beware the wrath of /b/ 4chan/b/ versus @flyguyparsons


Screen shot taken from the twitter account of Aaron Jacob Parsons

Its been an interesting day in Cyberspace.  A perfect storm of sorts has come together and unleashed her fury on  krashthrills.wordpress.com in the form of thousands and thousands of views of an article I wrote regarding Aaron Jacob Fosters yesterday.  As of 7:01 p.m. tonight I have had 6,938 people from 11 countries visit my website and read what I wrote. There 3,583 clicks of links that I provided that contain more information/corroboration of the crimes that are proven alleged by what I have written, all of which originated on the /b/ forum on 4chan.org.  I want to take this opportunity to give props to the guys and girls who reside at /b/.  They might be a little warped but collectively they hold a great deal of power in their fingertips.  It was awesome to be a witness to this power as it unfolded.  Awesome as in I was awestruck and still am.  Certainly it is not a good idea to get on the bad side of a group that has this kind of power at its disposal.  Even worse to do it when they are bored and frothing at the bit for something to do.

It seems a bit of a foregone conclusion that the consequences are going to be severe and swift for the individuals responsible for the degrading beat down and robbery of the still unnamed victim in this case.  I feel absolutely no sympathy for the perpetrators.  I don’t give a shit what they have to say about it or what their excuse is or if they even remember what they were doing because of intoxication levels , temporary amnesia etc.  I really hope that prison is the end result for Aaron Jacob Parsons and everyone else involved, especially that annoying drunk bitch wearing her black panties parading around the street like she was some glamour queen.  Fuck her.  (man she STILL pisses me off)

The haters calling me racist can all suck it to be honest.  I am not even going to bother addressing that accusation.  It’s not true and my life and anything I’ve ever written in the past will attest to that FACT.  So, hate on haters.

I got a call from a reporter named Justin from the Baltimore Sun.  We talked for quite a few minutes about the origin of this situation, 4chan’s /b/ forum and more.  His view, stated to me anyhow, was that this is an instance of the internet being used for good and he was quick to show his admiration for the detective work done by the /b/ forum lurkers.  I agree wholeheartedly with this sentiment.  Choosing to fight against the “forces that /b/ is the ultimate example of the idiot who brings a knife to a gun fight”.

Have a good night everyone……Anthony Mandich

ImageADDENDUM: I replied to an email from the reporter I mentioned.  Here is what I had to say.  And I quote:

hey justin it was good talking to you.  i’m sending you this stuff before i even blog it so i must think you’re cool.  just don’t get me killed lol.

 
here is a quote from me if you want
 
“aaron jacob parsons is a wanted man”….post after post on /b/ repeated those words. it was late i was annoyed.  the arrogance shown by @flyguyparsons and @CASHton-Kutcher by posting the video of themselves proudly separating a man from his dignity really angered me.  they acted like it was so funny and so cool.
 
to beat down a guy like that, seemingly with impunity when: 
 
(A) he didn’t deserve it  and 
(B) couldn’t do anything about it but bleed and sit there bewildered, humiliated and alone and 
(C) further add to his pain by taking everything of value in his possession, stripping him naked, and letting some ugly drunk annoying bitch slap him open palmed across his face while he’s on his back  just didn’t sit well with me.
 
and the poor guy took it like a champ.  he didn’t defend himself (which was probably smart in this instance because this was a bear that you had to play dead against for sure.  so yeah he didn’t defend himself but he also didn’t bring further dishonor to himself by crying, pissing or moaning.  
 
two things resonated strongly with me.
 
1. the images of parsons mugging for the camera before the humiliation began and then creeping up and start digging through the guys pockets like it was a big joke.  i really hated that.
2.  that ugly chick wearing her panties with her big old ass all drunk grinding on the guy before it all started and then when he was down on his back she’s there standing behind his head and starts slapping in his face HARD and he can’t even see where these blows are coming from because she is standing behind his head.  that was particularly cowardly and thinking about it right now gets my blood boiling.  
 
you asked me what was different about this video as opposed to the many other millions of videos that are out there on the internet.  I am going to answer that with a post i did on some girls from a sorority at bowling green who were tragically killed in a car accident a few weeks ago.  my answer is obvious.
 

Current Events or 15 Ways to Love your Leaver


Kony 2012 is a video I have decided that I don’t have any desire to see.  I don’t know why I don’t know what Kony 12 can kiss my butt.  Sorry I just woke up after a pretty long period of rest on the couch at Heather Batchelder’s house in beautiful, picturesque Tustin, California.

I’m  not too sure how the Encyclopedia Dramatica does it. Their entries all have hundreds of links to all sorts of interesting and exciting content.  I can’t imagine how fucking long it takes them to write each of their posts.  Kudos to them.  Although I can’t claim to know a quarter of the shit about the internet that they do and therefore I am often lost trying to keep up with what they are talking about, starting with any one of their entries is a good fucking way to get fucking lost in internet hell for a day.  Or longer.  The internet, the real internet, wow….it’s truly a scary place full of hidden gems and content galore and if you don’t have control over yourself (and I don’t) then you can easily find yourself losing whole chunks of time basically doing nothing except filling your head up with knowledge, theories, half assed suppositions, biased reporting on demented and seldom heard of topics, gore and death with a sprinkling of funny, feel good shit but mostly a lot of sex and death to be honest. Okay, so I’m reading the paragraph I just typed out and imagining all of the different psycho locations I could take you guys on just by linking to the words I’ve written and it comes over me that I have quite a bit of power in these attractive hands of mine.  If you have read this far then that means I’ve got you on the hook and really its up to me  not you where that hook can take you.  Do you want to go to heaven or hell? Would you rather get the hell part over with while you are on this mostly hellish planet or do you want to forego all the suffering and experience divinity firsthand while still alive?  Good question you say.  Or maybe you don’t who really gives a fuck?  I don’t because I know that I don’t even have one true fan of my rambling writing.  Nope there isn’t even one person out there that can honestly say that they can’t wait for my next post, or that they have read everything I have ever written.  Nobody could pass even a simple trivia test based on the many posts that have preceded this one.  I don’t even think I could.  After all, I was higher then a kite for the majority of the posts on this website and I have never really had the time to go back through and read over every single one of them.  I’m not a professional blogger.  I don’t get paid jack shit for writing this.  I can’t even tell you why I bother writing this (we’re back again to NOBODY GIVES A RAT’S ASS) blog.  I know its not fresh or hip or cool. I know I sound like a fool and a tool and most of you wish I would drown in a pool or fall off my stool.  Lame.  All of it.  Lame.  The same.  Shame.  Fame is something I will never get.  Yet I seek it.  Couldn’t even tell you why but I assume the answer begins with the buzzword Narcissism.  Okay listen I’m sorry for sounding so stupid in this paragraph. I’m going to stop with the stupid now and tell you guys a good story .  So if you’ve somehow risen above (whatever that means) and made it to this point of this story then you are in luck because you are about to get a true story from the archives of my life.

