole situation… as you can imagine.

On a side note, I made a joke about having a stroke to my wonky-eyed neighbor and she informed me that she had just suffered a stroke a month earlier. Awkward.

Anyway, I had not seen this message until well after I had begun piecing together death threats using letters from old magazines and drops of my blood when my husband BEGGED me to restrain myself and resist the urge to respond in any way to the message. Fuck that. I love a good sheltie genocide and I love piecing together death threats using letters from old magazines, but I love my husband more than I’d love the look on my wonky-eyed neighbor’s face when she finds me standing in her backyard surrounded by the limp lifeless corpses of her “children”.

That being said, I know what you are thinking: “what the fuck is this guy doing with FOUR (4) muthafucking shelties? Why the fuck is he WATCHING a dog take a shit?” and “what the fuck is up with her wonky eye?” These are great questions and ones that I have asked myself countless times before this point, but there remains the pressing question of: “How do I respond?”

Here are a few ideas I’ve come up with:

-Taking a shit on his front porch along with a letter telling him my dog is “feeling a lot better now”

-Killing all four dogs and leaving their heads in the neighbor’s mailbox

-Calling the newspaper and reporting him for watching my dog defecate while masturbating in the presence of children (that didn’t happen but you can just imagine what would have transpired had I not stepped in)

-Reporting him for “animal hoarding” to the local authorities

-Slipping brochures on treating lazy eyes under his door in the middle of the night

-Calling in an anonymous tip about a man raping dogs in the neighborhood (I shit you not, there is a story about a man raping a dog…and it was caught on tape!)

Thank you, Doodoomamajuju, for sharing your awkward predicament with us. I believe our audience can help. I for one would have taken advantage of your neighbor’s inordinate love for dogs, and asked him to personally administer an enima on the dog. He clearly cares. I think he would have done it.

How would you all respond??  Perhaps you can think up some things during your weekend binge-drinking sessions.

*The name of the individual has been changed to protect their identity.

What happens at RiversEdgeMusicFestival stays at RiversEdgeMusicFestival (and on the internet…forever).

Fuckin’ awesome weekend with my sister-in-law (known in blog-land as doodoomamajuju, or “Ju” for short) at the Rivers Edge Music Festival in St. Paul, Minnesota. First off, let it be said that she’s one badass sexy muthafucka. Ju, that is. And she was one of maybe six non-whities at the festival. Making her the sacrificial lamb of the Asian community of the greater Midwest. On more than one occasion I thought to myself, “White people at concerts. What the fuck?”  What is it with white people not wearing shoes at concerts? That’s so fuckin’ nast. The array of white shame thrust in my face was incalculable. Dear guy with the t-shirt with cutoff sleeves that said “it ain’t gonna lick itself”, we all know you have never seen a vagina. And you likely never will.

I also got to meet Satan this weekend. He’s no where near as intimidating as I expected him to be. He really just wanted to enjoy the Flaming Lips. Who put on a DAMN GOOD show, by the way. Even Satan was pleased. Look how he’s been inspired to share his water with his neighbor. That’s downright Christ-like.

May I be so bold as to offer up some fashion advice for all you sexy crackas that frequent summer concerts and music festivals? Please stop wearing fucking fedoras. That shit is not cool. The ONLY person in the land of the free that should EVER wear a fedora is THIS guy. No one else. Please stop wearing them.  Also, the only–and I mean the ONLY–person who can wear boat shoes and not look like a total douchebag is Sugardaddy. And that’s because he’s a serious geek and doesn’t try to be lookin’ all “boss” in fuckin boat shoes. Hooker please. Best t-shirt award goes to this guy, wearing the Vanilla Ice t-shirt. Well done, sir, for also not looking like a pretentious asshole at today’s show. You are one of the few, and you did well. With your “I don’t give a shit” attitude–if you act swiftly and strategically– you may just see a vagina at some point in your lifetime.  You know who else might get to see a vagina one day? This dude with the faux-hawk and amazing mustache, who was so kind as to have his picture taken with Ju. He stood mext to us the night before at the Tool concert, and his mustache was like a bright star in a sea of fashion darkness. Especially when a dirty little shirtless white dude with “dreads” pushed up behind me and started getting all up on my shit. We will call him Edgar, because he had a tramp stamp on his back that literally said “Edgar”. Either that’s his name and he tattooed it there so that the nameless stranger who would bend him over that night would know what name to call out, or that’s the name of the person who owns him, and has branded his name where he can see it when he’s making him his little bitch. Either way, to me, the bitch who yelled at him, he will forever be Edgar. Another little piece of advice… if you are at a Puscifer concert, leave your flowery parasol at home. Just a suggestion.

Also, may I wax a little bit on the whole VIP deal? Now, I understand that you have to pay a LOT more to be a VIP. So, unless you get something substantial out of that deal (which in this case you did not), you will only look like a huge fuckface by standing in the VIP cage… directly next to everyone else… as we roam freely on the less than crowded concert grounds.  I’m not kidding, you look like fucking tools.  So, it could not have been for any other reason than to punish you by drawing attention to this douchery, that this woman decided to hula hoop like a damned fairy in the middle of the VIP cage.  Oh, and 19-year-old girl sitting forlornly like a scorn hipster against the inside of the VIP cage wall, smoking a cigarette like fuckin’ Johnny Depp, I’m sorry that your parents decided to cut you off and force you to grow up and pay for your own shit like the rest of society… like VIP tickets to this music festival. Here, let me buy your poor entitled ass a beer. Oh wait, you’re 19. That’s not legal. Here, here’s a double-shot-no-fat-vanilla-latte. No whip. (*get a job*).

Ooooooooooooh wait a minute….!!! So THAT’S why you would buy VIP tickets to sit in that pathetic little cage. To stay away from THESE guys. The goth emo muthafuckas who love to feel the depth of emotion from the music, the trees, the earth, the sky, and from each other’s rarely washed bodies. HOURS later, we walked past them laying on their blanket, legs intertwined and arms around each other, listening to Flaming Lips. I’m sure they are still there, three days later. Because these guys would do some dramatic shit like that.

Douchebag Award goes to this guy with the ankle tattoo, wearing a polo from Abercrombie or American Eagle or some shit like that, sitting alone on a blanket he brought from his mommy’s house, smoking a cigar with his one little douchey knee up in the air. You, my love… I want to destroy you.

A very special “Thank you”  goes to Steve, the frizzy red-haired corn-rowed hippie from Minot, North Dakota, for sharing the Mike’s Hard Lemonade on a hot summer night, thereby keeping Ju nicely sloshed during the Tool show while she watched the love of her life Maynard James Keenan serenade her. Also, special thanks to the two large dudes (aka “Johnny Knoxville” and “Bouncer”) who cleared a path toward the front for us ladies at the Puscifer show.  You really deserve a little boobie flash from us, but you’re not going to get it. Thank you for your grace and sacrifice.