I was not allowed to use my blog for the last three months because of some glitch with the credit card that I used to upgrade my account. Glitch meaning wordpress doesn’t appreciate when people use stolen credit card numbers to pay for domain names. Hahahaha just kidding. So anyways, moving right along…
I don’t have time to write a full on post right now. I’ve been putting off my run for like the last two days and its time to pay the piper. There is a bunch of other shit that takes precedent over blogging right now to be honest. Running is one. Girls is one. Painting is one. Watching movies on HBO to Go is one. Coordinating the task of getting my driver license back is one. Trying to move out of LA back to OC is another one. Seeing my daughters before I die is another huge one. Arranging sexual liaisons with girls is one. Meeting potential candidates for sexual liaisons is another one. The list goes on and on.
Honestly I can’t be honest in my blog anymore either. For a lot of reasons, when it comes to discussing me or my personal life I just need to shut the fuck up. Therefore, I am announcing that from now on my blog will not be about me anymore but rather I will be commenting on certain stories and whatnot that the public is interested in. Hopefully you will be into it. If not, you can fuck off. LOL just kidding.
Note to self: refrain from scrubbing tubs, tables, walls, floors, sinks and buckets over the course of two to three days of delirious stopping and starting under the red hot sun while wearing cotton socks and Nike Running Shoes unless you want to be forcibly and very involuntarily awakened from said delirium purely due to the shock both visual and olfactory of your feet when you finally do have to remove the socks and shoes in order to make it to a prearranged appointment. That sounds like an affectation to me. Let’s strike it from the record and move on. Well, lets talk about it a little first. I’m sitting in the bathroom on my laptop typing this and I’m still trying to come to grips with how closely the smell inside this small enclosed bathroom resembles the unforgettable horror stench that permeated my nostrils that day in 2002 at my penthouse in Downtown Long Beach when I allowed a homeless African American drug addict named Kevin to get cleaned up in my bathroom. The pad smelled like death for days after and I’m starting to panic, hoping that nobody else gets a whiff of the sour, C02 poisoned air in here and realizes that I, Anthony Mandich am responsible their singed nostrils. My feet smelled like rained on rotten trash when I peeled off my shoes and socks a few hours ago. The shoes that are still sitting on the tiled floor not three feet from where I am typing away at this story.
I’m afraid that it will be impossible to wear those shoes again without subjecting myself to an olfactory experience forged in Hell by Satan’s demons. Fucking gross. Now matter how engrossed in my work I am, in the future, once the feet get wet and I am wearing socks and Nikes, they need to be taken off and disinfected immediately. The alternative is bad enough that if John Monceaux, my cousin and the man who owns this house that I call home, happens to walk anywhere near this bathroom before I remove the offending shoes from the house, I will be homeless once again.
With that being said, I am going to sign off of this post and correctly rectify the situation voluntarily. Thanks for reading.
My daughter just gave me a hug from Barbie a second ago. Unfortunately Barbie has some hard plastic limbs and she inadvertently stabbed me in the neck. There is quite a lot of blood pouring out of my carotid artery as I type. Hopefully I can stem the flow a little bit, buying me at least enough time to write a proper entry here. Its been a minute. Its hard as fuck to concentrate on this shit though because my same three year old kid is sitting here asking me if the socks that she just picked up off of the floor are from Frozen. She is also asking me if I can find her shoes. She is also going through all of the drawers of clothes that I just put away yesterday when I cleaned up this fucking nightmare room. Her purpose in tearing through the drawers is ostensibly to find proper attire for Barbie. You see, we are getting ready to go to the store together to find buy some Pullups because she is still having issues with potty training and can’t really be trusted to be completely diaper free just yet. Her biggest issue seems to be not taking a shit in her panties everyday. Luckily for me the shits she is taking are pretty firm in consistency and don’t really cause that much of a mess which is a good thing. It kind of keeps my sanity intact for one more day if you know what I mean. If you know what I mean really then I feel sorry for you because nobody should ever really have to relate with my nutty life. Now I have the adorable little child standing next to me going through my little sketch pad and asking me about every single thing that I have ever drawn in there and asking me who each person is. The problem is she is not satisfied with answers like, “oh its a little man” or “its a little doggie”. Then she wants me to draw an itsy bitsy spider for her. She loves that little itsy bitsy fucking spider so much that I have to draw her another one. Now I’m starting to lose my focus if you know what I mean. Of course! We just fucking went through that whole thing I forgot. I’m ignoring her so she is getting more desperate for my attention, telling me that she needs to go into the shower, which she just got out of. I ignore that so she starts pushing me and saying daddy a few dozen different ways. Stone face so she starts really pushing me and calling me by my Christian name which happens to be Anthony.