WHY YOU SO GAY TONY


i just asked batchelder to give me a quote to name my blog post for the day and the best she could come up with is “why you so gay tony”.  whatever.  it works for me.  so i haven’t been blogging lately even though i have been up to so much no good it’s insane but i haven’t even been close to a computer except to do work for my boss tom.  so much shit has been going down i feel lucky to be alive and in one piece.  drugs complete scandalous sexual liaisons with so many girls all of them crazy hustler chicks who work over dudes on a regular basis but have met their match with me who works over chicks on a regular basis so we all sort of even each other out.  i can’t even give you all the names of the chicks because some of them are wanted by the law.  this one girl who i have really been seeing quite a lot of is super hot as fuck and really smart but really gangsta as hell and way into really bad drugs.  Met her at a casino in the inland empire.  She is the only one that I have been with more then twice. i also have met two chicks from hemet at the same casino and had sex with one and just cuddled with the other one.  Again not naming names cuz these chicks are sorta like skinhead chicks and they run with a bunch of crazy white power dudes.  I’ve met like three of the dudes and they seem cool and all but there is always that element of danger around them and actually around the girls as well.  I met a half Mexican half white gang banger chick at the same casino and we had a pretty insane adventure that involved me skateboarding at like 4:30 in the morning to the casino gas station to put five bucks gas in this chicks car so her and her three homies could make it home to Beaumont or banning or Yucaipa I’m not sure which one but definitely one of those three.  Anyways I have no record for any kind of drug related offenses and I’m not on parole or probation so I still presumably have my 4th amendment rights which on this night came in pretty handy.  I was bombing this rad little hill that leads directly into the gas station showing off for this sexy little mama whose name I will say which is heather.  Truly the only reason I was doing this was because for some unknown reason the gas station although physically open was literally closed for ten minutes according to the clerk.  So while we waited I skated.  Makes sense to me.  Well this one cop who had said hi to me like ten hours before while he was patrolling through the casino garage parking lot in his black and white followed me down the hill on my third attempt as I was skating over to this heather chick sitting in the car we were putting gas in.  long story short the cop said he was surprised to see someone skating at this time of the morning which I didn’t give a shit about what he was saying because I wasn’t holding anything illegal and like I said I still have my rights.  I was totally unconcerned even when he asked me if he could peek at my drivers license.  I gladly gave it to him but I noticed out of the corner of my eye that heather was cringing and looking pretty unhappy.  Turns out she had been busted for drugs and a bunch of other shit in 2007 and had been to prison and stuff and so she had search terms which basically for all you laymen means that the cops can tear up all your shit looking for contraband without having any reason whatsoever except that they want to.  This cop was totally cool with me and with heather actually.  But even though they didn’t even search me and basically relegated me to the sidelines where I skated for the next hour, they definitely searched heather and the car she was driving which wasn’t hers.  They found a bunch of checkbooks in the car that one of the homies had come across somehow I have no idea about any of that part of the story since I had just met this chick and we were just flirting and shit in the casino.  Anyways it was Christmas eve so they eventually let her go but it was pretty close to her being hauled off to jail.  Just goes to show you that its pretty important to keep a clean record if you can because it helps when dealing with law enforcement officials.  I never got to stick my dick in that heather chick I think she was  a little jaded about my skating being responsible for her getting hassled by the man but fuck it she is one of many.  And in fact a couple of days after Christmas I met this other heather chick at another casino this time in palm springs and I won’t even tell you the details of what happened but put it this way I met her at 7 pm and I was sticking my cock in her by 8:30 pm and that is no lie and she was a hot little bitch in fact I stuck it in her again on the day after new years so there you go.  Well this is just a little tiny smidgen of an update on whats going on with Anthony mandich hero to the degenerates.  Oh yeah one more thing props to this website I started checking out last night called the dreamin demon.  They have stories of so many fucking assholes who hurt kill destroy and spread their evil around indiscriminately every single day that it makes me feel a lot better about myself.  Man, people are really fucked up motherfuckers.

Someone literally took a shit on the floor in the High Limit bathroom at San Manuel Casino.


Quite a catchy title.  

Completely true title.  I walked into the aforementioned bathroom Saturday night during UFC 139  and was immediately hit with the stench of rotten beer, beans, cabbage, dirt and moldy velveeta.  In such a confined space, with no windows, and the smell of  Shit with a capital S pervading my nostrils, I had no choice but to piss on the floor in a form of silent protest.  It’s one thing to take my money and not give a rat’s ass about it.  

Subjecting me to the smell of a deranged gambler’s ass after he has gone day after day with nothing but a steady diet of Bud Light, cow shit and San Manuel’s special chili cheesedick dogs is a whore of a whole nother color.  I was not surprised to see an actual shit log sitting about 7 inches to the left of the toilet bowl after I caught wind of the stench that preceded it let me tell you.  That was nasty as hell.  I’ve been noticing all kinds of nasty little things angry gamblers do to reap small helpings of revenge from San Manuel Casino.  Especially San Manuel Casino.  

Many times I’ve seen the toilet itself along with the toilet paper the walls and floor but not the bowl become the resting place for gallon after gallon of drunk angry stinky yellow urine.  A week ago, someone had a bloody something in the same high limit bathroom and must have just stood there bleeding for thirty minutes or so it seemed based on the 2 foot wide puddle of blood I encountered when I walked in to have a moment of respite from the demoralizing, continuously degrading losing streak  that San Manuel has me blindly staggering my way through.  Many times I’ve seen people, mostly guys, intentionally miss the ash tray side of the trash cans.  Instead they opt to throw the lit cigarette inside the trash can hoping it will start a small, smoky fire.

The spittle drenched stogies these derelicto extremus types suck down often find their way, still lit, to the horse hair carpet that covers much of the gulag style  interior of  San Manuel’s Great Hall of Gambling downstairs.  Those times which come quite often on weekends, are a treat for the senses, and a bit of good fun I definitely have partaken in myself.  I’ve seen many examples of drinks such as cranberry juice, ash laden orange juice and beer flavored coffee being deftly and secretly poured into the silver tray under most slot machines or into the slot machine itself, on the rug, into the sand that is supposed to extinguish the cigarettes and pretty much everywhere but in peoples fat camel toed bellies or the trash can.  

Razor blades smuggled in via wives visiting their gambler convict husbands account for many shredded kevlar covered chairs at San Manuel and it does my heart good to see signs of overt and malicious damage like that.  Those chairs are nearly impossible to slice through (or so I’ve been told ha ha ha) and you really have to appreciate the effort that it takes to covertly damage them without being witnessed by the utterly useless, fat ass, piece of shit, rent a cop donkey assholes, otherwise known as Public Safety Officers that patrol the highways and byways of their domain, vigilantly searching for scofflaws and sleeping gamblers.  

Its fun to fuck with the fat ass guards there let me tell you.  I especially love it when they ask you to show them i.d. and you tell them to fuck off and you walk away and out of the casino and they can’t do a single fucking thing about it except mutter incomprehensible threats about how they better not see you again in the next 24 hours or “they” will arrest you.  That’s a laugh you think to yourself as you continue to walk completely untouched out to your car and drive away.  “if they could have arrested me they would have arrested me but since they are rent a cop, police academy rejects,  all bark and absolutely no bite for anyone with a clue about the 4th amendment, they can’t arrest me now or ever”.  

The foregoing rant is not meant in any way to  convey that the losers like myself who frequent shit hole money burning places like San Manuel and lose their cool to the point of vandalizing the place, are causing the casino anything but a very slight annoyance, and in fact are doing more to harm themselves then to actually hurt the casino in any way.  San Manuel always wins.  But still, Fuck San Manuel, may they roast in hell!!!

Here are some very honest reviews of San Manuel Casino for you to enjoy:

http://www.pocketfives.com/f7/morongo-73893/

http://www.yelp.com/biz/san-manuel-indian-bingo-and-casino-highland#hrid:mS21XuBNx5NRkBHbBGzEhA

here is a picture of an ass i want to eat for days.  i bring it to you in order to break up a little of the vile trash truth that is unfortunately, san manuel casino, the worst casino in the entire world.

http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g32494-d280957-r3696143-San_Manuel_Indian_Bingo_Casino-Highland_California.html

https://krashthrills.wordpress.com/2011/01/13/fuck-me-running/

http://www.casinosca.com/reviews/SanManuel.htm

Here’s a very nice review of San Manuel Casino’s accomodations:

http://www.tripadvisor.com.sg/ShowUserReviews-g32494-d1226669-r117742322-Hampton_Inn_Suites_Highland_Ca_San_Manuel_Village-Highland_California.html

How about a little love for San Manuel’s Ampitheatre, the happiest place on earth?

http://www.yelp.com/biz/glen-helen-blockbuster-pavilion-san-bernardino

This is a really scintillating review of San Manuel Casino:

http://www.videocasinoreview.com/reviews/results.aspx?linlid=238&type=reviews

What I’m really getting at here people is you should stay the fuck away from San Manuel.  All of their games suck bad.  They steal your money.  Straight up.  Its not slander, its purely fact.  Their slot machines are fucking tighter than a gnat’s ass, the waitresses are sea hags from hell, the security guards are fucking neanderthals, the place stinks, the parking structure is like a maze to get out of, the drink service is so abysmal, you might as well stay at home.  If you do go there though, be sure to remember that you have rights and tell them all to suck it hard.

