Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Terry Worrell Interview Part II

This is an interview I did with Terry last time I was in Dallas.


Terry Worrell Interview Part II from Logan Worrell on Vimeo.





Warning: Here at "FUCKALLFUCKINGSHIT" we do not agree with everything Terry has to say about things, but we feel that it is our duty, no, our responsibility to the followers to keep shit real as fuck no matter how " questionable" some of the interview'es answers might be.

Keep you chin up.

-F.A.F.S

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Milwaukee, WI




When I woke up today I was feeling kinda low. No big deal. Just stressed wondering if this “walkabout” thing was the right thing for me to do at this time in my life. It started like so many other days. Eyes open to the darkness of yet another windowless closet that I’m living in. House is empty except for my thoughts. A whole laundry list of things I needed to do (including laundry). I had to get out of the house. The last few days I’ve just spent feeling sorry for myself. Worked a little bit, went to a bar ( which I hate fucking doing, also it was metal night and I hate fucking metal. The things a man will do trying to talk to a cute girl are endless.), had Herds practice , and finally came home to masturbate in my closet. That was yesterday. This is today and that means, I Logan Dean Worrell am gonna fuck this town in the ass.




This town makes no sense to me. I don’t know where anything is, and there’s white people everywhere. The bus system intimidates me and all the streets start a stop too much for my liking. I’m just doing your, run of the mill “fucking off” when I see it. Just another café, but no. It’s not just another café. I see ashtrays through the window. After further inspection, I see a Dr. Pepper sign and a whole deli tray full of rice crispy treats. Holy shit. I have finally found my people. You can tell me my dog just got hit by a car and as long as I can smoke and drink soda I doubt It’d even phase me. I love smoking. Not because it feels good (which it does) and not because it makes you look cool (which it also does), but because it symphonizes everything that I love about America. There’s something about the death wish that gets me off. It’s expensive, disgusting, and deadly. I think that’s why I like it. I’ve met many a solid dude while smoking cigarettes. Oh, how many conversations we struck up while freezing your ass off in the rain just to get a few puffs. Oh how every transparent conversation was started off with a cleaver little quim about the weather. “ fucking sucks outside huh?” “It’s the worst. What ever happened to smokers rights?” Yeah! What about smokers rights? I pay taxes. Well I have at least. I pay taxes on cigarettes. Doesn’t that count for something? I’m totally fine with smoking sections. What ever happened to those? For years our people were leaving in harmony with the “ radicals” and then one day POOF, no more smoking for anybody, ever. I don’t drink , I don’t do drugs, so please, just let me smoke. “ It smells bad. Well you know what, so do does a lotta shit. Shit for one , smells bad. Incense smells bad. Hobos smell bad. Why can’t I just have this one little thing,




Second hand smoke? I was raised with second hand smoke. My father smoked like a fucking fright train and I loved it. Made me the man I am today. OTSS, only the strong survive.When I got caught smoking when I was a little kid, Terry, like any good father would, sat me down and made a young Logan smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. We have never been closer. Cleary he had underestimated my desire to smoke and we just sat there and shot the shit for a couple hours. Then he went to the store to get more smokes. That’s how you raise kids ladies and gentleman. Treat em like adults. So what I can’t walk up a hill? Big deal, that even looking at a treadmill make my chest hurt? I can blow a smoke ring in the shape of a 1940’s era battleship. I don’t have to taste cauliflower. Who’s jealous now? All I’ve ever wanted to do is be able to smoke on an airplane. That’s all. I could die a happy man. I could fly to the fucking moon just so long as I could burn one down every five minutes.



Hopefully the constant tar I’ve shoved down my lungs will eliminate the possibility of ever bearing children. It's a pretty expensive form of birth control, but a delicious one none the less. Plus most cigarette taxes go towards schools, so I figure that all those snot nosed, ugly, stupid fucking kids out there should all thank me for the hard work that I do. Which I do for them might I add. I don’t think it would be out of the question to have a little play in my honor at the local elementary school as a cute little way of saying thanks. Maybe the “ 3 Piggy Opera “ or something along those lines. That’s a great play and it keeps you on the edge of you seat the whole time. SPOILER ALERT: the wolf blows all the houses down but one and that house my friend was made out of bricks. Bricks and tar. Tar from the lungs of a lowly hobo.


Sunday, March 28, 2010

Saturday, March 27, 2010

some things.


Lance Hahn did a little thing for one of his zines where he made a list of all the things he's done since high school.

Seeing that today is my 27th birthday, I figured it might be fitting for me to do that same kinda thing.

enjoy.

