Alice Crucifies The Paedophiles

a little something something.

2010-11-14T13:58:00.000-08:00

I've been fucking off for awhile. Figured it was high time to drop some knowledge on you pricks.

Spanish trashcan. Pretty cool.

When I was told a photograph was about to be taken, I instantly reverted to what I would have done, given the same situation if I was 15. Mission Accomplished.

Nked Dwdz

This is TeTe. He is part bullfighter, part Joe Strummer impersonator.I dont have a best friend, but i think it's TeTe.

If I was to wear this in Mexico to a punk show, I'd probably get the tan beaten off my ass, yet in this country its no problem to wear a sombrero to a Latino punk gig. Keep in the mind I was once referred to as an antisemite in said country. Germany. Wow.

The only good thing about European squats is that they allow you the freedom play games involving( but not limited to) house hold cleaning products, placed on top of a fooseball table and set up like bowling pins while people jump off couches and try to knock them down.

it was a very good meal

I love this dude, but come the fuck on. Sometimes for make it too goddamn easy to fuck with you.

Matt told me that I've been doing this since we were 13. I'm pretty sure its still really funny as hell.

Everybody always says" Man, those squats are so fucking cool. It must be so great to hang out and stay at em everyday for 6 weeks." Well have at it mother fucker.

Hey there little guy!

Heres a little story. Once opun a time there was a guy named Logan. He sat in a van all day in the rain for what felt like an eternity. It was cold and he was bored, so to kill some time and make his friends laugh, he put a condom in Victors afro. The End.

When life gives you lemons, lounge on a couch in Madrid with fine girls.

Bad to the Bone. I concur.

All and all it was a good time.

GG interview

2010-11-10T17:02:00.001-08:00

Stumbled across this the other day. Really made me happy. Thought Id share it with ya'll.

J. Cruelty vs. G.G. Allin via telephone

The following interview was conducted via U.S. Sprint shortly before G.G. Allin's untimely death. G.G. sounded kind of hoarse over the telephone, and he would break off mid-sentence to clear the phlegm out of his throat. All of us were shocked and saddened by his death, which came as a great disappointment, seeing as how G.G. had promised to end it all on stage. Dead though he may be, his legacy lives on. G.G. Allin, we love you!

J. Cruelty:So...uh, what was your favorite childhood pet?

G.G. Allin: Pet?! I didn't have time for any goddamn pets. Animals are there for me to abuse and eat.

J Cruelty: Describe your first kiss…

G.G.: Fuck! I was licking my old lady's asshole by the time I was five years old. I never kissed. I only exist to destroy. I don't have time for kissing. It's just me and you, man, and one of us has got to be destroyed. I'm looking out for G.G. Allin, that's all. [Spits]

J Cruelty: What was your favorite backing band? Personally I find the Murder Junkies to be technically richer than earlier bands such as The Jabbers or The Toilet Rockers...yet they never captured the "rough around the edges intensity" of those earlier, more punk rock bands.

G.G.: Backing bands? What the fuck are you talking about?! I eat 'em up and spit 'em out like the shit they were made out of. I don't care, you can take 'em!

The only thing that matters is ME. Just you wait! When the smoke clears, who will they remember? Not the Fucking Shit Biscuits -they weren't out there in jock straps shitting on stage! People are gonna remember ME, the true fucking soul of underground rock n' roll!

J. Cruelty: We like sports. I have a feeling if you played sports you wouldn't be a "team player" -cuz you don't play by the rules, do you G.G.?

G.G.: Hell no! The only fucking sport I like is when I'm pissing in someone's fucking mouth.

J. Cruelty: What's the biggest thing you've ever shoved up your butt?

G.G.: Your head you goddamn faggot.

J. Cruelty: How much money would it take to get you to tattoo the entire Smurf village onto your body?

G.G.: Who gives a fuck? Look at my tattoos. This one says "Fuck you." The only tattoos I have are ugly. You don't know what it's like to be G.G. Allin. You don't walk in my shoes.

J. Cruelty: What is your drug of choice?

G.G.: Fucking heroin.

MRR COLUMN

2010-11-10T10:05:00.000-08:00

I try to be a good houseguest. No, fuck that, I try to be a great houseguest. Sure sometimes, you get a little too comfortable with where you staying and leave your underwear sitting in the kitchen sink. And, maybe sometimes you get caught jacking off on the couch when homeboy is trying to watch a movie with his old lady, but on the “reg” I like to think that I can hold my own. My life is one really really long couch surf. This can be a very satisfying existence for all parties involved if the houseguest can step his game up and be a prince not a pauper.

Be invisible: Being invisible can turn your temporary living situation in a semi- long term one very easily. It seems like some scientology bullshit, but I swear to god it works. Once you get into your new digs scan the room for a place to store your giant ugly duffel bag. No no no, not the open space in the middle of the living room. Go for the spot hidden underneath the kitchen table that is coved in record mailers. You know, the one that has never actually been used for its intended purpose. Shove it to the back of the wall and be sure that as soon as you’re done with whatever the fuck it is that your doing, to put it back where it came from. Out of sight out of mind. There’s nothing more annoying then some dickhead crashing on your couch for a goddamn month and every time you try to walk to the pisser at 4am, homeboys goddamn dirty laundry gets in the way and next thing you know you’re face down in the litter box. Has happened. Shit sucks.

Clean up after everybody: Yes everybody, not just yourself. Most mother fuckers hate doing dishes and cleaning bathrooms ( and frankly, I can’t blame ‘em. People will always be more inclined to let you stay if you consistently do all the mundane bullshit they hate doing. This means clean the toilet, wash the goddamn dishes and for god sakes, take out the fucking trash. Make sure not to only repair that damage that you caused. Go the extra mile and pick up the whole houses shit. It’s not rocket science, its good housekeeping baby. Bam.

Don’t break the rules: Hey, I fucking hate rules. However, sometimes you gotta pay the cost to be the boss. If some goddamn idiot your buddy met on craigslist while looking for a SWF to live with doesn’t want ya to smoke in the house, don’t. If the ladies at the LGBT compound don’t allow dogs (which would never happen) just leave the little shit roller outside. And for goddsakes don’t eat other peoples food, not matter how loaded you are or how much it pisses you off when some asshole writes their name on a Togo box of left over shitty Chinese food (which, they will probably never eat anyway). Also, if you’re dead set on smoking in the house do it in the bathroom with an open window and preferably with a toilet paper roll filled with fabric softener, high school style.

Buy some goddamn food for the goddamn house: Don’t be a dick, buy some shit. Fucking toilet paper, fucking cereal, fucking romin, whatever. Joe Blow will be a lot less inclined to kick you to the curb if he has his stupid thin lips wrapped around a free bottle of Pellegrino. All compliments of whatever food stamp provider of your choice.

Don’t sit on the couch all day watching TV: It’s not your couch and believe it or not, some one who actually pays rent might want to sit and chill after a long day at work. People really get up tight when you do that. I learned the hard way. Not to mention that I un-tivo’ed all his programs, but that was just because he was a dick. Fight fire with fire. Naw mean?

I’m really not trying to come across as a know it all . Frankly all the tutelage I can give is only because I have fucked up literally all of these things. I’ve gotten caught throwing bones in a buddy’s bed that was letting me stay on his couch. I once took a bite out of a block of cheese while wasted and put it back in the fridge. Lord knows I’ve urinated on more then my fair share of couches. I’ve broken windows and most recently spilt tattoo ink all over my friend’s bed and put a pillow over it in hopes to cover my tracks. Little did I know that now the pillow would be covered in ink as well and I was just gonna end up leading a Hansel and Grettle’esk trail back to my pallet on the floor. Man, looking back, a lot of these involve beds. I should really stay the fuck out of other people’s rooms.

A few weeks ago a bunch of buddies and I were in Dallas for a gig. Unfortunately, that’s where I’m from and it being Memorial Day and all figured that I’d give my folks a buzz and try to get some backyard family time in while simultaneously introducing them to the click. My parents place is pretty cramped so we high tailed it to my sister’s place in Dallas proper. Plus, she’s got a pool. If you were to put me a sister in a room, you would not believe we are related. She is the best though and has taken off all the pressure off me to become financially successful. Any way, back to the point. Me and a gang of about 20 people showed up, drank a bunch of beer and swam for hours. However as soon as we left in the morning the place looked like we had never been there. That’s what I’m talking about friends. Keep yo shit clean.

Send bullshit to ldworrell@gmail.com

MRR COLUMN

2010-10-27T07:30:00.000-07:00

By the time this piece of shit comes out it’ll be summer and that means fests. So many fucking fests. Every asshole and their mother has a fucking fest. I’m sure a lot of people have a lot of fun and I’m sure a lot of great bands play, but let’s face the facts, most of us have really short attention spans, drink too much, and could probably care less who’s playing just so long as there’s a nice beat you can dance to. One year I had to have hit most of the fests on the circuit. For sure at least like 6 of em. And yes, most of them suck. So many fucking dogs and spare changers. Ugly people and not in that awesome way. I don’t like the acoustic guitar in general, what exactly makes you think that you playing a Woody Guthrie song earns you a dollar. You should pay me a dollar for not beating the shit out of you.

Pointless Fest:
Let me start by saying that I love both the men who did this fest. I thoroughly the enjoy the Philadelphia metropolitan area. Well, maybe not west Philly. There are a lot of amazing people there, some great food, and some solid vibes. They got ganstas riding ponies through the streets. An amazing Rocky museum that also has some art pieces. Cheese steaks made of actual meat. That being said, what’s the deal with all the train hoppers and oppressive heat? I bout died and I’m from fucking Texas, man. Damn near lost it when Limp Wrist was playing. Room full of about 500 ugly mother fuckers, naked as the day they were born, beating the shit outta each other. The smell, my friends. The smell like what I would imagine cancer to smell like, but worse. There were these huge industrial fans going ape shit. Which should have been amazing, if it weren’t blowing crusty ball smell all over the place. Lance Hahn once said that no one should bring an acoustic guitar on tour because someone might play it. That’s what I thought when me and Barfield got wind of some kinda DIY secret show in the park after hours. Intrigued as we were, seeing as we have our own renegade show space down here in Austin, we decided to peep the scene. To our disbelief there was nothing, but ass flaps, dreadlocks, and some weirdo playing folks songs in a sea of black denim. Everyone was singing along, loving every fucking minute of it. To date, I’ve never been angrier than I was that evening. It was like Bloomington, Indiana, had thrown up on Philly.