 

a FEW OTHER rANDOM AND uNRELATED THOUGHTS IF yoU CARE TO CONTINUE REaDING.  tHANKS

I was never that into you anyway.  That’s what I tell myself on rainy days in November when you pop into my mind for a fleeting second or two.  

Your money or your life.  Your money and your life.  Your money is your life.  You have no life.  You have no money.  

Gordon Klerks,  Marie Doe, Heather Batchelder, Heather McGovern, J**y R***a…..five people who helped me out today in important ways.  

UFC 139…witnessed inside the buffet hall at San Manuel Casino…was a bargain at only $1,000 USD. Let me say this…anyone betting on Cung Le to defeat Wanderlai Silva was a fool.  I had a deep sense going into that fight that Cung Le, with all of his magnificent striking ability, was going to have his hands full with the intensity of the Silva’s onslaught.  I was correct.  The Muay Thai Clinch that led to Silva’s knee repeatedly smashing Le’s nose was painful to witness even via DirectTV.  I remember a different Silva inflicting the same kind of punishment on Rich Franklin, whose nose ended up pretty much the same way.  

You know, actually, looking back at Rich Franklin’s nose now it doesn’t seem half as bad as it did back then and really nowhere as bad as Cung Le’s smashed piece of crap that used to be a nose looked after he got done getting raped by Wanderlai Silva last night.   Does it really matter though?  I mean really,  I would be literally killed were I to step into the ring with any of those guys so please Mr. Le and Mr. Franklin, believe me I’m only speaking relatively when I’m saying you guys got your asses beat.  You are both still bad ass mother fuckers for sure okay.

***Disclaimer***

Today has been an exercise in patience along with the sheer overwhelming feeling that comes along with self imposed abject poverty due to morbid compulsive gambling, anger management issues, sleep deprivation, forced humility, squandered opportunities and deep regret regarding self control issues and poor decision making.  

 This picture has nothing to do with San Manuel.  But it should:  

People Who Died: Charles


Karma Police have pulled me over it seems.  I’m hoping I don’t get arrested by these guys because I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take to be honest.  The universe seems to be against me or maybe I am just against success.  Do I owe this life to mediocrity?  I stand in my own way.  I do.  I do.  I really fucking do.  There is a sick part of my heart that jumps all over any impulsive idea that springs into my mind and I’m seemingly too stubborn to stop it.  How many times have I relied on the goodness of strangers to get my ass out of a sling?  So many it boggles the mind.  Blessed and cursed was I…good looks and charm….I rely on both of them way too much.  This rut I’m in just keeps digging itself deeper and deeper.

When does the digging stop and the burying begin?

Scared to find that out to be honest.  The enormity of the task that lies in front of me should I desire to continue battling just seems overwhelming.  All systems are failing lets not mince words.  Is my core still intact or is it rotten and poisoned?  I can’t tell anymore.

Cerebral thinker, polluted well, the water smells off, have I been living in hell?

Surrounded by demons or are they just ghosts? Calling to me.  Beckoning me closer…Closer to what?

That’s the scary part.  Half of me already knows the answer to that and it spells only darkness and a reunion I’m not anxious to have.  I don’t want to be a name on the list of People Who Died, as much as I love them, I don’t want to see them anytime soon.

Yet…even now I hear faded whispers, see smiles in the dark, hear chuckles and scraping,  the moon is so full tonight, translucent light from an unnatural source the sickly green phosphorent beakers of decadence.

Calling to me from  the ancient past, promising details to questions and mysteries I didn’t ask and had no idea remained unsolved.

Regicide, the killing of a king, regicides, the killings of kings…

Who slipped him the poison with a smile on his face and teeth in his heart?  Who whispered my name to the wolves that run the action wherever I journey?

What kind of insect bit Charle’s killer, infected him with madness, forced him to pull the trigger?  You see that’s where it all started for me I believe.  The slow whirlpool spinning me around and around, unable to climb out unable to drown just spinning and spinning….faster and faster.  It all started with Charles McEldowney, Bo Kai Di, Chuck,

Vietnamese….American….Devil….Angel….dead.  For sure he is dead.

It’s been 5 years and 9 months since Chuck was shot by a young and angry Vietnamese kid.  5 y 9 m since the kid knocked on Charlie’s door.  It was in August of 2005. Charles lived real close to Dodger’s Stadium.  I wonder if the Dodgers were home that evening?  Or was the stadium as empty as the soul of the kid who put the gun up to Chuckie’s chest when he opened the door.  Pulled the trigger.  Walked away.  Somebody took Charles to the Emergency Room.  I don’t know what hospital he died at.  I don’t even know how to properly spell his American name or Vietnamese name.  I just know that my life hasn’t been the same since I got the call on the third floor of the Stellar Bar in Melboune, Australia from Heather Batchelder.

Charles drowned on his own blood.  That’s what I’ve been told.  I’m going to let you see this letter that I wrote to the world when I could find time to console myself back then.  From what I understand a printout of this letter was included with Charles when they put him in the oven that incinerated his flesh.  A copy of this letter is intermingled with his ashes and spread everywhere and nowhere.  Charles drowned in his own blood.

Who was there to see him off?  This was an unplanned journey to eternity.  When did his thoughts shift from whatever nonsensical things he was doing 5 minutes before the doorbell rang to “oh my god I am dead god please jesus please oh my god I  can’t breathe help me “.  His eyes must have been frantic.  Or maybe he was just that badass that he accepted it and floated away.

Come to think of it…a lot of things would be easier if I knew what happened to Charles.  I would like to see everything from 5 minutes to door bell ringing to where he is now.  If anywhere.  I’d like to know if he can still have thoughts in his mind.  Where did he end up?  Or is he just gone, not even rotting because of the cremation but just gone as if he never existed?

For at least 6 months after he died, somebody paid his mobile phone bill so his answering machine was still working.  I used to call that number from Australia all the time just to hear his voice.  It would rip me apart but I did it so many times.  I wonder who else used to call and leave messages for Charlie.   Did he ever get them?

I wrote this back in 05 when I was part owner of a bar in Melbourne, Australia.  Got some bad news from Heather Batchelder and Mike Barnes about my very good friend Charles.

—————– Original Message —————–
From: HOt sex and Greed
Date: Aug 11, 2005 1:14 PM

Aug 9, 2005 12:29 AM
Subject: The Legend of Bo Di Kai——–I am Fucking Shattered
Body: Honestly in all my life experiences I have never been as distraught, emotionally wrecked, torn to pieces, sad, angry, and overall just a mess as I was and AM STILL over the stupid senseless killing of my friend and companion and kindred brother Charles McEldowney on the Second of August, 2005 in LA.

Some fucking jackass who obviously can’t handle their drug intake of ice tripped the fuck out of his head and had some delusion of Charlie doing something threatening somehow someway and actually killed my friend Charles.

I have suffered through many fucked up things in my wonderful life to date. None has affected me quite as much as this. I live in Australia now and I can’t fucking even go home to the funeral. It’s so fucked.

If you never met Charles your life is not as fulfilled as it should be let me just tell you that. He was a great personality and the most funny, generous, twisted and delightfully evil man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I know that I will never meet another like him.

If you only knew how many nights in the last twelve years that Charles and I have seen the sunrise together, talking shit, philosophizing, tinkering, drawing, partying, driving, planning, laughing, eating and just being brothers it would boggle the mind.

Fuck yah we were on drugs. Hooray for that. After Charles moved from OC to LA, I got a job at Ticketmaster in LA and was working down on Wilshire Blvd right there in Chinatown. And he lived there off of 8th Street and Grammercy. Literally 5 minutes walk from my work. I used to go over there at lunch and Charles would rescue me from the hellish hangover I would be enduring, with some hits of that dirty pretty ice pipe and we would have the best times. I don’t give a fuck if you think its lame. Drugs or any of it to tell you the truth. It was real and it was never the same and the adventures in LA with Chuck were legendary.