Made love to many full figured and not so full figured woman.
Been to a bunch of places.
Been to 48 outta 50 states.
Riden a jet ski.
Seen every episode of "LOST" to date.
Almost got married.
Been arrested 4 times, in 3 different states.
Gotten the shit beaten out of me a bunch.
Been shot at twice.
Drank a bottle of wine on a bridge over Sin River in Paris.
Attended a witch party.
Drank human blood.
Went to Bruce Lee, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Darby Crash, Oscar Wilde, Charles Burkowski, and GG Allin's grave.
Got a Pearl Jam tattoo.
Had 2 acid trips go awry.
Took ecstasy on a beach in France at 9 am.
Made love in a "port o' potty".
Ate a sandwich containing mozzarella cheese sticks.
Watched a van explode before my eyes.
Ate lobster 3 meals a day for 7 days,
Cracked 3 ribs, 4 times.
Tried to give my friend CPR .( I dont know CPR)
Lived in 4 closets.
Made love in a cemetery listening to Danzig.
Stole a car, drove it through a park, then parked it back where I stole it from.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

BRUCE ROEHRS




BRUCE ROEHRS 1950-2010

I met Bruce in San Francisco about 5 years ago. I had been reading his column since I was a kid and had always wanted to meet him. The minute I shook Bruce’s hand my life would forever be changed. We laughed and listened to Cock Sparrer, Warrior Kids, and Agnostic Front drinking whiskey till we couldn’t stand anymore. It was one of the best nights I can remember having. I’ve been putting off writing this for some time. When I got the news of his passing, I was at work. There wasn’t much I could do at the time and due to financial responsibilities, I had to keep working and couldn’t be where I need to be, in the Bay, mourning with my friends. Not since the passing of my grandfather when I was a kid have I ever been more affected by anyone’s passing. It eats me up inside that I never get to hear his laugh or get a classic Bruce hug ever again. I’m gonna miss moshing around MRR house with him and knocking shit over. I’m gonna miss him praising me on my green taping skills.

Fukuko and I were in San Francisco visiting a couple years back and I really wanted her to meet Bruce. Being the charmer that he was, I knew that after about 15 minutes she would fall in love with the guy. Sure enough, on the first day we were there my theory was proven true. I had called Bruce early one morning to see if he wanted to come with me and Fukuko for the day to do some touristy bullshit she had never done before. “Hell no! I’m not about to spend my day off fighting for parking spots with a bunch of assholes,” and promptly hung up. I called him right back , told him he was being a pussy and he eventually came around. “Alright, I’ll go with y’all, but we gotta do the shit I wanna do.” 20 minutes later Randy, Fukuko, and myself were in Bruce’s truck heading west towards the Presidio. Man had it all figured out. Knew where all the best spots were and gave us so much insight into the last 25 years that it blew our minds. The day seemed to never end. From dive bars formerly frequented by Hunter S. Thompson, to a Columbarium, to crazy 1980’s punk venues in Chinatown. None of us stopped laughing for the entire day. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about watching that happy bastard limping down the street and stopping randomly to point and fill us in on a few more local landmarks. To date one of the most fun days I can remember. Fukuko ended up in bed by about 6:30 pm. “I am waste” was all I could get her to say through her thick Japanese accent.

Bruce had a heart as big as his record collection. The man would hear that I was going through a hard time, pick up the phone, and call me to make sure I was ok. Bruce would always try to get me to drink with him, even though I had quit sometime back. He’d buy me a shot, slide it over and when I’d decline, he’d just laugh and do it himself, squeezing my shoulders the whole time.

The man could tell a story like it was his fucking job and it makes me sick to my stomach that I was never able to get more a few of em down on paper. Bruce saw the Beatles, The Stones, The Kinks, The MC5, The Pistols, The Ramones (in their hey day – ‘77), Bob Dylan (over 30 times since the 60’s), and Black Flag (with every singer), not to mention every other band you would ever want to see. Actually, when he saw the MC5 he booed ‘em. Bruce had been waiting to see the Steve Miller Band and was not about to watch some fucks from the Motor City noodle around. He sold LSD for Grand Funk Railroad. He went to Jamaica in the late 70’s to buy reggae records in Kingston.

