In no particular order, here are some of my favorite cuzzin memories:

1. Kyle's wedding. Possibly the best cuzzin party ever.
2. Me and Bryan in Atlanta. Nuff said.
3. The Cuzzin backpacking trip. Top 3 coolest things I've ever done.
4. Rob's face plant while sledding on New Years.
5. Staying up all night at Bill and Martha's with Maggie, Jake, Bryan, and a late appearance by Molly.
6. My bachelor party. Once again, nuff said.
7. The first Cuzzin olympics. Next one needs to be planned.
8. Kerry's wedding. Small room but still fun.
9. Adam's wedding.
10. Bryan's 1st wedding. The second should be better.

~

FORK SPOON

Faaaame

I want to post something but I don't know what. I will just post what I want: an honest appraisal. I want to work hard and be rewarded. I want to move around as well. I want to change. I want to be relaxed. I want to sleep less. I want to party hard as ever. I want to start to realize. I just want to DANCE!

Word of the week

Top-Shelfer: N. A turd located in the upper section of your toliet.

Beer and Bloating in Las Vegas

We were somewhere around Zion, on the edge of Utah, when my bowels began to lose hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit heavy-assed, maybe we should pull over." When all of the sudden the car was filled with the most rancous treachery one could suffer into imagination. Twas a foul ball, though there was nothing solid about it.

4 hours and a clean pair of shorts later, we had arrived in Vegas. We fully believed that the land that greed built could be reduced to more reasonable standards with proper portions of compassion, intoxicants and the gospel of Bootsy Collins.

Vegas, or course, is a city very resilient to mild acts of hooliganry, although they defend themselves in a manner quite different than their mormon neighbor. Their strategy is Soma, not Big Brother. Their crowd-control is self-induced. They encourage you to drink 18 well-priced Tecates out of your backpack. Then, once inebriated, they flood your senses with $6.99 rib buffets, costumed ass, lights and greed-ticklers.

Night one was a demoralizing victory by Vegas. We started well, even considered eating at Denny's, but were soon pumping bills into slot machines, over-tipping bartenders, and pumping semen into prostitutes. It was friday, half off blowjob night, and we just weren't strong enough.

So we retreated to lake Mead to regroup in our tents. The city then through us a slow-ball; a nice fat opportunity to start some trouble. Midnight was far past the curfew of the Vegas Bay RV park, and the place was ripe for misadventure. but these people have been sucked dry. The city had robbed them of their will to do anything meaningful with their lives or even find a decent camping spot. We opted not to kick a dead goat, and fell fast asleep.

The music festival reenergized us. Slightly Stoopid, Blackalicious, String Cheese, Atmosphere, Kweli, Phil Lesh, The Shins, Primus, and Beck. Our tanks were full of vigor, and we used it well. Mike got on stage with Dave Matthews Band, feigning Mike Gordon, though was immediately discovered after attempting to play the keyboard. As the security guards closed in, he gave us a preview of this winter's professional snowboarding debut, by hucking a 360 off a speaker and lodging two fingers deep inside the Dave. The crowd went wild. Score after 2 days, Team Bootsy:1, Vegas:1.

Day 3 was also packed with beautiful music and even more beautiful costume-clad festival goers. Spearhead, slutty cop, Ween, slutty red riding hood, Lyrics Born, slutty school-girl, The Meters, Digable Planets, Trey, Flaming Lips, Jack Johnson, Widespread Panic and hundreds of slutty fairies. THe funk of the Meters took me to a happy place that served a mean Whiskey-Dew, and I was ready to terrorize the old strip in my Rastafarian Priest attire, as we had deemed the main strip far too powerful. The drink flowed freely from the backpack into the mouths, but we were slowed downn by a powerful security guard in the form of some old lonely gambler who fired some thirty opiniated trivia questions at us, such as "who is 2nd in command of the 21st century's blues revival?" We tried to rebound from the disheartening delay, but it had sucked out a lot of life. My idea of eating a bunch of poker chips, throwing up on a blackjack table, and trying to play them only lead to a near asphixiation and throwing up in a trash-can. Vegas 2, Team Bootsy 1.

We had one more day left, halloween as it were, and were hoping for a tie. The plan was to infiltrate the heart of Vegas as one of its own, and we had the elvis wig and glasses to make it happen. Unfortuntaly, Elvis is dead now, even in Vegas. DANNY GANS is the way of the future. We were sadly dated. Losing hope, we activated plan B, jumping into the water during the treasure island Pirate Show, but were again distracted by a copious amount of on-stage T&A and backpack Tecates. I jumped in anyway, but the show was already over, the asians had walked away, and only asphyxiation and vomiting resulted once more. Vegas 3, Team Bootsy 1. We drove home defeated. Concellation prizes went to The Meters, Beck and The Flaming Lips, who rocked great shows, as well as Mike's fingers, who went somewhere 15 yr old girls can only continue to dream about.

rating poop

www.ratemypoo.com

I rated 4 poos before i started gagging. I'm going to try to beat that when I'm not full of chinese food.