When I moved to downtown LBC with my Australian chick Ella, me and her used to go to Charles mobile house about three nights a week and pick up shit like maybe a half gram or something. It would always be like at 4 in the morning seriously and I would be covered in paint from whatever masterpiece I was working at the time and it was just so NOT THE SAME as the millions and billions of sheep living in California.

Charles sold drugs. Yah for Charles. I trusted him more than I have ever trusted anyone in my life. Implicitly. You know what that word means? Implicitly. Well I don’t know the exact dictionary meaning either but it’s a word that comes to mind when I think of Charles and trust. Like as in, it goes without saying. The dude had my back, any time any place. When I had money I gave him money. When I had none, he took none. It would not be an exagerration to say that Charles has actually given me my stash for the night AND GAS MONEY TO get back home AND A LITTLE MINI STASH for my chick and some sort of tool or gadget, a porno, and some food at least 100 times when I was living in Long Beach.

I would always be broke, being a degenerate gambler, yes its true. But Charles never gave a fuck about that. Literally didn’t give a fuck. Always made the time for me. Always. I tell you what. Straight up. The man meant more to me than almost anyone in this world. I love Charles. I thought he was the coolest person ever and he is my hero. Seriously my life will never be the same and the prospect of visiting California again isn’t even half as appetizing now that he is dead. I am that crushed.

I just found this shit out yesterday and I can’t stop welling up with tears about every 5 minutes. Is there anyone in your life that every time you see this person you feel this swell of affection in your heart and a smile just comes to your lips? Like you guys are so genuinely stoked to be in each others company whenever you get the chance in your busy lives? And once you start talking, all the other people in the room can’t even follow what you guys are talking about because they are just not on that wavelength. That is what we had man. Not in a gay way either for fucks sake. But in a non gay way Charles was a soulmate of mine and I really miss him so terribly much as I am typing this right now on a cold and rainy Melbourne Tuesday, the ninth of August, 2005. I miss you Charlie and I am fucking not very happy about any of this let me tell you.

As always with me and Charles he is paving the way. Charles was the stuff that legends are made of. Let the storytelling start now. I would say Rest in Peace but Charles liked staying up. Not resting. I do too. So all I can say is I love you brother and I miss you and not a cliche here: I will think about you every day for the rest of my life and thank you so much for every little thing you have ever done for me. You fucking rule. Bye Chuck.

meth kills fast cars cheap thrills


I came across this letter on the internet in May of 2010.  At that time I felt an incredible affinity with the guy who wrote the letter to his wife.  I wish I could remember exactly where I found it.  It could have easily been written by me.  I’m not saying that in order to influence your opinion on this topic.  In fact , I am just curious what others think about the issue of drugs and society.  It’s definitely a complex and polarizing issue for most.  Surprisingly, I suppose, my experiences on all sides of this topic have given me a flexible open minded approach in a sense.  I have a hard time saying yes or no, black or white, right or wrong.  Drugs….many shades of grey.  That’s my best answer.  A copout?  100% LOL but…I just don’t think you can deny that its impossible to sum up this issue in a sentence, a paragraph, or even several pages.  What do you think?

dear charlotte…

i know you don’t want to believe this but i‘m not suffering in the slightest

it’s easy to write me off as drug addled and to send me your dramatic texts about not sleeping for a week because you are so worried about me.  and fair enough, i suppose i deserve that but regardless, i am not the same person.  i am different. and different for the better by far.  i’m on the road to a better place 100% for sure.
an open mind, a  friendly attitude, the knowledge that i can persevere under impossible circumstances, somehow hold on, and in the end come out alive and fully intact mentally and physically….these are nothing but states of mind.   but thoughts control your world.   period.  yes i think i am different then everyone else and yes i think i am special and that i am destined to make a direct, positive impact on the world by doing  something amazing and unique to me.  sounds stupid.  whatever. i realize fully that every single person in n.a. and a.a. would scoff 100% at that statement.  in fact, my guess is that the more militant n.a. nazi types would be using profanity laced, high decibel, somewhat frenzied speech to make it clear just how pathetic, self-deluded, idiotic, and dishonest i am to even have the nerve to pretend to be different in any way.
narcissistic maybe.  different? never.
and they will eat this next sentence up like a wino eats trash.
ha ha ha.  i can hear the “oh my fucking god”s and “this pathetic prick”s and the “who does this fucking creep think he is charlotte?”s now.  i’ve read material on quite a few crystal meth abuse oriented websites and it’s like a pattern.  on the blog portion where people write in to share their experience, strength and hope in the form of letters, it never fails.  as soon as a person writes in and freely admits to still using meth and tries to say anything whatsoever other then “i am a hopeless, hell bound addict, please help me before i destroy everything i come in contact with”, the bloodthirsty, incredibly hypocritical, judgmental, bible & big book thumping, cliché laden zealots jump all over him/her like a pack of wolves.
it’s terrifying actually.  lol.  i remember this one letter this guy wrote and he admitted using meth almost daily for two years.  he wrote an incredible, cogent and well reasoned thesis basically, on his experience with crystal. to be fair, he definitely did not advocate drug use, admitted freely that it ruins many lives and in general did not write even one sentence that could have been perceived as inflammatory, boastful, or slightly mocking the community he was addressing; namely recovering addicts and maybe the codependent types from their immediate family/friends.
now charlotte, you know i am a decent writer and i’m telling you like it is.  it was a good, solid 2-3 page document, written with a humble approach.  he simply explained his personal views and his actual journey. this guy got massacred.  he was ridiculed to the point that it was stupid. they just refused to read anything he had written once they saw the part about still using.  once that was out there, nothing, and i mean absolutely nothing he had to say had any credibility in the judgmental eyes of the people who responded to him with hatred and scorn.
it turned me off to the idea of organized treatment in a similar way that i am turned off by the idea of organized religion.  any approach that has “one size fits ALL” and refuses to give credence to individuality makes me want to vomit. i have no idea why but this bible verse from the book of romans “professing to be wise they became fools” comes to mind..  but of course you know me and i’m a bit of a scoffer in general. so when i saw the way that they picked this guy apart, i was over it before i even finished reading the first barb filled response.
the guy was basically asking for advice and said that he gets benefits from using and that thus far in his life, the benefits (delusional or not) that he still receives, compensate for, and, in fact, still overshadow whatever negative consequences he has had to face. and like i said, i read his letter in detail a couple times, and what he was saying, i could totally see as being truthful and realistic.  he actually asked what the others thought, if they could give him some direction, asked if he needs to quit or at least slow his roll, asked if he was an addict (he didn’t believe that he was—fully, anyhow) etc.  basically a guy wanting to tell his side of the story.  clearly he wasn’t at  the point where he could totally relate with addicts who had hit the bottom and were totally fucking out of control.
he wasn’t out robbing, cheating and manipulating everyone and everything to stay high. that’s not to say he wouldn’t end up there nor was he claiming a miracle approach to using that allowed him to be different then everyone else, special or unique.  he made sense though, you know what i mean?  that’s what really got them all so fucking pissed  because he did give some guidelines that he used for staying one step ahead of the drug overtaking his life.  things like drinking water, not using everyday, going to sleep everyday, staying in his social scene, family scene, being employed, exercising, having varied interests and activities, eating plenty of healthy food, taking care of his teeth and hygiene, stuff like that.  and he was asking for some more similar guidelines and just the point of view of some people who knew better etc. well, his point of view did not sit well with anybody.  they tore him a new asshole and quickly dismissed him as an untrustworthy, pathological liar, and a deluded addict who was out of step with reality and doomed.  not one positive word, no encouragement, no welcoming explanations on why his approach, though sincere, was still misguided….nothing.  the guy probably went out and hung himself after reading the barrage of personal attack laden hate mail that he received in the way of responses.
this from a bunch of addicts who obviously had forgotten what its like to be one themselves.  he admitted he was still using you see and he gave common sense principles that worked to delay him reaching that level of hopeless addict and he was ridiculed hugely for doing that.? speaking for myself i was pissed off because of how damaging i think their attitudes would be to someone who was wavering.  not that i was wavering ha ha ha fuck that shit but IF i would have been and i saw that i wouldn’t be wavering EVER and i know a lot of kids feel the same way.  its like if you don’t conform to their dogma that your life is so hopeless and unmanageable that you can’t live without “keep coming back it works if you work it” then you should be cast out and ridiculed.  a big reason people use drugs  in the first place is that whole rebellious, anti authority thing, not wanting to be a square and all that.  reacting  like the guy was satan made me feel even more rebellious.  i was like “if this is what you get when you get clean then i wanna stay dirty baby”.
exclusion because you are different……….  how is that approach pragmatic?  the only reason they attacked is because of the fatal mistake the guy made when writing his letter.  he gave an ALTERNATIVE option that didn’t revolve around the principles of narcotics anonymous and EVEN worse didn’t force a person to abstain completely if they chose not to.  and that’s what i hate about twelve step programs in general.  again, you know me, and the whole “it’s my way or the highway” doesn’t sit well with me and in fact makes me do the opposite most of the time.  i’m not the only one. believe me i know that they reacted so strongly because they didn’t want anyone who had already decided that their shitty lives had become unmanageable to change that decision because of this dude’s words and come to the conclusion that maybe they could possibly go back to using and control it.  delusional thinking for sure and not a good idea by any means.  however, the bully tactics employed by those who responded to this guy did way more harm then good.  you could tell they felt super threatened by this seemingly harmless guy and his calm and reasonable approach to the situation.
i truly hope you never take the zealots approach to your treatment and recovery.  far better to be flexible in every area of your life and use the knowledge you have gained in rehab and in meetings etc to form a living, breathing, powerful, and INCLUSIVE set of guidelines for sustained recovery from addiction.  to give you a perfect example i’ll just say this, the responses i read all reminded me of my hypocritical brother, a guy who gets fucking wasted, pisses on peoples couches, does shit loads of cocaine and then deigns to give me advice on me and my fucked up life to a point where you just want to vomit at the hypocrisy.   enough said.
hysteria in any form either from an addict or the cured set, is ugly and scary.  please don’t harden yourself ever, to the realities faced by people who are out in the world with nobody to share their lives with, unhappily existing in a vacuum without an iota of faith that their life has a chance of becoming fulfilled and happy. sure that fucking marine drill sergeant approach may bring some hardcore addicts in for treatment.  long term though, intolerant ranting type name calling and angry tirades will push away the people who really probably have the best chances of success.  i’m referring to people who are considered as “functioning addicts”. lol, i’m too much of a coward to send my letter into the website so i am addressing my complaints with your community in a more personal way, one on one with my ex wife lol..you should make it your mission to come up with some groundbreaking way of solving my issues.  that would be awesome and it would help a lot of people because i’m positive that many people out in the world would agree with my point of view number one and number two belong to that “functioning addict” group, and still possess enough individuality and strength to veto any treatment option that is going to talk down to or ridicule them.
only fucked up, rogue, third world piece of shit, hellhole countries with despotic tyrannic leaders  rule their people by eliminating the brave souls who dare to voice a contrary  opinion.  ever hear of the khmer rouge?  google it.    charlotte you need to bring n.a. out of the dark ages, they are using methods of governing their people that are also used in  iran, china, north korea, haiti, africa,   i think you are amazing enough to actually pull n.a. out of the twentieth century and into the modern world. anyway i remain yours,