Bruce had a degree from the University of Florida in Psychology, but chose to be a carpenter (not unlike Jesus) to be able to pursue things of more interest to him, like Rock ‘n’ Roll. He was a mentor, a father figure, and a friend. My life was better with him in it. Bruce inspired me keep writing regardless of what other people thought. I will always love him for that. Bruce told me that if I wasn’t pissing people off then I wasn’t doing something right. When I was staying in the Bay for a while, every morning around 10:30 Bruce would call MRR, where he knew I’d be green taping, and see where we were having lunch. Every day. I miss you so much already. SYFATB.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

SXSW

SXSW: WEEK IN REVIEW

As many of you loyal readers know, I’ve recently retired. Now a lifestyle of leisure and relaxation can get kinda expensive and seeing that my money management system involves me taking all the money I have and throwing it up in the air, immediately running away from it, doesn’t help for the longevity of my new found occupational freedom. Needless to say I got me a job at a local live music venue called EMO’s. It’s a nice place. My buddy Lucas got me the gig. Basically this is what I did all of SXSW this year. Which is was better then other years when I just spend most of the time doing drugs with Greg Daly. So yeah here we go.

Tuesday:

Bill told me to work the Hank III show. I’m not sure if any of you know what Hank III means, so allow me to fiil you in. Hank III is a stupid ugly, redneck ,full of shit, cocksucker. Apparently he’s related to Hank Williams, but who the fuck cares. Dude sucks and most people who like him suck. We had to throw out a chick who managed to make the situation so gnarly it took 3 huge bouncers to get her fat ass out of there. You all know I love a full figured women (or man for that matter) , but this shit was unreal. Homegirl was like 6’5 350lbs. No bullshit. They should have charged admission to that show by the pound and given discounts based on number of original teeth. Saw 2 giant Nazis “sieg heiling” and taking pictures with other ugly fucks. Overall not a bad day.

Wednesday:

Got to work at 11 am. Working the pit for this “gay Edward Scissorhands” sorta shit. I guess it metal core, though I’m not entirely sure what that means. All their songs we named after Al Pacino movies. Carlito’s Way, Heat, Donnie Brasco, etc. Well all except for “ 5 minutes Alone” which is a sick fucking Pantara song. DBDRIP. Later that night worked some dumb, euro trash bullshit. Fucking people who don’t even speak English. Come on man. Get with it. I got some unfortunate news before I got off, so I went home early and cried like a baby. More of that later.

Thursday:

Working the back gate, which basically involves letting Emo’s bartenders friends in so they ain’t gotta fuck with no line. Most of em are still cunts, but it wasn’t all that bad I guess. Damian and Sandy came to hang out with me for about 4 hours and I spent the rest of the evening hitting on dumb hipster girls and chain smoking. One guy called me a faggot, and I just blew a kiss at em. Totally bet I could fuck that dude if I wanted too. Seeing as Amy drove me to work that morning, I was left down town at 3 am with out a way home. Bailey had to walk home on the east side, so being a smooth fucking southern gent that I am ,walked her home . She gave me a ride home, but once there realized that I was once again locked out. I banged on Amy’s window and she let me in. Got to see her in a towel ( sorry Berdan) which was cool.

Friday:

Woke up with a pizza box on my chest. Around this point in my workweek I was deliriously tired and contemplating killing myself hourly, but the fear of un-retiring was way greater then the fear of yuppie cocksuckers. Told the VP of Sony records he couldn’t come in. Asked me if I know who he was. Asked him if he knew who I was. He didn’t. Stormed away in a huff. Dropped His GPS on the ground behind him. 1 point Logan. Stick to putting out SADE records ( which I love) and get the fuck out. Old bastard. There was also a Surfer Blood day show chock full of suedo beach babes. Told the chick from Surfer she was so fine I’d let her shit in my mouth. She was unimpressed. Another women told me she’d suck my dick if I let her and her homies in. Declining, as I occasioanly do in these situations for fear of weird dieses that there aren’t even names for yet, I told her if she found a dude to suck my dick, I might change my tune. Sure enough, homegirl sent some skinny hipster dude over to suck me off. Unfortunately, I had to tell the poor fella he wasn’t my type. Rejection at a surfer blood gig, bummed. Things get kinda hazy around this point. Probably went home and had to deal with Timmy’s farts for a couple hours before I fell asleep.
Quote of the Day( awesome super fine black women), “ $20 dollars? Well who the fuck is playing here, Juvenile or something?”