Think ya can beat that brian?

by the way, anyone else noticed a correlation between very weak stomachs and bachelorhood?

Gettin some

I heard a couple of years ago there is a saying that if you get great parking spaces when you are not getting laid. So I'm figuring this must be the case, while I've been on an excellent parking space run the last few weeks, I haven't been getting any. Then last night - get some and today no good parking spaces. I don't anticipate getting any tonight so tomorrow should be the return of good parking spaces.

Time Killa

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

band of the week

The Coup. funk/hip-hop. live band, singer with an afro.

download "cars and shoes" "me and jesus the pimp in a '79 grenada last night" "5 million ways to kill a CEO" "wear clean draws" for a taste.

see them live, on tour now, with The Lifesavas, another of the best unknkown hip-hop groups. chicago 10/21 at abbey pub
NYC, canal room. 10/29

XMAS

Dee and I will be in Snowmass for Christmas, and most likely News Years too. We should plan some cousin activities. Perhaps one of these "cousing olympics" I've been hearing so much about. I kick ass on the parallel bars....just try me.

right now

They thought that coming in to work late, hungover and wearing a lynard skynard shirt had gone out of style. well they didnt know anything about style.

I've grown to hate the nausea-hunger more than just about anything else about a hangover. it's like a hungry, diseased dog, who when you feed him tries to bite you.

i have a bottle of absinthe in my car, I intend to drive straight from work to drink it next to a police station by where a few friends work. there is a frisby golf course there, but it's just dawning on me that it might not be a great idea, but will almost certainly be done anyway.

It also just dawned on me that I forgot to call Adam back and tell him I'm not coming to Moab.

Bands on tour that I'm excited about: The Duo (jazzy) Midnite (reggae) Mos and Kweli (hip-hop) The Coup and Lifesavas (hip-hop). www.jambase.com is an excellent source for finding local concerts.

Nutrigrain bars all smell the same.

We're all just amateurs

Holy God!!!!!

Two things

Uno:
Is anyone as creeped out by condensation as I am? I mean I have a glass of ice water in front of me and somehow the water has made its way from the inside of the glass to the outside. How the fuck does it go through glass and why does everyone else just except this as normal?

Dos:
I'm drawing a huge blank here. I had something and then I lost it. God I hate that, I have the short term memory of a speck of dust. Screw it, it was probably stupid anyway. I'm just going to throw out an arbitrary prejudice: I hate people who breathe.

Kill your TV

I've come to the realization that nine out of every ten books that I read are only mildly interesting and easily forgotten. Sure they are usually well written, but good prose can only take you so far. I'd like to think that its my superior intelligence that causes my disinterest in said books. However, better sense dictates that I'm probably just picking the wrong books. In light of this revelation I am providing a list of books that I have discovered to be not only profound and insightful, but deeply enigmatic as well. I hope they save you the frustration that comes with trial and error. Anyway here goes(in order of favoritism):

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
Siddartha by Herman Hesse(thanks again Rob)
Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach
Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins
Petals of Blood by Ngugi wa Thiong'o
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Replay by Ken Grimwood
Slaughter House Five/Cat's Cradle both by Kurt Vonnegut
Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Lost Horizon by James Hilton
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair


I hope this helps someone and I'd love to know what you guys are reading.

a link, and praise for karl denson

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4335230085826254641&q=%22family+guy%22

Interpol Funnies

Dee and I went to see Interpol for our birthdays last week. Excellent show, I have to say. Two funny events to describe:

1) Noone was eating popcorn in the Michigan Theater, despite the fact that it was on sale in the lobby, making me wonder if popcorn was acceptable during concert shows. Dee presumed that, no, It was not allowed since people would spill it too much. I scoffed, then found out that they did allow popcorn! So, I bought some, loaded it up with slimy butter, and then immediately spilled it all over the seats and floor.

2) We sat in the balcony, so noone was standing up or dancing during the show. Dee was bummed out. It's a concert, y'know; people should be standing. Oh well. Moments later, we saw a guy that actually was standing and dancing have an argument with a muscle-head behind him, presumably because muscle-head's girlfriend couldn't see. The argument escalated into the muscle-head grabbing the dancer and strangling him. Security came, girlfriends were yelling, muscle-head was in his element, etc. So, strangulation is what happens if you actually do stand and dance in the balcony, for future reference.