 

toby

check out this site:  http://www.kci.org/

Brenda Bayne might roll over in her grave if she knew that her grandson Anthony Mandich used her image in such a way!! Hahahaha I love you granny!

By the way, if you read that letter and you thought that it was written by me, its because it was.

Sorry I don’t own a pair of Roller Skates


two young kids Anthony and Natalie Mandich before we were actually Mandich's

I’ve got my ex-girlfriend over here right now babbling about roller skating upstairs on the hardwood floors.  I had to tell her sorry but I don’t own a pair of rollerskates.  I’d rather push around on a skateboard even if I do it badly.  Apparently, I’m a “son of a bitch” too, which would not make my dear, dear mother very happy to hear hahahaha.  At least that’s what I just overheard in a conversation the ex was having with her drunk momma .

Apparently I am now persona non grata in the South Coast Metro area.  I’m not really very shaken up about it though.  I have other, more urgent, fish to fry at the moment.  As to what I did to earn “son of a bitch” status I have no idea and I don’t really care to tell you the truth.  Drunk wind baggery if you ask me.  Never been a big fan of drunks, even when I was one for a few years back in the nineties.  Its kind of funny or rather kind of ironic that I’m so hated in that household because I have truly never been anything but nice to that woman and I even get along splendidly with her dog, a little yapping barking ingrate who I managed to somehow cultivate quite a bond with.  Dogs do like me.  Maybe because I am one?  Topic for another day.

I’ve got lots of shit going on in my life, most of it not exactly on the great side.  We are losing the house here in two days.  It is getting auctioned off on March 23rd, 2011 and that is when my bubble is really going to burst.  I’ve really gotten accustomed to having the run of this place, its been amazing and I will really be sad to give up my Cowshit Castle when that dreadful day finally comes.  The entire house is pretty much empty right now except for mattresses without sheets and the contents of my art studio/office where I am typing this fascinating shit right here and now.

I’ve got no idea where I’m going to go.  I’ve got no money to get there.  All I have is my talented hands, my paintings and art supplies and my sexy self and not so sexy car.  Plenty of people are sure to be thinking that if I end up homeless and in the gutter its only my deserved reward for being such a jackass.  To them I offer a hearty “Fuck Off….but I do it with a smile on my face because I’m not really serious.  Shit, they are probably right.  I don’t really give a shit about the rights or wrongs of the whole situation.  It is what it is and I’m a fighter who will never give up.

This is all just a wakeup call for me to start being a little smarter with my assets and less inclined to procrastinate and lollygag my way through life.  Time to pump a little Ouspensnky urgency into my everyday life and frankly I welcome the challenge.  Stay tuned for updates on the living situation.  Whether you, constant reader, are a friend or foe, a hater or a supporter, you’ll be anxious to hear the outcomes of this somewhat urgent situation.  LOL.

Fairytales

I’ve kinda gotta run right now for a couple of reasons.  My sister Theresa has commissioned me to do a painting of a baby giraffe for her daughters room in their new house in Norco.  I agreed to do it for the insane price of $100.  So I’ve gotta knock that out here tonight.  Not only that my friend Ian McCall is in New Jersey right now for an audition/tryout for Season 14  of The Ultimate Fighter and I want to call him up and find out how that is going.  Anyways thanks for reading and I welcome any comments or suggestions, constructive or venom laced it matters not.

Oh yeah one last thing.  We went to mediation in Los Angeles last Wednesday for the case involving the death of my sister Natalie while in custody of the Riverside Sheriff’s Department on Valentines Day in 2009.  I have nothing to report as far as results, conclusions, new information etc however.  This time it was much ado about nothing as all we did was stand outside the mediators palatial estate in Century City while he met with representatives of the County of Riverside and our attorney, the capable and effervescent Richard P. Herman.  Rather disappointing, especially for my poor mother, who seemed crestfallen at the lack of new information regarding the exact circumstances of my sisters passing.  Stay tuned for further updates on this sad tale as well.

the fucking title says it all foolio

All is not misery and strife however!  Be sure of that.  I skated a good 35 miles last week which felt great and that’s always a good thing right?  Talk to you people later.

P.S.  Apparently my real father, Maurice Lloyd is very sick right now and in hospital.  My thoughts and prayers are with him and his family in Vancouver.  Get well soon MO!

Sincerely,

Anthony John Mandich

Sneaking into Pechanga


This was written and unpublished January 17th, 2011.

My friend Dxxxn Mxxxxxxn paroled from the California Men’s Colony West Yard approximately two months ago.  I got a chance to hang out with him yesterday and last night for the first time in quite a few years.  I’ve known Dxxxn since I was a young lad.  He is a couple years older then me.  Its kind of strange that this guy has been in prison plenty of times and yet, of all the people I currently have connections with in the  non cyber world, I would have to say that he is one of the few that I would trust to be in my house alone for an extended period of time without having to worry about anything going missing or  my house being trashed etc.  Much like my friend, Charles McEldowney (Rest in Peace Charlie), Dxxxn is a testament to the adage that there is indeed, honor among thieves.