Saturday:

Worked the back door for the SUM 41 gig. Those dudes make Blink 182 look like GISM. I know its not cool to refer to something as “ gay” but, hey man, call a spade a spade. They also drink white wine. If your name isn’t Meredith and you don’t listen to Fleetwood Mac yet drink white wine, well then I don’t know what to tell you. People (14yr old girls) love the shit outta that fucking band. Taking pictures with em, hugging em, whatever. Made me kinda sick, but that’s the game son. Ended up working out side and freezing my ass off all night and wishing I was dead.
Quote of the day “ Hey man I need to get back stage, I know the bass player, he had sex with my girlfriend, well now she’s my ex girlfriend, but you know what I mean”

Sunday:

This was the High Times 10th annual “ DOOBIE AWARDS”. No shit. About 200 pot heads showed up for the chance to smoke weed with B Real from Cypress Hill ( who cancelled) and check out the newest drug smoking apparatuses in the Marijuana scene. There we vaporizers, bongs, weird blunts things I don’t even know about and ugly, ugly, ugly fucking people. Dixie Witch played ( southern gummo, sleeze garbage) to about 6 people who probably thought they were watching B Real. After every band some drugged out asshole would come out and announce another award.” And for best Pop artist of 2010…….the winner is… Alice in Chains”. NO SHIT. Followed immediately after “ Alice in Chains couldn’t be here tonight “ blah blah blah. I was stuck working at the front door, but it was a nice day outside so was way into the idea of chilling out by the back gate with all the other door guys. I got some pot brownies from the lady who ran High Times and gave them to a couple of BMX stoner dudes who were fellow Emo’s employies and next thing you know, they were wasted by the front door, unable to move they were reduced to take my spot at the door checking Id’s and stamping hands. I spent most of the day wandering around watching the clock to hit 7.
Quote of the day “ Slayer is not here to accept this award, but……”

Monday, March 15, 2010

Once a day to keep me regular




For some reason or another Timmy , Amy, and I ended up at the grocery store stocking up on provisions for the upcoming SXSW week. I’m gonna be working at a bar downtown and we decided that working so many hours, it would be in my best interest to get some easy-to-make food items to ensure I am fully nourished.

The following is a list of the things I got.

White bread,
Frosted mini wheats. (generic brand)
Salami
Everything bagels
3 Totino’s frozen pizzas (pepperoni)
onion and chive cream cheese (generic brand)
ramen noodles (oriental & chicken)
1 Cliff bar
Bananas
Soy milk (who the fuck am I kidding)


I’m not really much of a shopper and seeing as I only had literally 15 dollars in my pocket (my debit card privileges have been revoked. Yes, they can do that), I feel like a did a pretty good job. After walking back to the car, Timmy dared me to drink some of Amy’s 3 day old horchata that was chilling in one of her cup holders. I declined. Timmy did remind me of the time he dared me to drink a shot glass full of feta cheese water at Bouldin a couple years back. Around this time I had also dared him to drink a shot of vegetable oil and that’s when it hit me…. I have jacked off with some really weird things.

Sunscreen:
I was 13. My mom made me go on this stupid fucking trip to Schlitterbahn with her weird friend Ellen and her awful fucking kid Robert. Robert and I were life long adversaries. Anyway, Ellen and Mom got some kid of dingy motel room that was connected to Schlitterbahn (at this time Schlitterbaun was the world’s largest water park, however now that title goes to some bullshit place in Wisconsin). Robert and I went and fucked off in the water all day while Ellen and Mom drank white wine and listened to Fleetwood Mac. One afternoon I went into the gnarly ass bathroom to relieve myself and put a little sunscreen on my arms and BAM! It just hit me like a ton of bricks. It felt so right. The smooth buttery feeling of sunscreen on my skin. I just had to find out what it would be like on my penis. All those years of spit and a dream for nothing. It had been right in front of my face this whole time, just wating to be utilized. Having been a fair skinned young man, sunscreen was only next to the church as a huge priority for Mom. Once the one-eyed gopher was polished I retired to the back porch for a post masturbatory cigarette (which I had just discovered early that year), when walks out that cocksucker Robert. “Oh, my god! You’re smoking! I’m gonna tell your mom.” Not a good idea, Robert. I beat the shit outta him and ended up breaking of couple fingers in the process. The golden girls walked in right when I had him right where I wanted him. Ellen freaked out and broke it up. Mom told her to just let us finish. Overall, a pretty solid vacation.