I forgot I was even writing this. Its like 4 hours later and we went to Walmart together (Daddy and Daughter) and got boisterous for a little while. We were both just amazed at “how cute” every single product that had a tie into the Frozen movie was. That’s what Audrey said literally about every single thing she recognized from that blasted movie that fucking Walmart had stocked on their shelves, in special displays all over the fucking store, next to the elevators, escalators, entrances and exits, restrooms, dressing rooms you name it. I actually was amazed…she just thought each thing was so cute and of course she wanted one of everything in the store. She was cracking me up so I did get her a couple of things and using my mind manipulation techniques I was even able to convince her that her Pampers Pull Ups were a special treat. What we settled on for her were a pair of shoes with lighted heels and special pics of Frozen princesses Elsa and Anna. I was considering shoplifting the fucking things to see if I still had it but ultimately decided to leave well enough alone and even though the shoes were safely on baby girl’s feet and the upc price tag safely ensconced in the box containing my new mma hand wraps, when I was paying at the register I made a point out of making sure that the semi attractive cashier (Debbie I think) rang the shoes up. They were $15.87 by the way. We also got her a mini basketball which she picked out. It was neck and neck between the mini basketball and oddly enough a football (no soccer but football like the NFL football). She had never previously shown any interest in or knowledge of the fact that football even existed prior to tonight as far as I know so I was kinda tripping on the interest in the football to begin with.
In case you were really fascinated by our shopping trip and you want to know what I purchased for myself, too fucking bad. The only reason I am still working on this article is because I am getting ready to go running in a few minutes but first I need my piece of shit phone to charge up enough that I can listen to my fucking Spotify punk rock motivational crap and have my Runtastic app remain open on and running for my entire run so I don’t get cheated out of mileage and times like always happens because something stupid like not having a properly charged phone battery rears up hisses and fucks up my mojo for that day. It never fails to happen when I am on a personal best pace on a day with heavy mileage being run, a day I would be able to use as bragging evidence via a screen shot that I use whenever some body that is not dead and also knows me but hasn’t spoken to me for one reason or another for six months invariably gets to chatting and asks me the innocuous sounding “so what have you been up to”? and I use that as my opening to bore the tears out of another apathetic winner from my past, present, or future. Anyways yeah not having a fully charged phone can really come back to bite a guy in the ass in these circumstances.
I’m wearing a really homosexual looking Adidas athletic suit thing right now which is not very flattering especially with the pooch belly I still have even after running 1,367 miles since October 6th of last year. I think it might even be unwashed in fact I’m pretty sure it is. And its not mine. I found it in the barn at my cousins house in Los Angeles and I’m reasonably certain that it belonged to my cousin Dayna’s soon to be ex husband. He is a cross fit guru allegedly ranked number two in the USA at one point. Anyways my cousin John gave me permission to keep the ugly stinky article of clothing and the funny thing is I don’t think he really had/has the authority to be giving away another man’s homosexually slanted gay pirate muscle suit thing. But he did. And I accepted it because I wanted it and I really don’t know why. Maybe I enjoy dressing like a gay. I’m pretty sure I do in certain aspects but that’s not a subject to get into right now.
I’m well aware that I am coming across as a mental defective and I’m really not one I don’t think but I have to admit being somewhat enamored with the whole stream of consciousness that can come pouring out of my fingertips almost without even trying at certain times. Real talk for a second and I just made this mental connection that the reason for my sauciness tonight is that I have been power watching past episodes of Shameless on Netflix and Showtime on Demand for the past few days and if you watch Shameless you know that basically every character is larger than life, smartasstic horny drug taking hedonist sado masochistic and kind of bad overall yet they fascinate me. Lip is especially cool and I want to fuck Fiona badly.