The Fest ( Florida )
No Idea records does this cute little fest every year chock full of every goddamn pop punk band on the planet. No shit, every fucking one of em, and I’m ok with that. Do what you do. I ain’t the fucking cops. Most of them are bands I’ve never heard of and the ones I have I wish I hadn’t. One thing I will say is they feed the bands that play, which is a huge thing for me. I don’t drink, and could give two shits if there’s free booze. You give me a couple slices of pizza and a Dr. Pepper a day, you could kick my mother in the face or make me listen to Raydon. Actually, scratch the whole Raydon thing. Not worth it. You also have to go to Florida. There are lots of good times to be had there, I’m sure, but it doesn’t make up for the amount of flip flops or fanny packs you have to endure from the punks and the tourists. Now, if there was a fest in Disney World, maybe in the adult part where you can gamble, I might change my tune, but its not likely. Once when we were there years ago, Hans pulled a knife on some frat boys in the street and our roadie shit his pants. So yeah. No Dice. Have you ever noticed that every time you read one of those News of the Weird or “ wacky news” or whatever it always goes down in like fucking, Panama City? Like some people shoot their kids with pepper spray and it’s no biggie.

Chicago Fest:
Jesus H. Christ, how could I forget Chicago Fest? Where to begin? We drove all night. Got kicked out of a place in Champaign-Urbana, where we were trying to sleep. No, that’s a lie. They got kicked out. I was at a bar down the street hitting on girl I went to high school with, but regardless, it sucked. Dude asked us to come stay at his place and when everyone went to sleep, changed his mind and kicked us out. On the way to the van some crusty shit bag offered to cook for us if we came to his place to crash. “ Hey, I got a few bell peppers and a tortilla and a chair.” 1 chair, mother fucker? The fuck am I gonna fuck with a bell pepper, 1 tortilla , and a fucking chair? Not happening. Ended up staying at a hotel and between Eric Fly’s snoring and “Family Matters “on full blast, I slept like shit. Once we finally got to the fest I saw Jack Control slap some kid ( which was cool) and later saw him with his makeup running down his face like a jilted prom date ( which was cooler) due to extreme heat. BSA killed it and I met a lot of good friends, but I also had to watch The First Step. Over all Chicago is a great city, but cold as fuck. Fly home and met a pimp named Sleepy on the CTA waiting to go to the airport. Kinda tolerable, but still pretty much weak.

Maryland Death Fest;
A, metal sucks. B, Baltimore sucks. C, Im not going to anything called “Death Fest”. That sounds like the worst thing a person could ever do. Fat metal dudes, horrible bands that ALL sound the fucking same minus a few random hardcore bands thrown in the mix to spice up this musical equivalent of a shit omelet . The mere thought of having to sit in a crowded room full of these assholes makes my skin crawl. Nothing more to be said on the subject.

Chaos in Tejas:
See, I’m not playing favorites. Now this may be the fest I prefer, but hey, I gots to keep it real. I like most the bands, hate some of the bands, and am less than thrilled to have to wait longer for tacos so train hoppers can count their change at Tamale House. Last year Amebix played. I actually heard some scum fuck yell out( dog in tow), “ this show should be 5 dollars” and another “ or free for squatters”. Frankly I agree. That would be fine with me. Separate shows for tax payers. I’m cool with that. All I wanna do is sleep for a week after its done. The whole place is fueled by cocaine and bullet belts. Neither of which I partake in and I admit that maybe if I did, it might be more enjoyable. I guess I have just too much self respect and dignity. Psych. Yes, it’s hot as balls here, but hey, we got AC fucking everywhere. Yes, everywhere.

Hell Fest:
This is a fucking fest, man. Twisted Sister, KISS, Alice Cooper! Get the fuck right out! I will unfortunately not be attending because of undying hatred of the French, but goddamn. KISS? Who the fuck needs BASTARD when you got KISS? Hell, even BASTARD would rather watch KISS than play. The Deftones are playing too and frankly, I respect the hell out of that decision. Not a fan, but fuck it man, do what you want. Think outside the box.

Lollapalooza:
Saw Cypress Hill. Got my nipples pierced. Made out with a dude while on ecstasy. Not bad, however the bottled water is too expensive and Sonic Youth played for too long. At least I think it was Sonic Youth. I can remember being a total fucking loser will do that to ya.

Send bullshit to Ldworrell@gmail.com

MRR COLUMN

2010-10-27T07:26:00.000-07:00

I was gonna write this about Bruce, but Im not ready for that yet. Instead I’m gonna write about something he’d want me to write about Rock n Roll. He always fucked with me about writing for a punk magazine and not having it all be about fucking punk. So here it goes. Also, I’m gonna write it in the style of Bruce.

HOLY FUCK SHIT!!!!! Chicago hardcore coming at you blind folded with a pillow case full of FUCKING BRICKS!!! CANADIAN RIFLE killing it with their rag tag brand of melodic punk. Some would call it pop punk, but that shit sucks, SO FUCK THAT! Jordan from RESIDUE RECORDS has been putting out some serious shit as of late NO SLOGAN, DAYLIGHT ROBBERY, DEFECT DEFECT, and of course the power house know as SACRED SHOCK!!! JUMPING JESUS ON A POGO STICK!!!! Chicago is back in the game for all you punk rockers out there. I just got a hold of the MANIPULATION single and its quite a ripper. FASHIONABLE IDIOTS put this hot slab of wax out. CHECK IT OUT!!!!

Ok ok, That’s weak and I know it. Weaker then usual. Even for me. No one can even come close to the genius of Roehrs. What I’m gonna write about this month is gay sex. Yes boys and girls. Hot, buff, gay sex. My gracious host in Milwaukee is a “bear” and a close friend for that matter. I’m sure many of you know what a “bear” is, but just bare with me for a sec, will ya? I bear is a “larger” hairy gay man. A bear is a lover, a fighter , and a friend. A bear will fuck you right and hold you tight. What’s not to love. Lugs, my friend, has really given me an inside look into the sub culture within in a sub culture in the past few weeks. Lugs has been shoving this shit down my throat for years( no pun intended), but until recently I never knew how far this shit reached. I learned some things that I cannot put into words, but goddamnit its my duty as a serious journalist to try. Not because they’re gross or sinfull or whatever, but because I’m jealous as a mother fucker. These dudes go on Cruises, “Bear Runs”, and conventions. Are you kidding me. If you put me in a room full of cute girls with shitty hand tattoos( who actually wanted to fuck me) and crates full of poppers( speculation, no idea if bear conventions have actual crates full of poppers) I’d be all over that shit. I might actually attempt to fuck my brains out. It’s got to be the most amazing place on earth. Like an adult Disney land with none of the “ children” shit. A cruise ship? Are you kidding me. You get me and Greg Daly on a ship full of fine girls headed for Jamaica with an open bar and son, we will sink that fucking ship. Or at the very least come back in hand cuffs For sure create an internationl incident . Lugs, told all about it. Just hot buff dudes with no shirts and very few inhibitions. Just lube and good vibes all around. Cool lube too. The kind that comes in honey bears. That is something anybody can get behind, gay or straight.

On my birthday Lugs took me to Chicago to stay with some of his team mates on his all “bear” softball team. 2 dudes built like linebackers answered the door. I wasn’t sure if they were gonna fuck me or fight me, but judging from the cleanliness of their home I gathered pretty quickly that these men had zero interest in a hobo looking mother fucker like me. There was a massive TV, a Nintendo WII, and a kitchen full of hot delicious food. We just kinda sat around and shot the shit. They schooled me on the game of “bear” and got me hip to the lingo. Now, in straight fucking, we have our own little terms, like first base, second base, etc. However in the “bear” world they have onezies, twozies, and threezies, all the way up to fiveszies. From what I gather, Fivezies of something that I cannot physically perform. Something to do with being able to suck a dick thorough a butthole. I’m not sure, there was so much information to absorb, I got a headache. Twozies is slightly confusing however. It’s a blow job and as best as I can remember from my youth, that would count as somewhere around fourth base. Threezies is anal. Seriously? Whats left man! In my sexual lexicon is don’t get much more then anal. I’ve never even gotten to do that! 4 and 5 gotta be some form of ritual sacrifice. Mother fuckers move fast. I respect that shit out of that. Dave and Owen, our hosts in Chicago, were a absolute delight. Solid dudes and it was breath of fresh air seeing two people really in love with each other. The conversation was sooooo raw. They’d ask me questions about fucking, I’d ask them questions about fucking. They seemed to be really intrigued with“ squirters” (female ejactulation). Unfortunalty I didn’t have nearly enough insider info on the subject, but the didn’t seem to be that upset. Note self: Do “squiter” research for Dave and Owen. I think they thought I was crazy, but I didn’t care. I really loved being around them. I lived at an LGBT compound sorta place in Austin, but it just wasn’t information for me. I need more and these fine gentleman had it all. Just a beacon of knowledge just ready to divulge information to a little straight man such as myself. It’s now known that in the scene I would be known as an “otter”. Which is adorable. Dave really wants me to shave and cut my hair and maybe for my birthday next year I’ll do just that. Anything for my dudes. Also, you feel so tough walking down the street with 6 giant guys. Not allowing myself from starting fights with passers by was a challenge, but I didn’t loose my cool in front of the big dawgs. If I ever get married (which I wont) my groomsmen would be Martin’s old man Sam, My Chicago dudes, Scott Moore, and Lugs, just to blow the minds of my future in laws. Not the mention the bachlor party would be off the chain.

Why can’t I be gay? I’d be so good at it. I’m sexually liberated, the taste of seamen doesn’t bother me, and I look great in flannel. I can taste the glory of it , I just cant cross over. Maybe someday I’ll step up my game. I just wanna fly. Fly like a fucking eagle. A big gay eagle.

Send bullshit to ldworrell@gmail.com

theres always another squat

2010-10-27T01:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry Dawg. Honkey Grandma Be Tripping.

2010-10-10T10:00:00.001-07:00

hey Logan, hows tour?

America

2010-08-24T17:13:00.000-07:00

Just another day living with Tim Brooks. Closet Raver.

Today is a very Special day.

2010-08-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

There is a lot to be said about this man. It would be fair to call him a party dog, a wild man, a lover, but i just call him friend. His name is Greg Daly and he will rock you so fucking hard that the shit will come out your ass, drop into the toilet and flush itself. Thats just how he rolls. If you have a girlfriend she will leave for you him. You might be better looking, but Greg Daly has more man inside of him than a man with a man inside of him. (huh?)