Vegetable Oil;
My grandmother had just passed away. The whole Worrell clan had to meet up in Houston (gross) and attend the funeral. Now, let me give you a little insight into my family. Uncle Pat (actually one of my 3 uncle Pats) was hosting the event, seeing as that is where Nana had died and he kinda ends up being the one who a) likes being a leader, or b) being the one who cant say no to Terry. My cousins are more or less okay, but aside from a few of ‘em, I don’t really talk to them all that much. My aunt is fucking crazy and usually a wake in my family is just another excuse to get loaded in the daytime without any fear of judgment. Not that that ever was a deterrent. The funeral had ended. Some cold cuts were eaten and scotch was drunk. It was time for this 16 y.o. to retire for a little one-on-one time. At this time I was maxing out around 3 times a day (excluding sick days which could go as far as 7) whether I needed to or not. This being a day of mourning was no excuse. But what to use? Quick recon mission to the restroom was a no go. Just hand soap shaped like sea shells and dental floss. My only hope was the kitchen. There I could surely find something. I remember my aunt having some hand lotion down by the sink for after she did dishes. I didn’t even make it as far as the sink when I noticed a bottle of veggie oil sitting on the counter. I have to admit to you, my loyal readers, I was so intrigued. Maybe it was the color of the bottle. Or the way that silky oil just called out to me, screaming, “come on Logan, fuck yourself with this.” I put some in a little glass and went back upstairs in my Uncle’s guest bedroom. It was great. Aside from making a slight mess due to over usage, not a big deal. My penis was kinda oily, but I was 16 so my face was too. Now I matched. The next morning my mother came in to wake me up for the long drive back to Plano. “Logan, what is that on the nightstand beside you?” Fuck. Busted by my mother. No, No, No. I can talk my way out of this for sure. “Well, mother, it’s vegetable oil. I drink it.” And then I took a big swig of it. To this day I think mom knew that I was jacking off with it, but for the good of both of us, it was never mentioned again. Completely disgusted with myself, I have to date never masturbated with vegetable oil ever again.

Hair Gel:
This one is kinda hard. I know I seem like a pretty open guy, but what kinda man wants to openly admit that he has beat his meat with motherfucking LA LOOKS? Nobody wants that. However, for the sake of art I must carry on. I had to have been 13. Punk as fuck, might I add, so of course I had a little hair gel around. Trapped somewhere between being the dirty kid and the clean kid, mom used to make me wake up extra early and take a shower. What she didn’t know is that I had my porno stash in the bathroom behind the towels. Unbeknownst to her, while I was supposed to be showering I was pleasuring myself to my friend’s dad’s stolen porno, which was comprised entirely of closeup shots of worn out vagina. Now, let the record show, I am in no way, shape, or form dogging worn out vaginas. I like em rode hard and put up wet. I digress, anywho. The hand lotion was running low and trying not to raise suspicion, i decided that it was time to find a new love liquid. Shampoo was of course my first thought. Although I have a urethra of steel, having tried shampoo in the past, I figured round 2 might fare better results. The next best option to me was the bottle of hair gel lying innocently on the sink. I’m a “trysexual” I’ll try anything. So why the fuck not? Here’s a real shit, it wasn’t so bad. It looked kinda cool. It was actually a lot like jacking off with Nickelodeon “ Gak”, which I have also done. Jacking off with a time sensitive lube is definitely something to get into. Who doesn’t love a challenge? You got to be careful. If you don’t cum, clean up and get out real soon, you’ll end up with your dick looking like a cast member of the Jersey Shore.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Kinda Dumb.

Im working on a new segment for FUCK ALL FUCKING SHIT. Its called " Unkie Berdan's Advice Column for the Dead Inside".Please, if so inclined, email me at ldworrell@gmail.com to ask for some advice you might be needing.

Your old lady wont fuck you?

You hate your job?

Hate the shit outta people?

What to do with a sick horse?

White man keep fucking with you?

Swamp ass?

Clam Jam?







This guy will tell you like it is.


Tell Your Friends.

Thanks In Advance,
L. D. Worrell
Professor of Internets

Friday, March 12, 2010

Thursday Night is Family Night


As many of my devoted readers know, I'm currently displaced from my home. It didn't burn down or anything. I could pay the rent if I wanted to. I just dont want to. I live by own rules. However my own rules means living in a bed with my best friend in which we share a giant "Scarface" blanket like a 13 yr old living in Compton. He farts like a mother fucker, but to me his farts smell like roses. Amy and Miguel also allow me to live with them in exchange for taking out the trash every once and a while. Which I plan on doing soon. I got some shit going on right now and I ain't got the time to bother myself with such bullshit. Mr. Worrell has art to create.


Thursday night at our house is family night. We watch a movie that neither of us make it through and eat some type of awesome fast food. This Thursday was Sonic. Something about Sonic really gets my dick hard. Maybe its the cherry limeade. Maybe its the fact that I can put chili on whatever I want without fear of ridicule . Who cares. Amy got a gift card ( Texas as fuck, btw) so got weird on that shit. You have no idea how far $20 at Sonic goes till you nut the fuck up and try it.