In case anyone cared or didn’t know I have relocated out of the Temecula Elsinore Casino Meth Capitalistic Inland Empire Bro Prison White Trash Desperado Probation Parole Headquarters to the lovely confines of Los Angeles which has all of that and more but is infinitely more interesting, diverse, busy and I have to think educated in a certain way that is part money and culture but also street smart mixed with school smart mixed with mostly transplanted out of towners from all over the world melting pot with history and millions of stories waiting to be wrenched from the surroundings where they lie. Temecula in particular has nowhere near the historical appeal of someplace like Hollywood and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to being very happy that I am out here. I don’t have any sort of permanent thing going on here but I am working towards having something that makes sense to a higher percentage of those with their crazy lives somewhat in control.
Hopefully it will all work out for me and little Audrey out here near Tinseltown. Who knows maybe I can get her a part in some sitcom or some shit. She is a little charming actress fake crier extraodinaire already so we shall see. Along those lines, Ed Harris and his wife (I think) are filming some kind of something at the property where I currently reside. I’m not going to be more specific than the greater Los Angeles Area and its not because I don’t want any of you to know where I am but out of respect for the people who are nice enough to let my daughter and myself sleep here temporarily. Its nice to have a bloody roof over my head and to know my daughter is safe.
I’ve lost my focus here obviously so I am going to cut this post now and if you are lucky I may just publish it in the next five minutes so one or two of you can read along and send some good vibes and thoughts my way. Any girls that want to fuck, I’m down as of right now. Private message me and I will give you my cell phone number. If I have a girlfriend down the road shortly and she is reading this let me take a quick moment to apologize. I’m sorry honey (whoever you are) I’m just lonely and often really horny. So yeah. I have gotten with a few very hot little mamas since arriving in Los Angeles. I’m not going to out them on this forum but trust me we are talking about some primo female flesh. Just counting my blessings.
Steve Jacobson, Josh Erlenmeyer, Elijah Brown, Kris Cass, Steve Bultsma and others have promised to meet up with me out here in Los Angeles and thus far have not made the attempt. I can understand why for Steve and Elijah who both think I will be an over the top distraction for important women in their lives. Josh will eventually get in touch and Kris Cass and Stevie will too. Faith in humanity and faith in friends. You gotta have that shit if you are going to have a happy life. I gotta go running now. I have four miles of warm ups and warm downs with 8 sprints of a half mile thrown in the middle. 45 seconds of rest after each sprint is not nearly enough so I really gotta go motherfuckers.
Thank God (that’s what you are probably muttering to yourself under your breath if you made it this far)
I dedicate this post to the memory of Charles McEldowney. I love you Charlie. Hopefully I can hump your girl Mia too. That would be lovely.
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.
Sydney, Australia is a bad ass city. I love it there. I arrived in Sydney one Thursday morning in 2005 I think. I actually couldn’t even tell you the true year or month right now. I’m not even sure about the day to be honest with you. That sounds fucked up but it doesn’t really matter okay. Don’t worry, I remember all of the other important details. I had a girlfriend named Ariana at the time.
I have to point out that Ariana was a hot little bitch. She was so fucking sexy. She didn’t wear makeup and she didn’t need to. She had these insane green-blue eyes, thick long black hair, the most beautiful face, lovely swollen C cup breasts and the tastiest ass I swear to God. Too bad I couldn’t get me a piece of that right now….
Anyway, back to my story….
Ariana and I arrived in Sydney together. There are some very interesting adventures that preceded our arrival in Sydney but I will have to insist on saving that part of my adventure for some other time.
When we got to Sydney we didn’t have any money whatsoever, except for three 1$ coins. We didn’t have a mobile phone or any credit cards. The gas (petrol) tank of our piece of fucking shit car was on empty. I had a skateboard but Ariana didn’t because we had to sell hers for gas money to some pawn shop a few hours before arriving in Sydney When we left Byron Bay to drive to Sydney we somehow foolishly thought we would make it with the petrol and little money we had on us. We were horribly wrong. Like I said though, fuck that, we won’t get into all of that right now.
Ariana had this friend named Jason who was a bartender at a place on Elizabeth Street in the city called Bar Europa. When we got to Sydney we stopped at a pay phone and called Jason up. The plan was for Jason to hook us up with bar tending jobs at his work and maybe loan us a bit of cash to get into a room or something. Ariana spoke to Jason and he graciously invited us over and was very welcoming and cool as fuck. He lived in this old hotel on College Avenue, very close to Hyde Park and right in the heart of all the nutty shit that went on in the crazy city of Sydney. We were broke as fuck and pretty much at the end of our ropes when we got to Sydney let me tell you. Jason was the coolest fucking dude I swear to God. He arranged it with Brendan the dude who owned Bar Europa for us to come in and work that same night.