He came over with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of 7-up asking me, “hey do you have any ice?  I really need a drink.”  I was like “Dxxxxxxxxxxxxn Mxxxxxxn, what’s up buddy?  Sure I have ice, do you want cubed or crushed?”  He was down with the cubed.  I made myself a drink as well.  He had a Vodka-7.  I had a Vodka-7 too, except it was a special one, hold the Vodka.  LOL.  I’m not really a very big drinker anymore.  Just not down with it.

It was a fun time.  We talked about interesting shit like prison stories.  He told me all kinds of crazy stories.  I showed him my paintings.  He was in awe.  Truly he was.  I even convinced him to not only drive us to Pechanga, but even kick down cash to gamble with.  Now that’s a good kid don’t you think?  Of course I had bragged that I was a pretty savvy individual when it comes to gambling.  Everything I said turned out to be true as hell.  He gave me twenty bucks for Cleopatra Keno and I proceeded to turn that into 80.  We went to a blackjack table and he gave me a hundred bucks to buy in with.  He didn’t even want to play but was content to stand behind me and watch me.  I proceeded to turn that into 190.

All the intense gambling got our hunger up so we went and had dinner in the food court.  I had an excellent cheeseburger and french fries with ranch dressing.  I also showed Dxxxn how crazy I was by making myself a “suicide” drink with all of the fountain drinks they had available.  We’re talking maybe 17 different things and I used them all including the unsweetened tea and all the diet stuff.  I  know it doesn’t really sound all that appetizing but trust me it was really very good.

After a relaxing and interesting dinner I decided that we should go upstairs to the poker room.  I wanted Dxxxn to see my poker prowess.  Of course I kicked ass in the $1/$2 No Limit Hold ’em ($40 minimum buy in).  I won all of the hands which I went to showdown with including this one memorable thriller where this old lady raised it to $6 bucks preflop from the button with Pocket Queens.  I had Jack and Four of hearts in the big blind.  There were like 6 people in the hand so even though my hand wasn’t that amazing preflop, I was definitely getting the right odds to call the additional $4.   I flopped two pair and suckered the lady to call my all in bet.  I took that old woman DOWN!  She was very nice about it and congratulated me on a good hand.  I thought it was a pretty classy move on her part especially since my starting hand was so shitty compared to her Pocket Queens.

Anyway, I didn’t finish this post when I started it like about a week ago so maybe I could write a little more some other day but not right now lol.

Not sure what I was thinking
Hi, My name is Anthony Mandich and I truly mean it

Fuck me running


Anthony Mandich is the boy in the Bubble

Sometimes I start to think that I’m sick in the head and that my soul is in peril.  It would not be a huge leap for anyone that knows me to believe that my middle name was actually Trouble.  Trouble and me are pretty close friends but thankfully we haven’t gone too far down the road together.  I guess I like cruising around on the periphery of his world but I wouldn’t want to get caught behind the Trouble County Line after dark if you know what  I mean.

Hard for me to take any kind of credit for that though.  I’ve been blessed beyond belief with a mother who has always stood by me regardless of the circumstances.   My mom’s name is Heather and I am not worthy of the generosity she has bestowed upon me with not much in return thus far.  I could write a book.  A literal book filled with story upon story of Heather saving my ass time after time after time.

Have you ever had someone in your life who you cared about and tried to help?  Yes you have.  How about someone you have helped but they didn’t seem to care?  As in not much gratitude was shown.  I’m sure most people can answer yes to this as well.  The number of downward spiraling questions I would have to keep asking to get you to the point where I am with my mom would boggle the mind.  I mean my mom could have answered yes to the second question when I was 2 probably.

How about this?  Have you ever gotten mortally sick and fucking tired of helping someone that doesn’t get it?  Like they are fucking retarded or something.  And you get sick of helping them and putting yourself out for them.  They don’t appreciate it.  In fact they seem to resent you for it as shocking as that seems.  After a while you get sick of that shit right?  Eventually you come to a point where enough is enough and you have had it up to here with this ungrateful sob.  You have it out with him/her and announce that you are “done” and thats the end of it.  They pretty much cease to exist for you in any tangible way and you just move on because there are too many deserving people in this world to justify wasting any more time and energy on a selfish know it all idiot who doesn’t learn from his mistakes.

Well my mom has been “done” with me at least 1,256 times in my life.  I have been so stupid its almost a fucking joke to consider.  I have no idea why that woman has continued to love me and help me for as long as she has.  This is not to say that she doesn’t get super pissed off at me and stuff.  She does.  Super pissed.  The amazing thing about Heather, my mom, is that she really doesn’t hold a grudge against me.  After a bit, if I genuinely seem to change my attitude and start trying to do the right thing, its easy to get her back on my side and believing in my inherent “good sonlyness”.

I’m not explaining this in order to make light of the situation in any way.  I’m not trying to point out that my mom is a sucker that should have opened her eyes to reality years ago and written me off for good back then.  Many people would be agreeing with that sentence though.  I’m sure she hears it from all sorts of people.  In fact, I know that she does.   I can’t blame them and certainly I would never blame her if she did just walk away and wash her hands of it all.  There would be no guilt on her conscience because she has done 1,000 times more then she should have to make sure that I have chances to be a happy and productive kid in this big bad world.

I just know that if I didn’t have my mother around, I would be hard pressed to continue to believe that the world is essentially a good place.  My mom is that stable, firmly grounded and steadfast rock that has always kept my head above water and I am truly grateful for her continued support and love.

Everyone thinks that they are special.  I know it sounds incredibly stupid but “I KNOW that I’m special”.  God has a plan for me, a destiny that I need to survive long enough to fulfill.  Has anyone ever read “A Prayer for Owen Meany”?  If you have you know what I’m talking about already.   If you haven’t then sorry.  I don’t have time to explain it.

I want something good to die for to make it beautiful to live.

Some days like today for instance, I get the hairs on my arms standing up and this really super deja vu-ish feeling that flows through my head and keeps tantalizing me with the idea that I am an integral part of God’s master plan for my era.  Shit, that sounds so delusional.  Unrealistic delusion of grandeur.  Classic symptoms of any one of a dozen personality disorders.  Still, the feeling is unshakable.

And so I continue  to bob and weave the punches I throw at myself.  Finding my way to this destiny has been a journey that I wish upon nobody.

I have a hard time staying out of my own line of fire.  If there is a devil, and I’m pretty sure there is, so far he’s just laughing at the lack of a challenge that I present.  He doesn’t even have to throw any of his demons my way.  Why waste assets when I’m doing a fine job of fucking things up myself?  I guess my only real resolution for the year 2011 is to possibly find a way to let the natural blessings that are bestowed upon me bear the fruit they are intended to bear.  How dumb is that to consider?  Real dumb.  That’s all that God is asking of me at the moment.  Just to stay out of my own way for a little bit.

Its not to much to ask.  I may be finally ready to do this.  Let’s hope so.

By the way that picture of the adorable little tyke and the woman that you can see at the beginning of this post is me and my grandmother.

The sexy woman standing in back of those two crazy looking little kids standing in their butthuggers is my mother, Heather Bayne.

I drop unexpectedly like birdshit


Check out the screen shot. It says it all biotch.

I got a feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night.  Do you ever just wake up in a good mood and kinda know that whatever you get up to that day its gonna be all good?  I got that feeling today.  I slept for hours upon hours.  Ya see I’ve been on a crazy painting streak for days basically sleeping only when I fall asleep from exhaustion and waking up and painting again.  Last night, or really this morning about 4:30 a.m. I took a super hot bath that drained the last remaining vestiges of energy from my body and I got out threw on my calvin kleins and hopped in my bed with the dogs and didn’t even stir until 3pm.  It was fucking great.

I took my bed out of my room because there is NO ROOM for it anymore with all of my paintings and shit all over the place.  We have like a living room type situation upstairs and I just put it out there.  The only sorta fucked up thing about it being out there is Woody and Snickers refuse to get out of it.  I mean I can physically maim them to get them out but as soon as I go back into my painting studio the fucking dogs are right back in there.  And these dogs are not content to just lay on top of the bed down below where “Master’s” feet go like a couple of good dogs would do.  Since they are not good dogs they feel it imperative to lay on top of my pillows (Snickers) or underneath the blankets (Woody).  I personally don’t feel like this is correct behavior for these dogs but they are unruly delinquent beasts and I can’t tell them what to do it seems.