" Can I have a foot long chili cheese dog meal? And can you sonic size it? And can I have chili and cheese on the tots too?" No problem.


Miguel only got jalapeno poppers to go with his "taco" which he actually "made" himself. Sucker. I'm an american. I pay mother fuckers to cook my food for me. It's my own little way of stimulating the economy. If you cook your own food you are either a communist or just cheap. Either way you make me sick.



This was my last bite. I was about to throw up or shit or something else I dont even no about , but somehow I managed to get through it. If my calculations are correct I ate about 2 feet of chili. I dont know what that means, but it's got to mean something.



Go ahead and ask me how much of a fuck I give.



After dinner we watched " Planes, Trains and Automobiles". It was lovely. Then we had to go to the broken neck to see my good buddy who I hadn't seen in some years. He's in a crust band. Duh. He had pink eye, so I wouldn't let him touch me. He seemed kinda bummed, but hey man, I cant let you fuck up my shit no matter how long its been. Plus hugging a guy is kinda weird anyway.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

I've done some things.

My friend Jessica turned me onto this blog about women who hook up with really really horriable people. Fuck it kills me. Funniest shit I've ever seen. Its the only thing on the internet I have to check everyday no matter what. I'm pretty sure its because I'm just half expecting to see myself on it someday. Any way, It's called " I bang the worst dudes" and this is my version of it.

* all these stories are true.



I was working a some shitty bar downtown a couple years back on Halloween. Some awful cover band was playing( as is the tradition of every shitty bar on halloween) and I was working the door collecting money. There she was. All 6'2 of her wearing some kind of weird fucked up, like clear mask with a bunch of make up on it distorting her face. I saw her keep staring at me from across the room, but frankly I couldn't be sure seeing as her eyes were covered. Every time I looked up from the cocaine laden 5 dollar bills, there she was, prowling, checking me out. Now, as many of you know, I'm not what you would call a " hot dude", but goddamn I was just so confused and intrigued and I have to admit I was pretty fucking stoned. Next thing you know it was last call. After cleaning the vomit den of a restroom I walked out to the bar to have a smoke and a beer while everyone else was shooting the shit having after hours drinks. I like my cigarette, looked up and sure enough there she was snorting blow off the bar. Through the nose hole in the mask of course. The bartender looked at her and asked her who she was with. I'll be damned if she didn't point at me. He asked me if that was true and when I started to say no all that came out of my mouth was, " i think so". That was it. It was on. Next stop some weird fucking SAW VI kinda situation, but I really had to see how this was gonna play out. It was like watching someone wreck a tall bike into a traffic signal. Couldn't not finish what I had started. So, next thing you know we were at my place. Irma House. Home of hundreds of poor decisions. I kept trying to talk to her and finally after a little while just ended up drinking a bottle of bourbon I had been saving for a rainy day, and son, let me tell you, It was fucking raining. Up until this point I was convinced that she was a man, but, nope. Near as I could tell, there was never a penis there. I tried to take of her mask, but she wasn't having it. We had pretty alright sex best I can remember, but yeah, the mask didn't come off once. When i woke up in the morning she was gone. To this day I have no idea who the person was. We never exchanged names, but every time I see a tall girl looking at me I wonder if it's her. For the next week I thought it was a dream, till Timmy asked me what ever happened to the girl wearing the mask I brought home from work.




Another awkward work thing, but up until recently I worked alot, so I guess it kinda makes sense. I was working this time at some fancy coffee shop downtown where they made everyone wear black and look really fucking slick. They wouldn't let me have a beard and I had to cover up all my tattoos. Even though I had 10 years experience making coffee they would only let me wash dishes because I was that much of a scum bag. Fuck 'em. I digress, this blonde chick who worked at the sports bar next door used to come in alot to get drinks for her and her girls. She was really fine and used to smile whenever I'd look up at her from the dish sink. So one day I hollered at her. She said that if i wanted to I could meet her after work for a drink across the street at one of the 6 gay bars. When asked " why the fuck do we gotta go to Oil Can Harry's" and she said, " they let me drink there and its free karaoke." , I should have cut the scene right then and there. Let the record show that during this time in my life I was doing alot of drugs and drinking like it was my job. After work I went there to meet her, she was singing Kelly Clarkson, which all the fellas at Oil Cans loved, and I ended up smoking coke out of a lone star can in the alley with, well a crackhead I assume is what you would call him. Regardless, we ended up at my place. Usual blah blah blah, she decided to stay over because she left her car down town. I gave her a t-shirt and a pair of boxers to sleep in( cuz I'm a fucking gentleman) and we crashed. The next morning I gave her a ride to her car and that was that until I got home and realized that she stole my fucking UNIFORM CHOICE shirt. Are you kidding me? I give you the best 3-5 minutes of you're life and you steal my shit. I texted her about it with no reply and finally just chalked another one up to the game. A couple weeks later homegirl texts me and asks if she left her high school class ring at my house. I looked around my room and sure enough there it was. Green Emerald class ring from 2006? Get the fuck out. This was 2007, so I know I just did something kinda creepy. I never texted her back to give and ended up giving the ring to my buddy Lynn who still wears it everyday.