Anyway, Happy Birthday my sweet prince.

Fingerer

2010-08-11T16:28:00.000-07:00

Today in the mail i received this. My first thought was " of course, a finger puppet my myself." Then I read a note that said, " This is a finger puppet inspired by L.D. Worrell". My first thought was right.

It also came with an accessory pouch containing sunglasses.

And cigarettes.

Then I got remind that I have a ton of cool things.....zebra socks, Spuds Mackenzie shirt, Tie Dyed CCM shirt. Logan Rules stickers. However this bout of happiness was short lived once it hit me that I live in my friends basement with his 2 kids.

Real Shit from Logan Dean Worrell

2010-07-25T15:06:00.000-07:00

I know I know. Where the hell have I been right? Listen mother fuckers. I'm a busy fucking dude. I got lots of shit going on yall dick heads dont even know about. For one, I've been working on my abs. Which are looking great. Truth be told. I havent been doing much of anything. A lot of chillin, that's for sure.

San Francisco has been my home for the past few months. It's ok I guess. The weather is terrible, but the 22 year old girls are bountiful and the burritos are A+. I went from living in a kitchen in the Tenderloin, to Tim Brooks' couch where Tim, his wife and 2 children also live. It's official, I'm on some next level loser shit. Everyday I wake up and think of ending it all, however, quickly realize that I am far to vain for that type of behavior. Basically I sit in my sweatpants till about 3 pm on my day off and listen to Triple Six Mafia records with a 5 yr old. She prefers Taylor Swift, who in my humble opinion is fine as hell.

Alright, Alright, lets get down to the short and skinny of it. You ain't here to read a bunch of bullshit. Most of you brain dead mutants are too stoned to read about my boring life. Yall need PIKTURESSS to keep your asses glued to whatever beanbag chair you're sitting in while enjoying my supreme brilliance.

After Chaos in Tejas me and some of the homies popped into my sister's place to enjoy her pool and my moms sandwiches while at the same time introducing the clique to Terry Dean Worrell. Here is me and Dad.

I happen to have unusually short arms. It's something I've learned to live with, but it is nice to have a good friend rub sunscreen on my back. Thanks friend.

Mom didn't let us play with fireworks when I was little. Having had enough problems as a child, I think she didn't see the need in introducing a new toy in which to hurt myself with. It was the 4th of July with the homies so why not live a little. What momma don't know cant hurt her.

The only thing I'm really good at is being on vacation. I'm really really good at it.

I dont know what this contraption is called, I know it's not a wakeboard. I know its not a jet ski. That is all I know.

My culinary skills are limited to 2 things, Chicken wings and grilled cheese sandwiches. The only way to make both of them properly is to prepare them minus a shirt.

Most people would take the cigarette out of their mouth. Most people would wear a helmet. Most people might even put a shirt on or maybe even shoes. Those people are not named Logan Dean Worrell.

You put on any Dick's Picks and son, I will fucking dance.
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Terry Worrell Explaining why you cant expect to eat everyday.

CIT

2010-05-19T08:46:00.000-07:00

"Things I need to get so I can be ready for Chaos in Tejas" by Logan Dean Worrell

Black Boots
Cocaine
Bullet Belt
Bastard Shirt
Anarchy Bag
Hug from Shaun Dean
Punch from Shaun Dean
GISM Back Patch
Beads for Dreadlocks
Other Cool Shit

IPOD vs. IPAD

2010-05-13T19:42:00.000-07:00

Shit it fucking real ya'll

FAFS SOCIAL EXPERIMENT: SPORTING EVENT

2010-05-04T14:56:00.000-07:00

Me and sports have a weird history. Terry loved 'em, there for I hated 'em. He always said I was kinda good at baseball in particular, so refusing to play the game he loved so much was my own little 12 yr old way of saying "fuck you Dad". That being said, when I was in Milwaukee, some friends of mine informed that on nice days they would occasionally attend baseball matches. They assured me it was a hoot, so being the brilliant, openminded, anthropologist that I am felt inclined to, in the name of science, see what all the hoopla was all about.

Tailgating is by no means a foreign word to me. Back in Texas I heard of many "rape friendly" gentleman talk about them at length pretty often. However, I had no idea that people actually sit in a fucking parking lot and get loaded and grill mammal flesh before, after, and during the game. Not to mention these white trash/wigger, hybrids playing washers( kinda like horseshoes) , some weird bean bag toss into clown mouth game, and of course "beer pong" was far from what I had expected from these swine.

The gang was saying we had pretty good seats. Frankly I couldn't tell. I have no idea what bad seats are. All i know is that i was surrounded by wasted teenagers and wans't allowed to smoke except for some little bullshit reserved space and that shit wasnt flying with me.

Please pay special attention to the slide on the top left corner of this photograph. This is no ordinary slide and god forbid some "rando" try to go down this Taj Mahal of slides. This slide is reserved for the mascot only. He goes down the slide every time the Brewers hit a home run. What I'm trying to say is, that this guys only task for his job is to go down a fucking slide, sometimes. Other times, who knows what the fuck homeboy is doing. Probably living his mother fucking life.

These are my friends who brought me to the big game.

For the record, I will do my best to have a make every memory a special one. I will also eat the shit out of some waffle fries covred in nacho cheese served in a mini baseball helmet. If karma was real I would weigh 600 lbs. No, that's a lie, I'd be dead.

This was the only guy, I'm sorry, "playa" I could see well. His name was Corey Hart and no its not that Corey Hart, I asked. Also, if your name was Corey Hart and you were in a positon where you could have theme music, why the fuck wouldn't you just roll with the coincidence and have them play "Never Surrender" every time you stepped up to the plate ? You dont deserve to share a name with a semi famous dick head.

This kid kept staring at me. Being one who ain't never been afraid of no fucking kid, stared back. Then it hit me, I was staring at myself.However, the only thing that separates myself from this fat kid, is me losing my virginity while listening to " Red Light Special" in a closet after having smoked weed out of a coke can when I was 14.

This kid will grow up to be the kinda guy who gets a male hooker, kills him, wears his face like a mask, and then eats him.

When i was 18 I went to Dime Bag Darryl's strip club in Dallas. I remember it making me feel uncomfortable. It was kinda like gambling in the way that, if you had a lot of money and a coke habit it might be fun. Regardless, I felt bad for just being in the place and I really just ended up talking to one of the "entertainers" most of the evening and I saw a girl I went to high school with. Anyway, I have never been in a place where when some guy says " SHOW ME YOUR TITS", and then a women says, " YOU WANNA SEE MY TITS" and then shows roughly, 30,000 people her tits. It kinda blew my mind. Especially when I realized she was probably like maybe 17. Oh well, I can check that one off my bucket list.

All and all it was a good time. The company was top notch and like you saw, I got to eat some shit out of a helmet. Sports are still fucking weak and we still pay these mother fuckers way too much goddamn money for doing very little. After the game, in the parking lot I was telling my buddy that I could do everything thing those asshole were could. Dont ever fucking test me son. I can hit the shit out of a baseball. Now Gaelic Football, that's a real game.

Dream I Had Last Night.

2010-04-28T14:12:00.000-07:00

Ok, So I was at this party at the house in Milwaukee where I'm staying and in walks Eddie Vedder. He asks me to bum a smoke and I go on to tell him that I love his satellite radio program. We talk about KBD punk for awhile and that is it. Next think you know I'm in some swanky LA restaurant with Spencer Pratt. In the dream he and I are best friends. We talk about the war in Iraq and he makes we laugh a lot. The whole time I keep thinking is the coolest dude.

That is all.

p.s. I did add Spencer Pratt on twitter this morning and I kinda think he is the best dude.

Some highlights from Spencer's twitter:

"The music artist MIA should be kicked out of America today for using the US flag on her Nazi like hit squad in her new music video!"

"I love our USA Government more then anyone because they keep me safe from my evil haters... GOD BLESS - USA!""Wait really - who the fuck would marry Tara Reid?"

"Renee zellweger - with that new hair cut u look like a girl I dated in high school - she was ugly as fuck!"

I dont drink, but sometimes I do.

2010-04-21T15:27:00.000-07:00

I am pretty chill dude. I dont do a whole lot, but what I do, I do pretty well. I spend most days sitting in random parks across the world listening to Funkadelic and chain smoking. However, a good buddy of ours died, so I, Logan Dean Worrell, decided to get fucking wasted for a special one day only kinda jam. Bruce would have wanted it that way.

The day started about noon. Had a few Tecates during the service and then headed over to the Parkside for the wake.

By now, I had a pretty good buzz going. Feeling the juices flowing. I remember this feeling. It confused me. I was having fun being really charming and not feeling nauseas at all. This was not to last.

After the service, Dougie was suposed to go home and sleep it off seeing as that he was gonna have to play a show in a few hours. I told him to not even play that fucking game and to get in the fucking car. This is him wasted about an hour after that eating raw chicken about 3 hours before he was schedule to play.

The Rumblers ( the car club Bruce belonged to) threw this whole shindig together. There was fried chicken, fried asparagus, and fried hot dogs. Shit was popping off and that was a good thing, because honestly I had been doing much eating today. My mission was not to eat a lot of delicious food, it was to get shit faced fucking drunk and honor Bruce.

Allan McNaughton couldn't be bothered taking a photo with good ole' Logan, he was too busy looking up how to get from the Parkside to the Royal Mile using nothing but the MUNI. Jerk.

Cissie is not a judge. She is however, more the willing to make a drunken Logan look stupid as fuck. Cissie is an expert in drunken Logan. She has seen me fall off the wagon many time and doesn't bat an eye when she is needed to call me an idiot.

Grant couldn't be bothered to pay for his own drinks. Fuck that noise. Dude is punk and is gonna live his life by his own rules. You gotta respect that. Oh, he also had another full flask in the pocket for when this one ran out.

We are friends. We share everything. Hot dogs, Drinks, Women. Whatever. He was hungry. Who the fuck am I to deny a man something he wants. I'm not the fucking cops.

This is where shit starts to get a little bit hazy. I remember people telling me how cool and handsome I am. I remeber being a really good dancer.

Ooooook, This is who was telling me how cool and handsome I am. Btw. Try some Mentos. Get into it.

Sweatpants Paul also doesnt judge.

I have nothing to say about this.

These are the Young Offenders. Yes, the Young Offenders. They are not young. Not even close. Most are pushing damn near 50 i suppose. And as far as offending, One is a writer for Associated Press, One is a father of 2 and a caring devoted husband. They
sure as fuck dont offend, but the sure as fuck need to keep their day jobs.