I am a kick ass bartender. The ladies always loved me and I make excellent cocktails in quick fashion. Same goes for Ariana. I actually met Ariana when a couple of friends and myself purchased a bar in Melbourne, a couple years earlier. Ariana was a bartender at the bar that we bought so suffice to say she could tend bar like a mother fucker. Plus she was such a hot little piece of ass with this innocent and charming way about her that she was always a favorite of the horny bastards that make their way into the bars of the world.
We had met up with Jason sometime around 10 in the morning or so when he was just getting up. Like I said, he lived in this rad fucking hotel near Hyde Park, on the14th floor or something. It was such a kick ass pad that he had. We had a beer or two and Ariana and him caught up on old times. They had worked together at some fancy restaurant bar in Wellington, New Zealand and had been friends for years. Jason gave us a couple hundred bucks for a room and we were so tired from the drive from Byron Bay that we bailed and went and slept the day away, waking up around 5pm and going to work at Bar Europa.
That first week or so in Sydney we lived in this divey hotel type place that cost like 40 a day or so to stay there. It had cable tv and all of that but it was really small. Beggars can’t be choosers though and I really was down to just work and fuck my girlfriend and didn’t really think about much more then that for a bit.
The owner of Bar Europa loved us both but couldn’t guarantee both of us full time work. Ariana was hired full time, hot little eye candy that she was, and I got like two shifts a week. Friday nights and Tuesday nights. So obviously I had to find another job or we were going to just be broke forever. When we first got to Sydney we weren’t really getting high very much at all. Getting drugs is really hard in countries like Australia and New Zealand if you don’t know people. In Melbourne, where I used to live, I had a pretty decent little network of people I could turn to, but in Sydney I was high and dry for quite a while. So, instead of staying up all night painting and skating and just getting nuts gambling and shit, for the first month or so that we lived in Sydney I laid low and worked and made out with my girlfriend and got drunk and stuff.
We got sick of that dark and dingy little room that we were staying in and somehow got hooked up with this backpacker place in Bondi Beach that we went and stayed in. It was so fucking rad. I actually ended up living in Sydney for over a year and never moved out of that place. It was called Tama house and it was on Kenneth Street in Tamarama, literally 500 yards away from the beach in Bondi. Next time I post, I will tell you about finally hooking up with drug connections hahaha, gambling, Redfern, and more okay. I think traffic has died down enough for me to get the fuck out of here and get my weekend started.
thanks swingin’ utters for that tasty title. you control your rage and you resist the crime because you’re the next in line. i am simply pumping the utters right now in my squalid den. this place is worse then it was when i wrote the story about cleaning the hovel i call a room a year ago. believe me you don’t want to see it. its fucking horrible but actually pretty rad. i’m in rare form today. especially with the murder city devils singing about sailor’s girls and trucker’s wives as they are now. the only thing. the only thing i ever wanted is going to fuck you over is going to fuck us up. to be left behind. you should know. like a smuggler like a trucker. etc. etc. etc.
so the royal wedding has taken place obviously. i got an email from Life magazine informing me of the availability of the pictorials. i went and violated the copyright law and “grabbed” on with my special “grab” tool and went crazy on it for an hour or two just totally uncontrolled crazy millions of gradients and erased spots and color fill layers and trasnparent red spray paint on inverted colour burnt layers probably maybe 50 layers and all copy merged and transformed and filtered liquified and color dodged and rasterized and just nuts. then flattened the whole fucking thing without saving any of my work and here that is okay. (as rhianna is singing “so if you feel me let me know know know ” HAHAHAHA SOME PUNK ROCK TOUGH GUY I AM) fuck it. shut up and read.
once i ran to you now i run from you. now i know i’ve got to run away i’ve got to get away. (social distortion singing about tainted love) don’t touch me please i cannot stand the way you…..
ramble on and make no sense and expect everybody to follow your manic episode hahahaha. i love you though you hurt me so .
now i’m (literally) going to pack my things and go.
i sold the tascam 38 8 channel reel to reel recorder that i got from james morris via the city of rancho cucamonga and so cal sandbags. on ebay. the highest bidder was francisco from monrovia. francisco drove over to my house yesterday to pay me exactly 265 dollars. that was the winning bid. awesome. i was so stoked. it was so needed. don’t forget that i have to be out of this house by sunday thats in two fucking days my friends. two days. jesus mary and joseph. i’m not even packed.