Theres a couple stories I could go into so.... Actually more than a couple. When I was 17 I was going to AA. I had been in some trouble with the law and the state of Texas, my family and even I though it might be best if I checked it out for awhile. AA as a teenager is a fucking weird scene. Lots a ex bar hags, junkies, bikers (which was cool) and just all around fucked up, crazy people. I didn't have a lot of friend because I was such a smart ass little shit, but ended up becoming close with an older lady who was also new to the " program". I say older, but she was probably in her mid to late 30's if memory serves me. One night she invited me over to watch a movie. Once again, she was pretty fine so I went over there. I'm not gonna say I didn't wanna take it to the bone zone, but I just never really though this incredibly beautiful mature women would even entertain the thought of fucking me. One thing led to another and we ended up making out on her couch. She said she was getting hungry, and it being late and all got in her insanely nice car and drove that shit to the nearest late night eatery, Denny's. She got the " Eggs Over Mi Hami while I just looked at her driking coffee gawking at her like a horny 17 year old, which in my defense I was. After we got dont eating we ended up having sex in the back of her car outside of the Denny's. It was fucking awesome. Now, here's where shit gets a little weird. She said I could stay her place that night to have a little " round 2", which I could actually do back in those days, but had to be out early because her " baby daddy" was coming to drop off her daughter for the after noon. Whom she hadn't seen for about 6 months. We feel asleep after about 5 minutes of signature Logan style sex. Around 5 am I woke up to take a piss and to my suprise and horror found her lying on the bathroom floor with a needle in her arm. I called the EMS and then I called Terry Worrell. She ended up being fine, but was taken to a psych ward for being dog shit fucking crazy. I few weeks later she got out and showed up at my parents house apparently to profess her love for me. Terry Worrell answered the door and told her that she could either get shot or leave. She left. Never heard from her again.
,

Monday, March 8, 2010

Fuck All Fucking Shit Special Assignment..... The Mall


It was a gross day out in the good old ATX, so TJ and I decided what a better way to spend it then doing a little social experiment at the mall. We both come from places where the mall is kinda the hub of the social scene. Maybe it was because we were feeling a little nostaligic. Maybe it was because we had to go to the apple store. I dont know, I'm not a scientist, but I do know that we had a really lovely afternoon.


We started off where any gay 15 year old boy would, Spencers Gifts. Place goes hard son. All types of awsome shit. Back home in Plano, we didn't have a spencers gifts, however we did have a killer GADZOOKS. It feels like yesterday when I was begging mom to buy me that "remember my name you'll be screaming it later" shirt. And oh the Dr. Seuss hats galore! Regardless we did find this awesome shirt for Timmy. He looks great in it and I cant even get him to take it off. He likes it that much.


They also threw in this super cool beer helmet!


I'm sorry. I just happen to look better in apple bottom jeans. What's the big fucking deal. Yall Jealous.


First and Foremost, I told timmy and now I'm telling you, I will not live in a house (even if its just for a few weeks and its free) that doesnt have adequite linnens. I just wont. I've grown acoustomed to a few creature comforts and not willing to give them up for any reason. I just like the thought of Robert Patterson face rubbing up against my wet balls. No big deal.


I'm not entirely sure whats going on in this one, but this little kid sure as fuck dont look happy and JC PENNY looks huge.


So yes, I did take a creepy photograph on some fine girl on an escalator. Where are we Russia? It's a free country, plus the Japanese do it all the time.



The mall is a big place full of wonder and excitement. Old people walk around the mother fucker early in the morning just for exercise. Can you believe that shit? Working out at the mall whats next. Palates at Cold Stone Creamery? Shit got kinda wild and we saw some massage chairs which give a 3 minute rub down for a buck, so seeing as I had a few bones in my pocket me and TEEJJ said ," what the fuck"? Thanks to Alison for the suggestion.