So yeah, I liked it.

Dougie did eventually sneak out and take a nap, However it didnt seem to do much of anything.

Look at this mother fucker. He refuses to take a nice photo with his friends. Jesus, sorry to interupt your reading of the new MOUTH SEWN SHUT record in Razorcake. Fuck you too. Braveheart sucked. Haggis sucks. Bay City Rollers suck.

" I just took a whole bunch of MDMA, I think I'm gonna die. "

This is where it all ends. Me walking by Golden Gate park throwing up at 10am. It was fun, but I think I'm good not drinking again for awhile.

The following is a list of things I want to do , but never will

2010-04-19T17:36:00.000-07:00

Ride in a space ship.
Get on a work out regiment.
Stop smoking.
Read to an old person.
Drink less soda.
Wash my hair.
Renew my passport.
Finish paying off my library fines.
Vote in an election.
Write a movie called "Summer Time Dudes".
Go to Africa and help sick people.
Spend more time with my folks.
Make a dolphin my pet.
Hunt a human being.
Wake up before 10 am without an alarm.
Swim across something, maybe a channel of some sort.
Model flesh lights.
Fit into my old JNCOS.
Fight a retired circus bear.
Play a round of golf.

Kids Cant Draw For Shit.

2010-04-14T14:28:00.000-07:00

Believe or not , I get a lot of emails letting me know how much I suck. At first it kinda bummed me out, but now I’m really, really, into it.
Emails such as…

“Dear Logan,
Your blog sucks, you cant write and are a faggot.”

And how could I forget this gem….

“Yo,
why don’t you learn how to spell before you subject the world to your ignorant writing. Buy a dictionary or get an education.”

Any who, I decided that since the people criticizing me seem to be having a lot of fun doing being pricks, so why not criticize something myself. Scott Moore suggested little kid’s drawing and I thought that sounded great. Here ya go!

I don’t even wanna begin to think about what this shit is supposed to be. At first glance I’d have to say that its probably this kids future crashing down into a sea of utter despair. Either that or maybe the little brat watches a ton of LOST and this is the Oceanic 6 eating salt water. The random brown squiggles are throwing a curve ball into the mix. I like to think that the little booger eater just rubbed his own shit on the canvas, giving the art teacher a big ole’ “fuck you”.

First off, There’s no way all those people are gonna fit into that tiny house unless their Korean or something. Second, that flower isn’t even growing in the grass at all. The grass is very well represented in this piece, yet the artist decided to completely disregard it and put a goddamn flower on the fucking sidewalk.Third, The sun seems to close to the earth. This makes me nervous for two reasons. One, What if this kid is some kind of “Golden Child” fortune teller and those people are just cold chillin playing in the front yard when our planet is about to run straight into the fucking sun. Two, This kid has no grasp on how close we are to the sun proving my theory that Christianity in our schools isn’t going too well.

My mind is either blown or I'm tripping balls. All of his teachers probably think he’s a genius. I just think Jr.’s baked out of his skull trying to look busy in art class. I bet this is the little fuck David Crosby had with Mellissa Etheridge.

Yeah, great. Some stupid fucking flowers. Do you know what kind of world we are living in little girl? Shit is fucking real right now and all you can think to do is draw some stupid fucking flowers. Why do you get a job and start being the solution and not the problem? Not to mention, purple and pink together? Just because they are next to each other in the box doesn’t mean you have to color with them at the same time. This looks like something Lisa Frank’s “slow” cousin would draw.

Who doesn’t love Christmas? Who doesn’t love waking up on Christmas day and just attack the fuck outta some beautifully wrapped presents? Who doesn’t love Egg Nog and The Dolly Parton Christmas record? Well asshole, I used to until I saw this stupid fucking drawing. I definitely don’t want those trees in my living room on Christmas morning and I don’t think Santa’s reindeer would ever shit all over the entire world like Little Man Tate has portrayed them. Oh btw, Santa had 8 reindeer, 9 counting Rudolph. Fucking Idiot.

Now this is art my friends. Real, true blue, honest, art. Some serious Rembrandt shit. It’s intoxicating to look at. I see myself in the big, gay, dolphin, or manatee or whatever. I would pay upwards of 3 dollars for this and it would be worth every penny.

P.S. Please wish my good friend Scott Moore a speedy recovery from his "gerbil ass removal surgery".

MRR COLUMN

2010-04-13T16:11:00.000-07:00

Austin is like a ghost town tonight. All the streets are empty. There are no people walking their dogs, no ones waiting for the bus, nothing. It’s like fucking Christmas or the grocery store on a sunday night at 3am. All the businesses closed early, from whataburger to cherrywood coffeehouse. Only thing open is the Liquor store. It’s the Super Bowl and if you ain’t from the south then you might not understand what the big hoopla is all about. I mean hey, you might like the shit, but you I don’t think you really “understand” it. And thats cool. I can dig it.

Football in Texas is a huge fucking deal. Kids grow up imitating their favorite Dallas Cowboys players in their respective front yards with other neighborhood kids. Their dads dream of being able to watch their sons play in the big game against the rival school. Shit is just like Friday Night Lights or Varsity Blues or what-have you. Young girls get all dolled up and head down to the game just to support their team. Everyone loves the shit. Nights in highschool were filled with jocks and squares inside watching the game and us scumbags in the parking lot sniffing glue. It was very much apart of our day to day lives, to hear about football. As we get older no matter where we are in life, we can always rely on the comforting fact that sometime in February people get together and BBQ some shit or fry some shit and watch grown rich people beat the shit outta each other for mere sport. Just to entertain us. What a fucking world we live in.

So here I sit all alone in the house usually filled with loud assholes and fucked up dogs. Having had no idea the game was on, but got initially stoked because this meant I could jack off on the couch for a change (which is one of my favorite sunday activities). For about a second I thought about maybe going to a super bowl party just to meet up with a few people, ya know just for shits and then I remember that Football is the dumbest fucking thing on the planet and I don’t even wanna tell you what clever little quip my dads says about football. I don't know about you assholes, but I spent the better half of my formative years getting the shit beat out of me by guys that play FOOOOBALL. Now, why would I wanna support these pieces of shit jock mother fuckers? Why would I ever want to think about all wedgies, swirlys, or constant name calling ever again? I thought my name was “fag” until i was 17.

There was this kid I went to high school with. His name is Justin Blalock. He’s built like a brick shit house and from what I remember always has been. He’s had a pretty amazing career it seems. I don t really keep up with it, but every once in a while I’ll see his name in the paper. Started playing varsity ball when we were freshman. He did the whole college ball thang and now plays in the NFL for who, I have no idea. I do know that he’s made a literal shit ton of fucking money. He’s also the asshole who gave me this huge scar under my chin leaving me with this roach beard on my face for life. I remember it like it was yesterday, We were in the hall and one of his limp dick date rape buddies dared him to see if he could choke me unconscious. When i finally stopped kicking and screaming he just dropped me like a rock, straight on my face. Blood was everywhere and when I finally came too, all I saw was his size 19 Jordan’s walking about in the abyss of the highway, high fiveing Skip and Kiel ( pronounced Kyle) all along the way. Fuck that guy. I wonder what the statue of limitations of suing somebody for assualt. Surely, I have just cause. It’s because of him I hate football so much, making me a social outcast in my own home. Texas that is.

Did people forget that Football is for jocks? Has Football turned into the new Fixed gear bicycle? Just because Tragedy likes the Seahawks don’t make it alright. Whats next? Mixed martial arts between sets at Chaos in Tejas? Bruce Rhoers cage match with Layla? So many good jams about sports. Void did it. Gorilla BIscuits did it and those fuckers were basically jocks. First Christians now Jocks. Jesus Christ. Payton Manning?

Whats the appeal? I just don’t get it. I’m asking seriously. Someone please write me and let me know. I’m not even fucking with you. Tell me why you like football. Tell me why you like to see to rich men beat the shit outta each other. If you just wanna see people fight, come down to Austin, I’ll take you to the homeless shelter downtown and you can watch hobos beat the shit outta each other for as long as you want. Its better then pay per view and you can drink Thunderbird while you watch. Are people into this shit to live vicaoursley through these yuppies? Check out the big game then go to sleep fantasizing about scoring the winning point and getting to fuck the cheerleader? Just because they have a sick tribal sleeve doesn’t make them cool. People I work with who hate football were telling they watch the “big” game just for the commercials. That’s even worse! The fucking commercials?!?! It’s like the devil is shitting on my face right now. I can’t take this shit. I’m not gonna lie, If i was a billionaire I would totally spend a million fucking dollar shoot a commercial of Timmy taking a shit so all the douchbags watching FOX had to see that. That’s something I could get behind.

Come to think of it. Who the fuck are I talking shit on how people spend their free time? Just last night I found myself at some weird kinda “clown rave” with a bunch of free loving gypsy hippie type dick heads complete with girls wearing pasties hanging from holla hoops suspended from the ceiling. I should probably kills myself or at the very least turn on the tv for the post game show.

Terry Worrell Interview Part II

2010-03-31T18:16:00.001-07:00

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

Milwaukee, WI

2010-03-30T12:54:00.000-07:00

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.

Dont tell Jake what to do.

2010-03-28T10:17:00.001-07:00

some things.

2010-03-27T12:05:00.000-07:00

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.

BRUCE ROEHRS

2010-03-25T16:19:00.000-07:00

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.

SXSW

2010-03-24T19:16:00.000-07:00

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……”

Once a day to keep me regular

2010-03-15T20:42:00.000-07:00

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.

Kinda Dumb.

2010-03-13T12:45:00.001-08:00

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

Thursday Night is Family Night

2010-03-12T09:19:00.000-08:00

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.

I've done some things.

2010-03-10T14:25:00.000-08:00

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.
,

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

2010-03-08T20:18:00.001-08:00

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.

Living the Dream.

2010-03-07T17:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Another Photo Essay

2010-03-02T08:17:00.001-08:00

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.

How I spent my tuesday night.

2010-02-16T23:46:00.000-08:00

PLANO STYLE.

Revelations

2010-02-11T21:21:00.000-08:00

A couple things I'd to address.

1. I get along really well with old, long haired hobos who drink beer across the street from my work. They dont even ask me for smokes or money anymore. Jerry ( my personal hobo ) says he'd call me "red" if there wasnt already another fella going by that name. I'd like to think of myself as " the hobo whisperer". Although there is that one mean fucker with the violin. Fuck that guy.