but i am listening to thriller by michael jackson which is pretty bad ass. before that was stone cold crazy that metalliica song. i went to pechanga with the 265 last night. i know it was stupid but i need so much more then 265 if you know what i mean. i owe my buddy landon 100 bucks and he’s go tone of my best paintings in hock until i pay him. the thing is he needs the money and i need cash to move. at least 500 for that etc etc etc. so i walked out of pechanga with 1300. that was pretty bad ass. played SOME POKER on the big kids table (100-300 buy in) and got lucky with pocket aces my second hand and doubled up easily. went on to pretty much fuck shit up at that table and walked downstairs with my pocket STUFFED
full of $5 chips. rad.
won all night basically. and walked with it all. went straight to the donut shop lol got my chocolate milk glazed twist and choccy twist and then went and got car insurance for $178 before my registration gets suspended on the 9th of may. i was reminded about that when my friend stephanie burns told me about some dude friend of hers who got pulled over by the cops with a shit ton of meth on him. he got five years in prison. and why did he get pulled over? oh because he had suspended registration on his car like a moron. poor guy. not that i’m driving around with shit tons of anything illicit but still it reminded me that it would be a pretty good idea to get insurance. so i did that. yay for me.
only my die hard admirers will have read this far in this post cuz its a bullshit post to be sure. by the way “we can be heroes” at least according to david bowie. i’ve got a couple of options for places to
live now which is cool….one’s in eastvale and one’s in crown town by the golf course where my sister used to bartend at. i heard some incredibly disturbing stories about my sisters deasth last night. i’m not gonna say who told me or what they told me because there is litigation going on but its fucking horrible and it put me in a sick goosebumps on my head horror stricken mood for a couple hours last night. i am going to tell our lawyer about it. enough about that.
by the way i apologize for any times i’ve ever been a fair weathered friend to anybody i know. just saying that for sincerely reals i won’t say why on that one either but yeah i had to put someone in check actually two someones in check last night. i know i’m a taker lots and not always a giver materially but i do feel like i am a giver emotionally and friendship wise but if not sorry about that and i can only strive to improve myself.
well shit i got shit to do you guys so thankfully for you i’m going to close this shitty little entry out. hope you can forgive me for the
terrible incomprehensible shadowy sing song say nothing chant of a rant that defines the makeup of this story today. i’m sorry. my mind is in a million and one places you have no idea. talk soon.
That title is surely an attention getter if ever I did see one. By the way for the last week or so ever since I decided that I am from North Carolina you would do much better as far as understanding my nonsense if you read it in your mind as if you was also from North Carolina or any other state that refers to shopping carts as buggies. Just read it with a twang and we’re gonna get along just fine okay.
I ain’t really got much time for a post here right now being the urban jet setting pretty boy that I am but I feel its necessary to touch base with my constituents from time to time as a way of getting down into the trenches with y’all common folk. Y’uns is spectacular prized pupils of mine. The lesson that I am trying to teach has not been revealed to me as of yet but I’m sure it will be in time for all of us to get the necessary wisdom from that there lesson.
Actually this is a garbled attempt at sounding somehow outlandish when really and truly I am in a rush. I need to go meet up with my sister Theresa who has my driver’s license by 5pm at her place of gainful employment, I forgot the name of it but its over there up yonder somewhere in the vicinity of Lincoln Avenue and the 91 Freeway. She done told me that it was on the other side of McDonald’s which must be a blessing for anyone to be so honored to work nearby such a beautiful and wonderful company outlet as a franchisee of McDonald’s. I would love to work nearby McDonald’s and have the wonderful sensation of gaining a pound of rancid beef fat added to my svelte waistline each and everyday. After all, its a very family friendly and budget conscious place to eat. You know as well that McDonald’s corporate headquarters has made it their mission in 2011 for all of its many franchises to express individuality and originality with their menu options.
For instance in Fontana, California, the McDonald’s franchisee up there has renamed his restaurant McTucky’s after their adopted home state of Kentucky. They offer such delectable delights as the McSwamp Chicken Tenderloin sandwich in honor of the great state of Alabama (Roll Tide!!). Does anyone know what a swamp chicken is by the way? I coined the phrase myself of course one day last week in a state of extreme delirium when I was visited by an apparition of a redneck militia soldier who rolled up on me in his buggy while I was playing Cleopatra Keno over at Pechanga Casino.