And it just so happens that Victoria Secret was just across the way. Not creepy, just the way it worked out. The lady I asked to take the picture looked at us like we were nuts, but fuck her, shit was tight and refreshing. So yeah, fuck you lady.



Man was I beat. I was seeing stars and ugly people and bad tattoos and hair gel. Oh god so much fucking hair gel. We had to rehydrate. It was the only way make it back to the car. Christians can make a hell-of-a french fry and the lemonade aint bad either. By the way, did you know even the Chickfila in the mall is closed on sunday too. Thats just insane. Its like Mormons are afraid of money or something. Any way, it was a great day. Now we are home listening to some Dub and watching Running Man.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Living the Dream.

Retirement is a job all in itself. For starters, you gotta find tons of shit to do so you dont shoot yourself in the fucking face from boredom. So basically my new job is just trying not to be bored. Life has gone full circle for me. No job. No home. It's kind of a kick in the dick, but hey, it was my genius idea in the first place and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some cocksucking naysayers get me down. I'm Logan "Fucking" Worrell. Son of Terry Worrell. Only thing that can get me down is snow and cancer. Actually fuck that. Just snow.

Like most days, I try to plan out what I'm gonna do. Usually its some unreal grandiose bullshit like go to the bank or clean my room. What I usually do, which I've stated on this blog before, is just eat tacos and fuck myself. It's getting pretty old, though. Not to say that I'm through with the study of Vibeology or anything. Creating a good vibe is so important after all, it's just that there's gotta be more to life than what KISS record to start my day with. Surely people do more with their time than wander from one friend's house to another looking for some action.

There are a few things I've thought of getting into, though.

Yoga:
well, I sure as fuck got the legs for it. The shorts too. However, usually i'm not the cleanest of individuals and the thought of subjecting so many dumb fucking yuppies to the smell of 7 days of ball and asshole sweat just sounds so cruel. Fuck em though. I've put many an ex girlfriend through the same thing and they didn't seem to mind all that bad. Actually the ex's did have it a little bit worse, they had to fuck me.

Continued Education;
Why the fuck not? I can read and all that. I love cruising for chicks at the mall, so why not expand my options with a little community college talent? It's not the worst idea. Plus it couldn't hurt all that bad to be able to use somewhat proper grammar.
A couple of classes I just looked up online:

How to suck your own dick in 6 weeks.
Shoe tying for dummies.
Home face tattoo removal.
Jacuzzi repair for seniors.
HVAC ( huge vagina ass class )
Japanese cooking for Chinese people.
Condoms; reduce, reuse, recycle. A retrospective.

Volunteering:
Where I come from, volunteering is just a nice way of saying 'doing a bunch of shit you dont wanna do for no fucking reason whatsoever.' And dont even start with that 'just cuz I care' bullshit with me. That dog won't hunt. Maybe I'll get a gig at a nursing home. Great drugs and tons of half dead fuckers to grift. Hello social security checks. fuck em all. My grandmother told me how much she hated old people and she was in a retirement home. Notice I didn't say community. She was in one of those once, but was forced to leave after she punched another old broad in the mouth and the dentures had to be removed from her esophagus at the hospital. If i remember correctly, a lawsuit was pending up until the time of Nana's death. RIP Nana. I didn't even mind when you called me Pat. Maybe even jump on the whole Haiti bandwagon. You know, help some kids. Hook up with some dark skinned ladies. Raise some awareness. Build a schoool or some shit. Teaching children to read has got to be some fulfilling shit. I like books. Letters to Penthouse. Good night Moon. Terry Worrell's version of Everybody poops, " People gotta shit."

On second thought, I think I'll just continue doing what I'm doing. Being an ill ass mother fucker from around the way.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Another Photo Essay



On this day it was cold. I'm sure we were watching a Hard to Kill or some other ill fucking jam. This is what it looks like to be comfortable as a mother fucker.



Timmy Hefner and a bag of drugs. Go figure. He looks likes Frodo after he found his " precious ".



This is Mike Bovas leg. He once an entire pizza of mine and just put an empty box back in the fridge. I wanted to kill him, but goddamn I had to respect the shit out of him.



Randa said I looked like Jesus. I called bullshit on her, but was quickly proven a fool.



This is just the coolest thing I've ever seen. I dont know who the fuck Latoya Pittman is, but I wanna fuck the government cheese outta her. This dudes got a wrap game tighter then Milton Brothers asshole.



Only in Austin can you be served buy a grown women wearing her underwear and cooking you tacos.




Stuntin is a habit.