2. People who pay for things in nothing but change really bother me. I'm cool with using change. Just never more then 5 dollars at a time. Shit can get kinda outta control.

3. Big Ups to my girl Nancy Kerrigan. Hang in there Boo.

4. White people love smoothies.

5. And Kombucha.

6. Terry Worrell hates winter and emails me everyday telling me so. Today he emailed me twice.

7. The other day a gay latino gentleman came into my work and when I greeted him he just said "g's up, ho's down". I asked him what the fuck he was talking bout and he just said "it's a state of mind". Still confused about the whole thing.

8. I think I might be a Republican. I'm totally cool with the death penalty and really hate having to give me hard earned money away to layabouts. However, I'm totally cool with gay marriage and abortion.

Terry Worrell Interview

2010-02-09T09:38:00.000-08:00

Terry Worrell is a father,a brother, a poet, an artist, a lover, and a golfer. This is a candid interview I did with him over Christmas just for shits. He's a legend and an institution in the Austin punk scene and we were very lucky to catch him on a good day. Maybe it was because I gave him a subscription to Avid Golfer Monthly that made him feel like getting real.

LOGAN: Describe your earliest memory.

TERRY: This morning it was "I'm glad I made the coffee last nite". Lifetime--- vague flashes
of black & white newsreels of WWII and FDR, and the remains of the house we had been living in after it burned down.

LW:What did you parents do for a living?

TW:Pop worked for the Highway Dept. for 42+ years and officiated fuhbaw,
basketball and baseball. A lot of our 'disposable' income was derived from that. Disposable income meant food,
rent, gas, etc. Mother worked many years for the DPS/Driver's License Bureau.

LW:Tell me about your siblings.

TW:Chuck is the big 'un, 3 years younger, fuhbaw coach. Pat is the baby, 7 years younger,
bigot cop.

LW:How did this influence your adult life?

TW:I guess I was the leader. No influence to speak of.

LW:How old are you?

TW: 2/20/42. 67 years old.

LW: Holy shit that's old. Do you have any regrets?

TW:Way too many to inumerate.

LW: Terry Worrell, highlights?

TW: 3/27/83. 1973.

LW:Who is Snidley Whipsnade?

TW: My alter ego. He is the creative one. Resides in my PC and will say/write whatever
comes to his mind.

LW:When you were my age, what did you think youd be doing at 60?

TW: I was in the military at your age, and my only
thoughts were to be a civilian. No cognition of being 60. Not a clue.

LW:Describe your children.

TW:The absolute best any one could ever ask for. Totally different from each other. Never
met anyone I'd trade either of mine for.My daughter is very intelligent and has been successful in her business career. Very independent, in some ways. Proud of her accomplishments.My son is a piece of work. Got the guts of a catburglar. Been all over the world by the age of 27, with more traveling planned. He sees other countries like a local, not as a tourist. He probably sees things that even the natives don't see.That takes some sand. Lives life on his terms, not society's. Proud as hell of him. Takes risks I never took.

LW: Well that's cute, I cant wait to put you in a home. Marriage, thoughts?

TW: Only reasons anyone my age should ever even consider getting married....She gotta ton of
money....and she can see to drive at night.

LW: So why 1973? Care to elaborate on this?

TW: I went thru a divorce in mid '72. It was the height of 'The Sexual Revolution'
and I was not a prisoner of war. I met, and was befriended by, more than a few very nice members of the female
persuasion to help me enjoy my leisure time.

LW:How did what you parents did for a living influence your life?

TW:Both of my parents worked their asses off. Dad especially. I became an athletic official for 10+years myself. Most of what work ethic I have comes from my Dad. As in: If you ain't early, you must be late. If you don't feel good, getcherass to work. if you're sick, die and prove it. Work as hard as you can for as long as you can. Anybody can catch the easy ones.

LW:How do you feel about being married?

TW:If I hadn't married your mother, I wouldn't have yall.

LW:How and when did Snidley make his was into your life?

TW: In 1995 my best friend Dick Yax became sick.
I started writing to him to cheer him up. Snidely evolved from the stuff I wrote to Yax. After he died
Snidely became a creative outlet. Some people think he write's funny. I don't sing, play an instrument,
paint or any other of the 'arts', so TheSnide is the only creative aspect of my life.

LW:Surely, there are more then 2 highlights in you 67 years on earth?

TW:Trips to England, Ire & Scot Lands. Road trip
w/Chuck thru Maine. The Navy. 3 college letters in baseball. 6-8 trophies for racketball from YMCA.

LW: Would you say you have a good relationship with your siblings?

TW:vI have a good relationship with both brothers considering we
don't live close to each other. I see them about once a year on average. We email often. Talk on the phone about once a month.

LW: How does being 67 make you feel? other then old. Is there anything left you would like to do before you die? Is there any weird bucket list hiding in your closet?

TW: I feel I've lived past my time. Not liking all the changes taking place in the world.  Very frustrated with
politics, stupid people, hustle and bustle of the big city. I try not to bother anybody, and I don't want anybody to bother me.
It ain't working. There is still some places I'd like to visit. Prince Edward Island, Canada.  World Golf Hall of Fame, Florida.

Werk.

2010-02-02T14:33:00.000-08:00

Being an international punk rock superstar ain’t easy. It’s hard partying all the time. Being a buff dude can really take its toll. The societal expectations of being a badass motherfucker in this day and age ain’t like in the good old days. You think Rollins had to deal with this kinda shit? Fuck no, he didn’t. He was living the high life with Kira. The only problem I can see with this whole extreme lifestyle thing I got going on is where to acquire the funds to facilitate said lifestyle. Drugs, selling ass, food service.

Let’s start with drugs. Well, if I got em, I’ll take em and there goes the money, which would kind of defeat the purpose. I’m not anti-drug by any means. I’m more anti-jail and definitely anti- being some strung out Manic Mike type dude. More than likely I’d fuck up and get involved in some MS13 bullshit and get my ears chopped off because I’m fucking stupid. I’d owe em money and they’d light my childhood home up like a fucking Christmas tree. The only really punk way of selling drugs would be selling bags of glue outside of shows at an all ages show space. Punk style. Ok. Mark it. Sell glue.

Selling ass. DEE DEE did it best, so why try to fuck with it. Dee Dee was a young, skinny, super cute little trick with a twinkle in his eye and down strokes in his heart. He had a healthy junk habit to support and knew what he had to do to get what he needed. Most of us, on the other hand, would just give blowjobs to buy Spanish records and tattoos. I tried selling my body for cash once. Apparently there isn’t much of a market for ugly chubby dudes down on 53^rd and 3^rd. Bummerville, population: Logan. Back to the drawing board, I guess. And as far as being an actual pimp, well, punks could never do such a thing. I’d be a horrible pimp. Now, selling dudes, on the other hand... I could sell the shit out of some dudes. Even got a couple fellas in mind. Guys today are looking for a clean buff type of brother and I for one feel that I could supply that demand. It’s hard out there for a pimp.

What I’m trying to say is that most of us punks gotta work really shitty fucking jobs just to get by. Frankly, mine ain’t all that bad. I don’t have to do it much and it’s something a retarded monkey could learn to do in about an hour. However, you still work shitty hours and basically suck dicks to make rent. Y’all know what I’m talking bout living on tips. It’s rough. Of course, like I said, that’s only a few days a week and only every couple months. Rest of the time I fancy myself an odd jobs kind of guy. You know, driving people around, picking up things, selling my wares. I’m also quite the fixture at the local pawnshop, but after many years of this kinda bullshit, it’s really starting to suck the life out of me. It’s really time to find a new way to make a living. Why is it that if you have no education and no skills you are reduced to a life of servitude? I can read. Kinda.

Now, being a 5^th generation Texan, begging and asking for money is just not an option. Fuck these little scumbags down on the corner asking me for my fucking money. I’ll give the shit out of some money to an elderly person down on their luck just getting by on getting by or maybe a hobo who tells good jokes. Fuck all the generic debris sitting by the highway with their six dogs, 3 teeth (and probably from Chattanooga ) basically demanding me to hand over a few bucks. Fuck that. Get a job already. Remember that ANTI SEEN song “Spare Change”? I support it.

All you really need are your friends and records. Nowadays you don’t actually need either. We got the Internet now. 2009 is pissing all over punk. I’m not saying I don’t download DAC records online, but Jesus fucking Christ. Get the fuck out and live, man. However, people who say money can’t buy you happiness ain’t never been poor.

Total War

2010-01-26T10:12:00.000-08:00

Seeing as that I'm feeling real lazy and I dont wanna put a new MRR column up until the next issue is out, I decided to roll with the whole photo thing one more time.

These are some drunk people in Toronto dancing during a Sacred Shock after party at Zoe's house. Please notice Alex in the background looking lost. Also, the bass player for Christian Death was kind enough to make an appearance.

Erin Yankee is about to be 40 years old in a few days. That's cool. Punks over 40. Get into that shit.

This was taken the day after my birthday in Milwaukee. It was snowing and we were bummed. We stayed in the van the for the whole show and some face tattooed shit bag called us fake black metal pussies. He was right. ( note: none of us own skate boards or punk vests, except for Matt.)

I'd like to this time to apologize to everyone who was present for this photo. This is why the call me the Rumble in the Jungle. Philly 04?

This is for a MRR interview with Berdan from Drunkdriver entitled "Lunch with Logan and Berdan" He didn't shut his mouth once and I loved it.

R.I.P GOOD TIMES.

A rare live shot of Sacred Shock with Vin Diesel running sound.

A Day in the Life of Logan.

2010-01-17T22:04:00.000-08:00

People have been asking me how I spend my days. I dont really do a whole lot and rarely work. I'm more of a life liver. Here's a photo essay.

My day started about 5 am when I woke up for a piss. It was cold so I just went in a jar. I then scratched my ass for an hour and eventually fell asleep.

I eventually woke up around 1ish. The sun was warm and my back was starting to hurt. I was also getting kinda hungry, since I hadn't eaten in awhile. I usually only eat from my work cuz it's free.

I then walked out to my car. Omitted from this photo is an overflowing styrofoam cup full of cigarette butts.

This is Beth. She made me go to some stupid fucking hippie bullshit place to have lunch. Like I don't have to do that shit enough. I fucked up and said I'd have what she was having. This was a fucking salad. There was no bacon and no ranch dressing. Hardly a salad if you ask me.

I'm not sure if I'm more pissed off that she waved at me or that she was riding this piece of shit in an all Latino neighborhood and hadn't had the shit beaten out of her on mere principal alone.