I had been at the same machine for 16 days you see, and I felt like I needed dialysis treatment because my kidneys had been assaulted by nothing but Pepsis as way of nutrition the entire marathon session. When you are sitting at a slot machine which you don’t want to give up because its already taken your firstborn child, your left testicle, 75% of your remaining life force and of course the contents of your wallet, all available credit cards and a good deal of your dignity (due to having been forced to prostitute yourself in the high limits bathrooms to creepy Asian matrons with breath that smells like Pork Kung Pao dipped in Ponzu Sauce and served with fresh garlic) it gets kinda hard to remember the basic fundamentals of healthy human living like eating food, taking showers and brushing your teeth (also known as gumming your hushpuppies, if you are from Missouri, the Buggy State).
It never fails you see, when you have thrown the equivalent of a brand new Chevrolet Suburban into a computerized personal one armed robbery facilitator, or “slot machine”, and you get up out of frustration to maybe clear your head, brush your nasty ass teeth and have a smoke while maybe even taking a look at the sun for the first time in forever, that some old ass asian water buffalo will saunter up and immediately hit the progressive jackpot on your untended machine. If you have ever gone through such a miserable and incomprehensibly demoralizing (sound familiar 12 steppers?) nightmare as I have many times you know what I’m talking about. Its painful hombre. Very very painful.
In an effort to ensure that such a horrible outcome does not repeat itself, most compulsively degenerate morons who gamble, such as myself, have taken certain steps, which when used in conjunction with a lobotomy, have been shown to be of assistance in dealing with this issue. One of these steps is known as Transcendental Medication and is a method similar to the “meditation” practiced by Buddhists and New Age Flower Children for years now. Many of the processes involved with TM as I’ll call it are the same only different as its older, better, less stupid brother, Meditation. Both involve wiping the psyche clear of mental debris that maybe inhibiting the swamp also known as your mind and preventing it from processing life through a more realistic and less expensive filter then the constantly failing “Angry and Disgruntled Degenerate Slot Player” most of the people that benefit from TM have historically chosen.
You are probably asking yourself what any of this slick jargon has to do with the topic you are here to learn more about. That topic of course is the history of the Swamp Chicken which no doubt has left you in a state of nervous anticipation, bordering on frenzied manic hysteria while you have been nervously counting down the hours until which time I deemed appropriate to share with you, gentle reader. To be honest, I’m somewhat lost myself on what TM has to do with a swamp chicken. The thing is, I figure it would be a waste to waste (is that even proper grammar?) my elegantly crafted lines of pure horse manure that I’ve typed so far so (again….proper grammar?) I’m just going to have to continue bluffing at the connection between the two totally unrelated and actually non exsitent subjects.
I figure its easier to just continue double barreling y’all with blasts of bullshit that have no roots in reality rather then suck it up, admit to God, myself and all of the other human beings the exact nature of my “lack of anything meaningful to share” and start over or perhaps even scrap the whole ridiculous idea of writing a post today. Hopefully, I can continue to baffle and amaze both of us with this boisterous, bat shit bending banter and somehow pull it all together at the end with some sort of fairy tale like save while managing to sound humble, enthusiastic and pleasantly self effacing at the same time as appearing to be competent and genuine.
I am thinking that maybe this is a bit much to have on my plate today but you know what “they” say…(throw in some tired cliche about never losing sight of your dreams) and a blah blah blah blah blah blah and a yaddha yaddha yaddha.
Oh yeah, ghetto dwelling and the Norco Crips too okay? Assa lamma lenkum my brothers and sisters and God bless us each and everyone. Take care folks, talk to y’uns later.
This is Anthony Mandich, your humble and nutritious servant saying, So Long!
P.S. “Hottest Ass”
P.P.S. “Sex, drugs, and Pussy”!
P.P.S.S. “Sean Stenlake”, Sean Stenlake: Attorney at Law, Sean Stenlake: American Hero, Sean Stenlake: The Brother I Never Knew, Sean Stenlake: Lessons in Being Great, Sean Stenlake I Love You, Sean Stenlake: Blue Eyed Wunderkind, Sean Stenlake: Everything You Have Always Wanted to Know But Were Afraid to Assk
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