Hall of Fame

1990s Memphis rap ripped from a cassette. Juicy J before Juicy J

Helllo again from California... The past few months have been quite a romp around the country! No pictures today, but tomorrow I will upload some good stuff. I believe I was in Memphis when I last spoke to yall. I took the long way up to Jackson, Wyoming in an old beat up Datsun and barely made it. Most nights ended by meticulously unloading the wagon, piling it up on top, and bedding down in the back. Often this was in what felt to be the center of Nowhere, Kansas, drinking Tennessee moonshine and glazing at the stars. I spent a few weeks in Jackson, doing a gig for a "Crossfit" gym, getting a bit of dough to keep going. A girl I know up there gave me five full day passes at the mountain and I managed to wait out a couple days at the bottom of the lift for a few extra rides. The parking lot of a ski resort is a veritable paradise for freeloaders. The bars all have half-beers sitting out from rich abandonees, and if you stick around after noon most yuppies will give you their day pass at the bus stop, a sixty dollar bill in essence. It was fun while I was there, but in such small towns the idea of a certain absence of adventure begins to creep in. Three weeks is enough time to spend in an enclave of work-ski-drink-work-ski-drink. It becomes ..stagnant. I spent the time in a small camper, freezing myself to death each night and letting the eastern sun thaw me out each morning at 5 am sharp. On my second night, the air conditioner (?) leaked out and soaked my bed in ice water. I spent the remaining weeks unsuccessfully drying it out during the day, and soaking in ice water at night. After a few weeks of that, My girl came out from Cali to pick me up in mid february, and we schemed our way back to California over the next week. We spent two wonderful nights in total desolation... Death Valley, camped out at the lowest elevation in North America, with an absolute ocean of silence and mythical nothingness surrounding us. I highly recommend a night on the salt flats (Devil's Golf Course-ish area) for any wandering soul or strange-inquired mind. Down in Santa Barbara, a crew mate hooked it up at a spot and nabbed me a ton of Montana, canvases, brushes, and oils. I introduced the lady to pushing carts, and she was at once mystified, horrified, and mischieviously satisfied. We pushed carts all the way back to San Francisco and arrived in style. Whole Foods provided what we could not. Trader Joe's dumpster provided what we could. It was a strange mish-mash of truthiness and hoodlum trickery. At night we'd pull over and cook a meal on a little solid burning stove, the deck of card sized joints that burn a little square flame for ten minutes, and drift off into the loveliness that seems only to occur in little back alleys or mountain fire roads. The next few days back in SF were pretty exciting. We bought tickets to Guatemala to begin WWOOFing in April. We'll be there for two months working on an organic farm raising all sorts of silly central american stuff. And there's goats too. The girl gave her last months rent notice and we'll be homeless come April. Well, houseless. Currently I'm living on the boat, saving up bread to make this trip happen. I did cocaine for the first night a week ago, that was pretty fun. The reality of living on an anchored out sailboat is on one hand as romantic and free as you might expect, but on the other can be extremely difficult and uncomfortable. If you don't know, "anchor-outs" are a small community of boats anchored out in the bay in various locations, mostly Sausalito area. We don't pay rent or electricity (solar) or water (brought from shore). Many of my neighbors are supposedly meth-heads but I haven't had any trouble. Pretty much everyone looks out for each other. It's pretty fun to do whatever, i mean what the fuck ever you want, and not have to answer shit for it. Not having a shower, kitchen, or bathroom is a real bitch, though. I think the first thing you notice is the abundant variety of noises. At times, it can be intoxicatingly tranquil, with nothing but an occasional gasp of a sea lion emerging for air, and a gull heard far off in the distance, and a constant swish-swish of water sliding off the bow. But for the other (majority) of the time, it is a caucophany of banging halyards, egret screetching, sexual moanings, and the incessant yapping of dogs living 24/7 on a 40 foot plank in the middle of the bay. And then there's the constant rocking, which rises to heroic proportions during anything above a light breeze, inciting what may be called Shaken Adult Syndrom. Don't wake up too quickly either, or your head will be staven in with a ceiling one foot above the berth. The worst is getting out to your boat only to realize you forgot something on land, and going through twenty minutes of self debate trying to figure whether it's worth it to go back to land for that one cigarette you forgot, or the water you left on the dock. Forget it, just go, man. And try taking a shit on a boat. My porta is literally one foot from my girlfriend's (hopefully) sleeping head. No door, just one cubic foot of plastic filled with garlic smelling feces swishing around ten inches from your head. I should tell you of the dreams that thing produces. Then eating. Jesus Christ. Cooking on a sailboat is like Balancing a bowl on top of a flaming broom handle after taking 8 shots of Jameson. Even if you manage it you'll still end up puking in the pot. Don't forget to not stand up either, or you'll whack your head on the 4.5 foot ceiling. Jesus, man. Really though, it is worth it. To know that you truly own something, that you can light it on fire or piss on the counter, or invite tranny hookers for a six man gangbang and the next morning it's still your boat... That's special. Oh and I have warrants out for my arrest in a midwestern state. More on that plus pictures of all this mess tomorrow. Be good!

An overdose from cough syrup? Fucking lightweight.

holden callin out the phonies.

my main mang, lil' ruinr. mostly stole, and possible repeats.

That was the kinda bitch I leave for massgraff, I aint into bitches with big nasty floppy tits down in their armpits, think about that bitches BO she was licking off her titty, that shit be gross.

“If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some false friends and true enemies; succeed anyway. If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy anyway. The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; do good anyway… You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway.”

forget about being embarrassed for a second & just tell us what the dish regarding the ye olde recipe was

and let no man deceive you for they will try to deceive you

People need to learn the difference between; Tribute, inspiration & biting...

smash page if you ain't gay. Dude vomited from girl sucking her own titty??? This is the type a nigga that wraps his mouth on the outside of the bottle when he has a beer.

Remember when you made that fake screen name and got the neggatron armada? Then you cried about it. That was the lulz. Business is Business. Learn how to separate that shit from your personal emotions and prosper. You should offer this fellow a raise and a job, set things right with your new tenant, you might even make a friend up there. Or make a new screen name PronSaladRvngMSTER

http://youtu.be/6esCPKgVV_A Dutch Bananas 2013

second he tried to take your shit you shoulda hit em with the pocket sand.