After lunch with my pal Beth I went to see my friend Lynn and her stupid fucking kid Olive. I know you think she's kinda cute and all, but she's the same kid that told me to fuck off about a dozen times and threw up on my couch. She also made me play a game with her that wasn't actually a game, it was watching Aladdin. She also called the princess lady Jasmine an asshole. She also tells people that I was her boyfriend briefly, but broke up with me because I loved her too much. Not true.

This is Lynn. She gave birth to that demon spawn.

Lynn then showed me a picture of her dad and his teammates after winning the basketball tournament at the Mexican prison he was incarcerated in. Guess which one he is? I'll give you a hint. He's the tall white guy on the left.

These were the only 2 records I listened to all day.

When I got home from Lynn's, I was greeted by this fucking asshole. Nice to see you too dickhead. Somewhere around this time I took a 4 hour nap. Please note the cute little swallow his hand. You look like a fucking Suicide Girl.

Iceman came to town. We went to dinner. It was nice. He was about 3 gin and tonics deep at this point.

There was nothing going on so we went downtown. Iceman was now about 10 gin and tonics in, so I decided pull a french goodbye and sneak out the back. Before I left we ran into Robin Williams, who seemed to studying for his next roll as an Alaskan seal hunter.

THE END.

Law. Man.

2010-01-13T10:55:00.001-08:00

I like music not movies. To me the Lion King or Back Draft is just as good as fucking Amelie or what ever fucking foreign film about 2 brothers being in love for fuck sake. Don't get me wrong, I throughly enjoy sitting on my ass kicking back with a few hours of mind numbing bullshit on a cold winter day. But, thats just what I want. Mind numbing bullshit. I don't wanna read any fucking subtitles, and I sure as fuck don't wanna cry at the end because 2 people who were supposed to end up together did. I wanna see tits, explosions and fucking blood. Thats it. Im a simple man. I like what I likes and goddamnit I likes blood, guns and fucking. Movies like Crank 2 High Voltage and Steven Segals classic 1980's film Hard to Kill. Crank 2 is like watching a porn video game. Now thats fucking film making. Everything else is just hogwash. The fucking Notebook? Get the fuck outta my face with that shit. Daddy Daycare? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm talking fucking Billy Jack. I'm talking bout fucking Under Siege. Point Break. Now, that is fucking art. I don't know who the fuck Roman Polanski is and I don't care how many babies he fucked. I'm sure his shit is was too intelligent for me to understand and I'm sure his movies are too long. I like vampires. I like zombies. I can wrap my head around that kinda thing. Maybe aliens are moving into a small midwestern town. Maybe one takes the shape of a local school teacher ready to infect all the young school children with his/ or her fucked alien DNA. Print that shit. I'm like a young handsome James Cameron. Terminator. Thats a character a guy can get behind. Some fucking machine guns on a motorcycle, another wild ass liquid robot thrown into the mix.

For the past couple of days me and my associate Lucas have been on a very serious Steven Segal bender. In the past few days ( yes days ) Lucas, Lil Dynamite and I have watched the following things......

Under Siege

Under Siege 2

Hard to Kill

Exit Wound

Out for Justice

Urban Justice

Also there were a couple of random Chuck Norris moves, though he is a total fucking coward and doesn’t deserve to hold one of Steven Segal’s Magnum wrappers. Chuck Norris is a mark ass trick. Fucker made a movie with Jonathan Brandis about some little weak child with a brutal case of asthma and chuck Norris comes to save the day via karate. Shit was soooooo weak. Mr. Segal would never do such a lame movie. He is the greatest living American actor. However, I did recently hear that Stevey’s # 1 form of martial arts “ Aikido” is actually meant to be practiced by women exclusively. I don't know how I feel about this. I think I’m actually completely fine with this. That’s probably what makes he such a smooth big dick mother fucker.

a day in the life of logan.

2009-12-15T14:50:00.000-08:00

I've been refereed to as a simple man whose extremely complicated. Complicated it seems to me means retarded. I think more accurately it would be safe to assume that I Logan Dean Worrell am self indulgent, lazy, neuritic and egotistical. Sitting around the house is alot of commitment. You got to have your whole day planned out and still be able to take a little time you good ole' number 1. Example, I know that today I would wake up when i deemed it warm enough to walk to the bathroom naked and once I had smoked a couple cigarettes, eating the cold bbq from last night would be the next move. I figured this would happen around 10 am. After that a possible early morning masturbation would commence followed by a trip to the video store to pick up about 3 dvds that only a teenage girl would watch. Sometime around 3 or 4 was the time I had allotted to completely amerce myself into organizing my records by genre and county of origin. Now, I knew all of this while falling asleep. This was the plan after all and deviating from the plan was just not and option.

This is what actually happened. It was cold and I decided that it was in my best interest to sleep till about 1pm. After my initial rise I chatted with Scott for about an hour while trying to subdue the piss that was building up inside of me. Like I said it was cold and basically sucked real fucking bad, so instead of making the 10 step voyage the water closet I relieved myself in the TOPO CHICO bottle full of cigarette that was sitting on my desk. I underestimated the amount of urine I needed to release so half way through I had to switch from the bottle to a left over WHATABURGER Styrofoam cup from earlier this weekend. This was beneficial for a couple reasons. One, is that I didnt have to waste my time walking to the toilet. Two is that I did get that chance to exercise my KEGAL muscle making my midday jack off sesh all that more exciting. After my piss explosion, it was time to leave the house. Of course I was starving, but duh to the fact that I wanted to save the BBQ for dinner I got my free stuff acquiring on. This is the point in the day when I go all around town going to places where I get free shit. I did that for about 3 hours and came home. Once, I got home I argued with the bank over the phone for awhile. If anybody asks I was out of the country taking care of my girlfriend who got hit by a car and that's what my account was overdrawn 200 bucks. After the nice Wells Fargo lady in the customer services dept. was done commending me for being such a selfless individual, I went ahead and went for round 2 on the hand job tip.

After that I just ended up sitting around eating cold BBQ sandwiches with bread I made Lucas bring home from work. Regardless of what I was supposed to do, I did nothing and still stayed up till 4 am for no reason at all.

2009-12-08T12:58:00.001-08:00

Last week my house got broken into. Well not just my house, my fucking bedroom. I was woken up around 5am by a friend who was staying over, crawled out of my loft naked as the day I was born and low and behold there was a frat boysitting on the couch in my room. Now, I’m from Texas and we don’t play that game where I come from so, my first instinct was to shoot the motherfucker, get all Felix Havoc on him and shit. Seeing as I had sold my gun a few years prior, I was literally clueless on how to handle the situation. Do I call the fuzz? Do I run away? Do I take matters into my own hands and beat the Dave Mathews Band loving motherfucker with nothing but a dick and pair of black socks? After quickly reviewing my options, I decided that the third would be the most effective at the moment in time. Not being a big tough mean good ole boy I did the best I could with what I had, my dick and my socks. He wasn’t the best I ever had, so beating the ever living shit outta him wasn’t much, but damn was it weird. Remember that movie Eastern Promises? It was kinda like that only I ain’t good looking and I don’t believe he was of Russian descent. Needless to say, my roommates came into the living room where the smack down took place and helped me get the dude the fuck outta the house. It’s been kind of a rocky year for me and having to use that much force against a guy really made me feel like shit. He deserved it sure, but I’m getting tired of being the bad guy. That’s me through and through. The kind of guy that is willing to take one for the team, be made example of, or deliver the bad news and I’m getting real tired of it. What could I have done differently? Should I have called the cops? Being a punk I have some deep seeded hatred for the cops, which I know is not a unique sentiment in out community. Especially what my checked past with the man, I ain’t about to call the pigs. You tell me what do you think a cop would do if he got called to a punk house at 5am and found my naked, covered in tattoos, a 6inch beard having ass chilling over a beat down Frisbee golf enthusiast. Ill tell you what he’d do, TAKE ME TO FUCKING JAIL. Fuck that. I'm too old and too cute for that shit. On the bright side I did get to really impress a cute girl and my roommates now officially know who wears the pants in the family.

I kinda realized that a bunch of dumb shit has happened to me over the years. Like when the van exploded and I lost all my shit. That was weak. It was absolutely the worst way to end a great tour. There I was minding my own business listening to George Lopez and next thing you know Im freezing my ass off on the side of the Highway watching everything I love go up in flames. The last thing I remember before the van we on fire was Eddie asking me why I was laughing since I didn’t get the jokes anyway, being white and all. I mean, no I didn’t get the jokes, but a lot of shit was real funny at that point in time. Now, very strange thoughts go through your head when you watch ALL YOUR SHIT being burnt beyond recognition. The first one being, what could I have possibly done to deserve this? Was it god-punishing Timmy for buying the BATHORY LP? Was it the goat or some shit we hit? Maybe a chubacabra. Was it those fine ass girls on the copy of the 2 LIVE CREW record in the trunk bumping and grinding too hard that I got the van all heated up? Who knows? What I do know is that I ended up riding in the back of a border patrol paddy wagon for and hour on our way to a shitty hotel in the desert. It would have been completely unbearable if it weren’t for the Nyquil and Tecate mix TJ and me got popping, I don’t know what Ida done. Calling my mom asking for bus fair for Timmy and me was kinda funny though. “ Hi mom, its me Logan, remember how you told me to be careful, well guess what just happened, oh and send money.” Almost got arrested in San Antone on the way back to Austin for fighting a security guard in the greyhound station. Bad day.

Who knows why this kinda shit happens. All I know is that there is no god and if there is one, he’s a fucking bastard. I'd like to take this time to address a couple things…. Pick your King is the greatest hardcore record off all not, not victim in pain as was otherwise thought. Check out the DESKONOCIDOS records that just came out because they are better then most of the stuff that you listen to you. Id also like to address that my good friend Bruce Rhoers is the best dude alive and all of you should stop and talk that man whenever you see him, buy him a beer and ask him about the time he saw the MC5. Trust me it’s a way better story then I could tell and they are a way than the time you saw WARKRIME.

Send hate mail to:

Sir Logan Esq.