Oh well, my mom’s gonna be home soon like in four days or something.  She’s on vacation in the Cayman Islands and when she gets back she can pack up her mutts and take them back to Palm Desert where she lives in some Country Club place on the golf course.  Let them run amok at her house and good riddance.   I did film about 12 bad ass videos of them while they were here visiting.  Funny as hell ones.  Making them howl at the moon, getting Snickers to butt ram Woody, locking them in Doggy Jail and seeing if they can get out, putting them out in the front and leaving the screen door shut but the front door open until they incessantly would jump and scratch on the screen door while I ignored them, cooking food and getting them all pumped up like they are going to get some then telling them to eat my balls they ain’t getting shit and filming their sad, confused, disturbed reactions hahahahahaha.  Watching Snickers empty all the trash cans everywhere and chew up everything until the house looks like a dump and then film Snickers get just screamed at by my Uncle Gordon.   All sorts of tasty visual treats that I may or may not share with my adoring public at some point.

Okay well I’m listening to some Notorious B.I.G. Life after Death Disc 1 which is so bad ass.  I’m gonna paint for a bit then maybe go play some poker with Darin “Dazzzzza” Byrne, a friend of mine who is a d.j. at Captain Creme’s Gentlemen’s Club in Lake Forest.  I’ll let you know how the night turns out.

By the way, I got an unbelievable response to my post about Billy Wedgeworth and my sister Natalie Amador and the whole Suicide in Jail issue.  I mean like 150 more hits then I normally get on my blog which is like maybe 80 per day.  So thanks for that support everyone.

You should know my stilo, went from 10gs for blow to 30g’s a show to orgies with whores I’ve never seen before so Jeeeeeesus get off the notorious PEEEEEEEEEEEEEnis before I squeeze and bust if the beef between us we can settle it with the chrome and metal shit…….

Me and Sparklett’s Water Makin’ Friends


Anthony Mandich is the man who sketched this out

Hello and a very happy and joyful Tuesday in July to all of my friends in Cyberspace.  It’s Anthony Mandich here.  I’m going to make this very short and pretty fucking sweet.  I have alot of painting to do tonight plus I have to call the beautiful girl in Wellington, New Zealand, that responded to my ad on NZ Dating today.  LOL.  That’s a very inside joke, one that I cannot at this time share due to statute of limitationary gobbledygook.

I need to give big shout out to my dear Aunt, Auntie Michelle Manire.  She recently celebrated a birthday, and she looked bloody fabulous in the pics that followed her night of cocktails, sweater vests and long walks with Andy Fowle, her significant other.  So here’s to ya Auntie Michelle.  From your loyal and nearly God like nephew Anthony Mandich.  I hope you have a wonderful night tonight and every night for as long as nights exist.

What else?  I went to lunch today with an old old friend of mine by the name of Eric Kisner.  Kizzy.  Kizzy was and is a cool motherfucker.  When I was a punk rock severely delinquent sophomore at Corona Senior High School, Kizzy could always be found in flagrant violation of the High School Code of Ethics regarding the smoking of cigarettes in undesignated areas such as the lockers in between classes.  At the end of every class I would venture over to where he kept his locker and politely request a couple of hits off his Marlboro Red.  Although he was  a rocker dude and didn’t normally associate with human mohawked scum like me, Eric Kisner always showed mercy and kindness to his fellow human beings and gave me a couple hits.  I like that.

Today I went to visit Kizzy at his place of employment which happened to be right next to the Glen Eden “Sun Club”, which if you are from this area, you know is really a fucking horrible little spot where fat, old, haggard, yuck, gross, wrinkled, asexual, Cougars and Cougmen hang out in the buff, completely fucking disgustingly naked and proud of it.  Gross.  But anyways, yeah Eric was driving this big tractor thing and doing something to fix this trout pond his boss owns.  Apparently the water keeps disappearing from the man made pond/lake/puddle and it is causing the trout to die.  I was shown the rotting carcass of one of the trout and Holy Mary Mother of God, it was fucking big man.  I guess they stocked this little lake with 1800 pounds of trout.  I’m talking about an area no bigger then half of an Olympic Sized swimming pool.  Crazy shit.

So yeah we went to lunch and it was fun and we talked about old times and called Steve Jacobson, my son, and purposefully did not wish him a Happy Birthday, which I could totally tell he was waiting for but it was more fun not to.  Then we made plans to go play poker real soon and  I split.

Then I entered Sean Stenlake’s world for about two hours.  We played baseball (badly by me), I went for a run in the middle of this baseball shit because I was feeling so out of shape and horrible I figured a brisk run in the 108 degree heat was just what I needed to finish the job of my destruction.  Somehow I survived the winds of hell and made it back to play a little more baseball.  Then I showed Sean some of my art videos and then we had a very interesting conversation about his friend Adam who got busted six years ago for counterfeiting by the Secret Service and was given the option of Prison or the Navy for SIX years.  Just like the old days I thought.  Anyway he is going to be getting out of the Navy next month so good for him!

I think that’s gonna do it for today even though I have much more to tell you about including my very lengthy conversation with Sade from Houston who telecommutes from home in her capacity as a Technical Support Person for Sprint.  I talked to her for like 3 hours this morning and it was actually very cool.  Her husband is entering the NFL Draft next year and yeah she is a cool chick.

Okay kids.  bye bye

Google Charles McEldowney After This


I wrote this back in 05 when I was part owner of a bar in Melbourne, Australia.  Got some bad news from Heather Batchelder and Mike Barnes about my very good friend Charles.

—————– Original Message —————–
From: HOt sex and Greed
Date: Aug 11, 2005 1:14 PM

Aug 9, 2005 12:29 AM
Subject: The Legend of Bo Di Kai——–I am Fucking Shattered
Body: Honestly in all my life experiences I have never been as distraught, emotionally wrecked, torn to pieces, sad, angry, and overall just a mess as I was and AM STILL over the stupid senseless killing of my friend and companion and kindred brother Charles McEldowney on the Second of August, 2005 in LA.

Some fucking jackass who obviously can’t handle their drug intake of ice tripped the fuck out of his head and had some delusion of Charlie doing something threatening somehow someway and actually killed my friend Charles.

I have suffered through many fucked up things in my wonderful life to date. None has affected me quite as much as this. I live in Australia now and I can’t fucking even go home to the funeral. It’s so fucked.

If you never met Charles your life is not as fulfilled as it should be let me just tell you that. He was a great personality and the most funny, generous, twisted and delightfully evil man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I know that I will never meet another like him.

If you only knew how many nights in the last twelve years that Charles and I have seen the sunrise together, talking shit, philosophizing, tinkering, drawing, partying, driving, planning, laughing, eating and just being brothers it would boggle the mind.

Fuck yah we were on drugs. Hooray for that. After Charles moved from OC to LA, I got a job at Ticketmaster in LA and was working down on Wilshire Blvd right there in Chinatown. And he lived there off of 8th Street and Grammercy. Literally 5 minutes walk from my work. I used to go over there at lunch and Charles would rescue me from the hellish hangover I would be enduring, with some hits of that dirty pretty ice pipe and we would have the best times. I don’t give a fuck if you think its lame. Drugs or any of it to tell you the truth. It was real and it was never the same and the adventures in LA with Chuck were legendary.

When I moved to downtown LBC with my Australian chick Ella, me and her used to go to Charles mobile house about three nights a week and pick up shit like maybe a half gram or something. It would always be like at 4 in the morning seriously and I would be covered in paint from whatever masterpiece I was working at the time and it was just so NOT THE SAME as the millions and billions of sheep living in California.

Charles sold drugs. Yah for Charles. I trusted him more than I have ever trusted anyone in my life. Implicitly. You know what that word means? Implicitly. Well I don’t know the exact dictionary meaning either but it’s a word that comes to mind when I think of Charles and trust. Like as in, it goes without saying. The dude had my back, any time any place. When I had money I gave him money. When I had none, he took none. It would not be an exagerration to say that Charles has actually given me my stash for the night AND GAS MONEY TO get back home AND A LITTLE MINI STASH for my chick and some sort of tool or gadget, a porno, and some food at least 100 times when I was living in Long Beach.