Worst Cousin

I am getting the worst cousin award for the week. Bryan came up to Madison for a football game with some friends. He called (short notice...but still called) and told me he was going to be there. Well, he arrived a bit late so I didn't get to see him before the game, but told him to come meet me after on the main strip of bars. But as it turns out I spent about 4 hours in the bar the entire game, swilling pitchers like they were one man refreshments. Things became a bit fuzzy aound that point, boozy and covered in beer spittle, I took to the streets. Surounded by a carnival of lights and a stampede of red clad fans, I cheered hard and proud. Sticky fisted from the cocktails of yore, I howled at heavens as if to punch the Gods with thanks for leaving my team the victors of the tourney (I must add that this was almost the first football game I've ever watched and I actually hate football). I wrist-punched any object that would make my play in the roar greater than the others (resulting in a bruised wrist, and erotic stares). Time passed with my elation ending with a barfy hot nausea. I began asking people to meet me at street corners that didn't exist (I don't recomend...results in confusion) and body going completely limp in the middle of the road. It was thus time for the walk home. That night I looked like a retarded man trying to swim. Bryan called, I think I was already at home; lost was our meeting. So... moral of the story: Bryan I am sorry, if you are coming up again this weekend for Widespread, give me a call, I'll make it up to you
:)Jake

Anagrams

Well I'm stoned and bored. To kill the time before Matlock comes on I've decided to make some anagrams of all the cousins' names.

Robert Smith=Merits throb and Be shit Mr Rot
Kate Weisenborn=Weiner as Bent, OK?/Weiner Basket On/Weiner Task Bone/and so on
Kyle Smith=Likes myth and Them silky
Dee Smith=Dim sheet or deem shit
Adam Williams=I am dismal law
Molly Cournoyer=Cruel or my loony
Jeremy Smith=Meter shy Jim
Bryan Cournoyer=Run coronary, bye
Matt Williams=Me llama with wits
Kerry Machnica=Hayrack Mincer
Ryan Machnica=Chinaman racy

!

Has anyone, in the country, ever read Mary Worth?

Serious sunday comics are just one of a long list of things that are complete bullshit, but we're used to them. Fuck Mary Worth.

Larry

Here's a silly little short story I wrote tonight, after deciding it wasn't yet time for bed and going to the jazz bar by myself.

It's kind of a sequel to The Pedometer (see short story 5/07/2005)

I've always believe that the first thing that you see in the moring sets the tone for the day.
So there's a spot next to my bed, above my alarm clock, that is the host of a carousel of pictures and quotes, placed to fill my morning blank slate with optimism and purpose.
Right now the picture depicts a middle-aged gentleman, bald, portly, and completely naked except for a ball-gag and two large electrotrodes applied at the nipples.
I look at this picture every morning, and I see POWER.
Now I'm not talking about the electric power that, based on his expression, is coarsing through his body at the moment of capture.
no no no
He represents something entirely different than the erotic implications of electricity.
He personifies freedom.
He, Larry, as I have grown to call him, had been emancipated from the chains of societal mores, the shackles of convention and reputation, free from any boundaries or restrictions.
Well, besides the ball-gag.
"Larry" has achieved a freedom few of us can even imagine. He has reached a plane of consciousness, one of absolute truth and beauty. pure self-acceptance.
The man does not have a comb-over.
Every morning I greeted my day with aspirations to be 100% myself, not caring of the judgments of others, and every night I hung my head as I faced his picture, unworthy of his pained, unblinking gaze.
Last saturday was particularly bad, I wore uncomfortable shoes to an uncomfortable bar and felt it was I who had the problem when rejected by a tall, overly made-up blonde.
I still had so much to learn, and I knew just who I could learn it from. I vowed to meet Larry, and I intended to devote the coming sunday, and every day afterwards, to making that dream come true.
Now I've never been one to underestimate the power of the internet, especially when it comes to the location of aging sexual deviants, but I worried that Larry might prove ellusive. Maybe he lead a double life, maybe The Picture was just a fleeting image, a forgotten moment.
Maybe the man would hesitate to discuss the chain of events that ended with him gagged, erect, and in considerable self-induced pain.
Yeah, and maybe the Trojan Horse wouldn't work, but they fucking tried it anyway, didn't they?
So I brewd a pot of strong coffee and set down to business.
Sure, there were a few points where I wanted to quit, where I wanted to exit those horrible chat rooms and discontinue the young, supple alter-ego I had created. But you can't run a marathon without dropping some sweat.
It was some time around sunrise on monday morning when a shot in the dark lead turned up the man I so desperately sought. He lived in New Hampshire. His name was, indeed, Larry. The connection was beyond the realm of science. Truly I had found my mentor.
On Monday I booked a flight. On wednesday I made first contact. A week later I had set up a meeting, feigning the role of an East Coast party organizer. "It's not just a party," I told him, "It's a way of life."
So yeah, I met Larry. And yeah, he taught me a lot. Lubricants, for example, double as conductors, although in the case of a car-battery, this is seldom advised.