3306 Larry Ln Unit A

Austin, Tx 78722

2009-12-08T12:56:00.002-08:00

For this, my third official column for Maximum Rock and Roll, I’d like to discuss the 90’s. Now, this has been on my mind for quite some time, ever since Pfeffer mentioned to me that a friend of his was working on a book about 90’s DIY. My first thought was, “Why the fuck would anybody wanna do that?” I still feel that way, but it got me thinking a lot about what I was doing during that time in my life. In 1996, I was in 7th grade, had just heard of a little thing called hardcore, and had just done heroin for the first time. Matt had just let me borrow a Minor Threat cd (which I to date have never returned) and together had just gone to our first punk show at a local cd store in Plano, TX, that did DIY shows, which was the fashion at the time. Plano, TX, living legends Mexican Breakfast played along with Richardson, TX, political kinda ska band Policy. I believe it was during the day and if I remember correctly I had a chain wallet down to my knees, which was the fashion at the time. Oh, also this one shitbag kid found a 3-legged albino hamster which he kept in his pocket and fed french fries.

What good came from the 90’s? Deathreat? Talk is Poison? Born Against? Yep, that’s pretty much it. Fuck, what a piece of shit time that was. I hate almost everything about it. Sure I had some good times, but all it really did was set me up for a lifetime of disappointment and horrible fucking haircuts. Every asshole and their mother had chili bowls and Jncos.

Around the same time as the Mexican Breakfast show, I had begun a long pen pal relationship with Fat Mike from NOFX. Living in the burbs, I didn’t know about many other bands outside the Fat Wreck Chords mailorder catalog, which in hindsight is fine seeing as I was only 14. Any who, I would write Mike letters and either he or his assistant would write me back. Usually it was one of them talking shit to me or just a box full of WIZO stickers and other random bullshit. One time I was feeling really crazy and kinda confused sexually so I sent Mike a copy of my 7th grade yearbook photo with a copy of my report card and a letter explaining that I got all F’s because I was punk as shit and didn’t give a fuck about learning nuthin. I was on the mailbox like a hawk for weeks. I just knew that Mike was gonna write me back, praise me on how fucking cool I looked, and ask me to run away with him to live happily ever after. Weeks went by and finally a manila envelope with the return address from Fat Wreck Chords came to my door. It was a letter from Mike asking me why I had the haircut of a Nazi girl. Also enclosed was a copy of the new Fat Wreck mailorder catalog. Sure enough, there was my picture on the cover of it. Full blown with an Oi cut, braces, and a collared shirt with a Propagandhi patch sewn on the pocket. Fuck was I stoked, until I realized that those assholes were making fun of me. It’s been 12 years, but someday I’m gonna meet that motherfucker and kick him square in the dick. If you’re reading this, Fat Mike, fuck you. I got your number, asshole.

My father was working as a bartender at the local VFW in Plano. He was kinda down on his luck, which to this day hasn’t really changed much. I ended up spending a lot of time hanging out at that bar listening to the vets talk about the war, women and other racist issues that were on their minds. He’d go to work and I’d leave the house and go over to a friend’s to read zines and listen to whatever band he had discovered. Most of the time they sucked, but that was the fashion at the time. In school there weren’t really punks. I mean there were, but all the jocks called us freaks. This was a total kick in the nuts because we really wanted to separate ourselves from the goth kids and the gay kids. It never really ended up happening, but it ended up being ok. There was this one guy named Chris Rutherford who had the unfortunate luck of being gay and Mexican during a time when MY SO CALLED LIFE was the hottest shit on tv. He was known as Ricky until the day we graduated. Poor dude. During lunch one day some random jock fuck head pushed Ricky too far. Walked up to him in the “cafitoriam,” tripped him, and called him faggot. This was a huge mistake. Ricky was a junior gold gloves boxer and just beat the ever loving shit out the cum stain. I have never enjoyed watching a person get beat more than that. Throughout the whole ordeal the whole school was chanting RICKY… RICKY… RICKY! It was a small victory for Ricky, but a huge one for the freaks. I should’nt really bag on hanging out with the goths too much. If it wasn’t for them buying the shitty, dirty acid I was selling, I never would’ve bought my first car.

Go out and get the new Hex Dispensers LP. It’s real good. Trust me on this. Hey, does anybody have the limited Talk is Poison 7” with the skeletons stamped on the center labels they don’t want or need? Just checking. Kinda need that shit.

A couple things I wanna share with you before I leave you for another month… the following are sayings my father taught me:

Put your brain in gear before you let out the clutch on your mouth.

If you going to Texas…don’t go.

Talk’s cheap, whisky cost money.

He’s like a calf looking at a new gate.

They shot Lincoln and let that sonofabitch live?

Rub a little dirt on it.

Don’t let your alligator mouth overload your hummingbird brain.

If you’re sick, die.

Send bullshit to: ldworrell@gmail.com

2009-12-08T12:56:00.001-08:00

Growing up, my dad watched a lot of TV. It was kinda his thing. He loves the shit. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he hates his own life so much that he likes to live vicariously through the stupid little people on the screen. Either way it made me steer clear of it for most of my adult life. I have quite a love hate relationship with the “idiot box” myself. We had a roommate at Irma house who insisted that we get cable. We informed her that she should go for it, but not expect a single cent from us and for some god-awful reason she paid the whole thing. Those are the times I like to call the Dark Ages. All I did for the 2 months that she lived there was smoke pot and watch TV. Thank god it was only 2 months and thank god that when I smoke pot now it makes me feel like some carnie is trying to enter my soul and shit in it. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “TV aint punk, that shits got all them dang ole commercials that make you buy all the consumer crap like McDonalds and Join the Army and shit.” I agree. However it has also brought us such wonderful shows as LOST, Daisy of Love, etc. Lost is about a bunch of fucking assholes who get stuck on some weird demon Island that just keeps trick fucking into a coma, while the latter is a “reality show” about some trollop who is on the search for love via a bunch of douche bags picked by a panel of TV executives with a sick sense of humor and hearts of solid shit. I read. I listen to records. I create. I’m an artist, but goddamn if I won’t just sit in front of this dumb fucking box and just zone out every once in a while. I’m a coward.

Now I don’t want this column to be about me or my father’s TV consumption, I want this column to talk about why I Logan Dean Worrell could survive a 70 year+ term in a maximum security prison. Well, in the State of Indiana at least. I was flipping the channels in my new house (same situation, I don’t pay, but lord knows I play) and I come across a show called Locked Up Indiana. Now, it’s on CNBC so how brain liquefying could this really be? I was hooked once I saw this guy named Curtis who was locked up for 164 years for killing his entire family when he was 16(he’s now 34) receive a pet cat. A pet cat in prison you say? Yes a pet cat. He named her some weird as born again name like Falcore or whatever. Needless to say I was hooked on this show like an ex junkie hooked on snickers bars. There was Carl who was doing a stint for aggravated b&e. He was doing 70 years. Mother fucker had face tattoos for days like if leftover crack threw up on his face. Looked like he’d been road hard a put up wet. So far prison didn’t look so bad. Then they had some other guy who was watching TV which he had in his cell all to himself. Spacious too. Homeboy was even smoking a cigarette while giving an interview. So let me get this straight…. I can smoke, watch TV, get a college degree, have my own room with a cool bunk bed, and get 3 free meals a day, sick face tattoos, and a cat. I’m no scientist or anything, but what are the down sides other than being around the most dangerous mentally deranged psychotic mother fuckers on earth? I guess the no sex part, but that shit is overrated any way. I jack off with my own tears most nights at home, why not do it and meet some new friends at the same time?

Bullshit, right? Dont believe me? Fuck that, let me tell you what life on the outside gets you, countless ridicule from peers and loved ones, a house full of people, a dog who once licked my nuts while I was sleeping only to immedialty lick my face, a job serving yuppie assholes for peanuts, bills I can’t pay, nonexistent face tattoos, and most importantly, no fucking cat! I’m not necessarily a cat person per say, but I can learn. Yes, I’m about a buck 50 soaking wet, pasty as fuck , with a pair nice legs, but I really think I got a shot it in the big house. The only thing that would really a bum me out is not having my records. Wait actually fuck that, I saw Shawshank redemption and that redneck dude was listening to a bunch of Hank Williams records. Done deal. Now all I got to do is figure out the perfect crime to commit that insures I’m not gonna be fucked in the joint. Bank Robbery? No, can’t do it. All those dudes get shot before they get locked. Backfire. Murder? Maybe, only I don’t really hate anyone enough to kill em. I could kill a cop. Yeah that’s it. I’m gonna kill me a cop. A big fat white cop. Then ill defend myself to save money for commissary and smokes, give the judge the old 2 finger fuck off wanker punk as fuck salute, and there it is freedom. My cat shall be named Knuckles the cat and together we will run cell block 4. Knuckles and me. A modern day Ebony and Ivory. Together Forever. The first face tattoo I’m gonna get is victim in pain on my forehead followed by the Mi Vida Loca dots next to my eye. Interesting side note, A couple of months ago I had just gotten home from work to find my roommate Randa tattooing some hipster girls face stick and poke style in the living room. She was getting the Mi Vida Loca dots on her face. The next day she got locked up for possession of heroin. Girl fucked up. She aint Mexican and this aint Indiana. I digress, Ok let’s face facts, I would die in prison, but I do think I would make the best of it if I wasn’t brutally raped within the first 20 minutes inside. Like I’ve said before, I’m too cute for that shit. Ive been told by people for years how horriable prison is. I believe em. That place got brown water, horrific violence, and unexceptable living conditions. So yeah, it’s the straight and narrow for me from now on. No more living my life like a David Allan Coe record. I wanna live. I wanna live. I wanna live.

Send hate mail to:

Logan Dean Worrell

3306 Larry Ln. Unit A

Austin, Tx 78722

2009-12-08T12:54:00.001-08:00

“ You can’t be a punk and a Christian” – Brace Beldon

I was raised catholic. My mom was super into it when I was about knee high to grasshopper. I did the whole altar boy thing. Got my communion and went on the catholic retreats. The whole enchalida so to speak. It never really took . I always kinda figured that all these fucking people we just stupid and miss guided. Sheep if you will, ready to follow some sandle wearing mother fucker off a cliff or onto some crazy space ship headed to a mythical candy kingdom filled with magic and zombies. My whole life up to this point the thought of God was so forign to me. This cloud of dispair just looming over me has gotten to be so comfortable. Having to rely on myself to combat all the misfoutunes life throws my way has just been the norm. Maybe there’s another way. Someway out of this way I’m feeling. Who out there can help me out of thus rutt I’m in. Have I been wrong this whole time? Jesus can you hear me? Am I the misguided one?