I would always be broke, being a degenerate gambler, yes its true. But Charles never gave a fuck about that. Literally didn’t give a fuck. Always made the time for me. Always. I tell you what. Straight up. The man meant more to me than almost anyone in this world. I love Charles. I thought he was the coolest person ever and he is my hero. Seriously my life will never be the same and the prospect of visiting California again isn’t even half as appetizing now that he is dead. I am that crushed.

I just found this shit out yesterday and I can’t stop welling up with tears about every 5 minutes. Is there anyone in your life that every time you see this person you feel this swell of affection in your heart and a smile just comes to your lips? Like you guys are so genuinely stoked to be in each others company whenever you get the chance in your busy lives? And once you start talking, all the other people in the room can’t even follow what you guys are talking about because they are just not on that wavelength. That is what we had man. Not in a gay way either for fucks sake. But in a non gay way Charles was a soulmate of mine and I really miss him so terribly much as I am typing this right now on a cold and rainy Melbourne Tuesday, the ninth of August, 2005. I miss you Charlie and I am fucking not very happy about any of this let me tell you.

As always with me and Charles he is paving the way. Charles was the stuff that legends are made of. Let the storytelling start now. I would say Rest in Peace but Charles liked staying up. Not resting. I do too. So all I can say is I love you brother and I miss you and not a cliche here: I will think about you every day for the rest of my life and thank you so much for every little thing you have ever done for me. You fucking rule. Bye Chuck.

Did this all night on Memorial Day's Eve 2010

Saturday is Poker Day Kids


I am waiting with baited breath to be picked up by who else, a Heather.  This one is Heather McGovern.  I know so many Heathers its sick.  I’m not going to get into the Heathers right now but trust me I will fascinate you in the future with my Heather stories.  Right now my only purpose in posting a blog at all is to get my newly completed painting out there for the public to see.  It is extremely cool I must say.  Its just really really really cool.  Sean Stenlake thinks so as well.  Even my Uncle Gordon likes it.  Why don’t we just kinda cut through all the bullshit and unveil the damn thing.   Ladies and Gentlemen……….meet the girl of my dream and nightmares………..

Very INsane painting in person......

A picture’s worth a thousand words!!!!


Ella Hughes by Anthony Mandich
Painting done on 3 canvases from a b/w photo of my grandmother
The One by Anthony Mandich
Lin Zhao, Hero

Painted this on an old canvas years ago.
Taken from a picture of a girl I found on the internet.
I'm actually still working on this painting and its much different now
I think its a shame and really sad that Jean Harlow died at age 26
Part of the Erlenmeyer Collection completed in 2010 by Anthony Mandich

June 4th-Natalie’s Birthday


Natalie as a Young Lady

Happy Birthday Natalie wherever you are.

Today is June 4th, 2010.  Today would have been my sister Natalie’s 40th Birthday.   I miss my sister.

This is just a copy of the letter I wrote to the Press Enterprise after they published a story about my sister Natalie being found dead in her cell last Valentines Day

Alicia,

I just wanted to express my appreciation for you taking the time to listen to me vent about the loss of my sister Natalie Ann Amador on Valentine’s Day. Not only did you take the time when I did reach you, you made an effort to get back to me when I didn’t; which is very much appreciated during this difficult and incredibly sad period for our family. Obviously, when someone loses a loved one unexpectedly, THE NUMBER ONE priority is figuring out what happened. In the absence of satisfactory explanations, I’m sure that many people can easily become overbearing, demanding, quick-to-point-fingers, assign blame, and not give a second thought as to the time burdens they are placing upon strangers whom they feel can provide said explanations.

As a reporter for a large metropolitan newspaper, you must be very busy and to be honest, although for us this is a new and horrible addition to our lives, for you it must be somewhat of a familiar, everyday tale of tragedy and a reinforcement of the common sense knowledge you possess regarding the inevitable, ultimate consequence of lifestyles focused on, and ruined by: drugs, alcohol and crime.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that its really cool that your exposure to the ugly side of humanity has not left you jaded to the point that you don’t continue to take the time to respect a sad person’s need to vent and need for someone to listen.

I did a Google search for information regarding suicides while in custody, and the prevalence of available stories hammered home for me the point that my family certainly does not hold the patent on grief, anger, shock or disbelief. In my view that alone is pretty tragic.

Whether my sister chose to end her own life or not, in my opinion the County of Riverside had a legal obligation to ensure that she did not, in fact, follow through SUCCESSFULLY with that choice. She had obviously reached a point in her soul where she mistakenly thought that suicide was the best option. She was under a great deal of stress, facing an almost certain jail sentence, and was armed with the deluded belief that she had let everyone who loved her down. Combine that with a prolonged lack of sleep, the involuntary “cold turkey” withdrawal from a number of toxic substances, and a growing sense of hopelessness regarding her chances of being released prior to facing a judge and answering for her offenses, and it’s much easier to empathize with her misguided choice to take her own life.

I’m sure that many relatives of suicide victims, in rather trite attempts to make themselves feel better, go on an on about HOW WELL they knew their loved ones and how they just KNOW that they would never have taken their own life voluntarily etc etc. I guess I am the exception to that group. If you knew me and what sorts of insanity I have undertaken and survived in my life the next statement I am going to make wouldn’t even be doubted for second. Suffice to say, that for most of my life, my sister Natalie was the good kid and I was the proverbial black sheep, the one all my family was in an almost constant state of anxious dread over. So please BELIEVE ME; I’m telling you, I hung out with my sister a lot, especially the last year or so since I moved back from five years living in Australia and New Zealand, and I really, truly, did implicitly understand and was aware of the vast majority of the issues she faced in her everyday life. I could so easily relate with and probably top most of her dramas.

Without doubt she did have some major issues that needed immediate attention. That’s a given. However, that being said, I KNOW IN MY MIND, HEART, BODY AND SOUL THAT she would NEVER, during the normal course of life, agree with the notion that her life was not worth living; problems, issues, emergencies not withstanding. She was very matter of fact about everything going on in her life. She was not in denial over the glaring deficiencies that existed in key areas of her life. She understood that changes had to be made. She was taking steps, albeit small ones, towards extricating herself from the rather fruitless path she found herself on when she was taken into custody. Small, yet meaningful things like preparing the forms necessary to expunge her prior conviction for possession so that she could get back into her career as a Radiologist.

Unfortunately for Natalie, she never got the chance to pull herself out of what would be apparent to most outsiders as a downward spiral towards oblivion. My family has a significant amount of responsibility for failing to intervene in a more tangible way then being angry with her for her shortcomings and repeated mistakes. She never got the chance to make amends, but I know that she would have. She was kind, generous to a fault, had a positive attitude and took joy in life under extremely trying circumstances. Unselfish to an insane degree in my opinion. Sadly, I’ll start with myself when saying that I and many others did not reciprocate with Natalie. She took care of me so much its sick and I’m the one that has the MBA, the cushy job here at TapouT etc etc. That’s so wrong but I was just used to Natalie being that way and I took it for granted and I never in a million years, even dreamed that she would actually DIE. Jail, yeah, I definitely thought that was a strong possibility. But death? And self inflicted? NATALIE? NO fucking way!

So I’m sad, I’m lashing out, I’m venting. I’m angry that the Sheriff’s Department let something so straight out of a horror movie take place while my sister, who I loved dearly, was in their care. It just really makes me so mad because it was preventable, easily preventable in fact, and should never have happened. I want to make sure it never happens again. Natalie and everyone who knew and loved Natalie have a multitude of unresolved issues, that will now, remain unresolved for eternity and that is wrong on every level. If the County of Riverside cannot take reasonable care of their wards, then ostensibly they should not be holding onto them. Death by suicide is not a long term, feasible solution for the chronic jail overcrowding problems faced by the State of California in my opinion.

Thanks for listening yet again Alicia.

Natalie Mandich and Anthony Mandich