Last week here at MRR HQ we received a letter from a gentleman who calls himself Drew Wardlow. Mr. Wardlow seems to be the singer for a hardcore band called DRY ROT. From what I hear, personally I don’t listen to their music, DRY ROT are some kind of neo Christian hardcore band from Ventura California. Could it be that in 2009 there are actually punks who also consider themselves Christians? The answer my friend is no there is not. There is no way humanly possible that a punk can be Christian. Mr. Wardlow it seems was writing the magazine for…well actually I’m not sure. No one is. I guess the poor little guy is sad because people are boycotting his band full of jesus freaks. Fuck it. Deal with it. Love it or leave it. I’ll go ahead and say it. You are not welcome in my scene. Wouldn’t yall be more comfortable with you own kind like, OVERCOME, LIVING SACRIFICE, UNASHAMED, JARS OF CLAY, or DC TALK? If tooth and nails is still putting out records I’m sure they would love your rag tag brand of b grade hardcore. They’d probably even give you heafty signing bonus. At the very least pass the basket for yall to help cover recording costs. Fuck you, you evil bastard. Fuck you. You are the antithesis of punk. I bet you support the troops too.

Now, I don’t wanna get in some long winded,weird debate and use a bunch of big words explaining why I hate Christians. The truth of the matter is that I just do . Christians are stupid. It’s a fact. Who cares if you go to the University of California at Santa Barbra? I don’t even know what an Institute for Theoretical Physics is. All I know is that yall mother fuckers think God hid dinosaurs in the ground to fuck with us. Shits weak. Now if DISCHARGE was Christian then maybe that would leave a little wiggle room. Christians are the new Nazis. Prove me wrong. They try to make everyone believe in what they believe and I have a theory that they want us all to look the same, red hair and blue eyes. I’m not just singling out Christians, I also have some serious issues with Hindus, but that’s for another time and place.

Tomorrow I head for the Canadian border for a few weeks of RnR. Its not easy being a punk rock superstar in this day in age. Dunken Donuts have been locking their dumpsters and don’t even get me started on the west squatting crisis. Times they are a changing here in good ole USA and frankly I feel I need a little “ Logan” time. Don’t make me explain all the reasons to you, just know that I work my ass off doing very little infreaquently as possible some of the time.

I just roadied for an American band on the west coast for a couple weeks and I’d like to take this time to share with you a few things that I’ve learned. People in Californina are fucking jerks. They don’t say thank you when you hold doors for them and they don’t say excuse you when the bump into you on the street. Everyone either a fucking scum bag hobo or a retared hippie burnout scum bag hobo. I can’t smoke anywhere and the tap water tastes like dog shit. Where the fuck are the smokers right? I support the right to marry, but what about my right to kill myself with dangerious chemicals produced by the worlds biggest pieces of shit? Fucking Washington fat cats. I’m gonna make a support my right to smoke sign for my window. Its gonna have smokey the bear with a camel light dangling from his mouth riding a hourse saying welcome to flavor country. My friends out here are top notch, but goddamn you fuckers are really testing my limits. Also, when someone tells me they are actually from California I immediately shut down almost as if they had just told me they were Christian. One more thing, what the fuck is the big fasination with girlie t’s? And for the record, I’ll still tip you even if you suck, but goddamn I’ll hate myself for it.

In closing, I’d like to tell all my people out there one thing, Burn down as many fucking churches as you can. Drive through church parking lots going 60 and just pick those little conservative fucks off left and right. Spit in the faces of those Morman shit bags that come to your doors, and please please beat the piss out of those Krishna dumb fucks dancing in the park. CRO MAG SKINHEAD BREAKOUT.

Send bibles to:

Ldworrell@gmail.com

2009-12-08T12:52:00.000-08:00

It’s been about two months since I’ve seen the beautiful Austin, Texas skyline, eaten a taco, or jerked off in my own bed. Seeing as that I only have one day left of the spiritual journey, I figure it’s about time that I sit back and reflect on these wonderful times. During the past couple years it’s been proven to me over and over again that being punk is about the people, rather than the music. Discharge is great and everything, but what makes Discharge really great is when you’re sitting around with a bunch of tight homies, someone plays ‘em, and the only thing that makes sense to do is start throwing bottles and tackling each other regardless of what environment you may be in. It’s about singing along to the records, loud as a mutha fucker, saying the wrong lyrics half the time. It’s about just bullshitting, and telling stories. If you’re still punk only for the music, then brother, you’re missing the point. By far, the best part of my trip has been seeing some good ole’ friends, and meeting so many good new friends. Not having much money or sense didn’t stop me from having some good times, and if it wasn’t for my friends I’d have been dead from starvation long ago.

After I left the San Francisco Bay, I headed northeast to Toronto, Canada. It’s fucking cold in Canada. Everything’s fucking cold there. Plus to top it off, everybody eats ice cream all the fucking time. Are you kidding me? Now I know I’m a product of the Texas educational system, but I was sure as fuck taught to drink hot cocoa when it’s cold, and fucking ice cream when it’s hot. Zoë even had a Dairy Queen not even a block from her place. They didn’t sell chicken fingers though, total bullshit. Zoë got me a nice place to live during my time there, which was amazing. It wasn’t much, but it was the biggest closet I’ve lived in for quite sometime. My buddy’s in high school was pretty choice though (It came equipped with a black light poster of an alien wearing a Dr. Seuss hat with a message that read, “Take me to your dealer.”). My Canadian closet did have a sick poster of Dave Mustang, and a RAMMER boom box. There were two solid job leads I had cooking out there. One was to be a douche bag that hands out fliers at snowboard conventions, and the other one was to jack off on the Internet for money. Now, one of these jobs involved something I knew a great deal about, and the other was a whole new world that I was completely unaware of. I’ll give you a hint, the first time I had ever seen a snowboard in real life a month ago, but I’ve been polishing the one eyed gofer twice a day since I was 12, and sometimes more on sick days in junior high. I was prepared to lower my standards of what I was willing to do for a buck, for some reason it didn’t really seem to bother me. It’s only natural right? One of my dudes got me a DJ gig playing records the day before the Fucked Up weekend. That didn’t go so well. Apparently people in Canada aren’t ready for true art in its purist form yet. So I had to sacrifice myself and took a pint glass or two in the arm, which was lucky for me, because if you dumb Canadian bastards weren’t so goddamn drunk off “cider” or whatever the fuck you drink, you might have actually hit my beautiful face. And that sir would have been a tragedy it its own self. All and all, Toronto was great. Some great cheap food was eaten, some good weed was smoked, and some good times were had. The Jamaican patties in Kensington Market are a must: only a buck.

Next up was good ole’ Montreal. Texas and Montreal have a long history of friendship going back to the wagon days. The Quebecquah are a rare breed to say the least. They can drink more than you, party way longer than you, and dance better than the cast of Soul Train. They will piss on your couch, and not skip a beat. They are hands down the punkest people on the fucking planet, and are not afraid to show it. I stayed with my old roommates from Texas, Simon and Alanna, and their roommate, notorious couch pisser Simone. I ate poutine (french fries, gravy and cheese curds) sometimes twice a day the whole time I was there. Someday I’m gonna open a poutine place down in Austin and make a million fucking dollars. Me and Lanny played Boggle and Skip-Bo a lot because it was colder than a by god all the goddamn time. While other days I just spent walking around watching the leaves change. During my time there the Varning from Montreal fest was going on which included a ton of third rate d beat bands, and a handful of truly amazing bands. Illegal was by far the best, along with Complications and Perdition from NYC. Perdition were so CUTE. Kinda like the Jonas Brother of d beat punk: just adorable. Check them out as soon as you can. Soon as I get home I plan on lining my walls with magazine cutouts of their faces, which I’m gonna kiss every night before I go to sleep. Simone has pissed on three of my couches, in three different visits to my town. So before I left Montreal, I made sure to leave a little time to piss on his bed as my own little was of saying, “Fuck you, I love you”. I’m sure to catch a serious ass beating next time I’m there, but I wouldn’t have stayed in the kitchen if I couldn’t have taken the heat. Another amazing stay with amazing people, so far so good.

My last stop on my voyage was in Bridgewater Corners, Vermont. It was actually quite unexpected. A couple buddies in Montreal were headed to Boston, and seeing as I need a ride to Vermont eventually to catch a flight, I figured why not go a few days early and save a little bus fare. I’m not known for my financial stability, so staying with some family in bum fuck Vermont sounded like the right thing to do. Bridgewater Corners is not a town or a city; it’s a village. There is a general store, a town hall that also doubles as a movie theatre, and a pizza place, which actually isn’t that bad. My family up here teaches English at the local high school. (Yes I see the irony in the fact that I can barely speak the language yet my family’s bread and butter is made from teaching it.) I was left with a pickem up truck, and some directions to some historical sites of interest. There was one other catch; the other occupant in the house was my aunt’s 93-year-old mother, Louise. Now, I had never met her before though she claims we had when I was like 4 or some shit, but she’s 93 so what the fuck does she know anyway. Let me tell you, she’s an absolute delight. Ms. Louise is super on the ball for a 93-year-old, and funny as hell, too. It’s basically just been her and I hanging out every day, just bullshitting around town, wrecking shop, and getting into trouble. Ms. Louise somehow knew where Joe Perry’s from Aerosmiths house was, so we went over there for a bit. He’s a nice guy actually, kinda small though. Not like Danzig small, more like Dio small. Motherfucker must be older than baseball. He assured me that the rumors of Aerosmith breaking up were false, which was a relief to Ms. Louise who celebrates their entire catalogue sans the ugly Get a Grip years. JP gave me Alicia Silverstone’s digits while we were chilling. Shes aight. Not my style, but I would, naw mean? I’d have to say the hanging out with Ms. Louise was definitely a highlight of my trip. She might not do as much cocaine as the Montreal contingent, but she did have her hospice caretaker make me every meal I ate for a week, and that shit was tight. On the last day I had to take her to the doctor to get her blood levels checked, and when the receptionist asked if I was her grandson she said “No, he’s my friend.” Adorable. Let the record show that I fucking hate old people. Oh, she also tried to set me up on a date with the girl who works at the bank. That woman can fucking hustle. Which reminds me of a joke: What does it taste like to go down on a 93-year-old lady? Well, Depends? Get it?

Send bullshit to ldworrell@gmail.com

2009-12-08T12:51:00.000-08:00

Those save the children ads can really fuck somebody up. Just add and little booze and a shitty day, maybe a menstrual cramp or 2, next thing you know, you’re sending 10% of your paycheck each month to Nigeria. This exact thing happened to my home girl Randa a couple months back. She was drinking watching TV, feeling kinda emotional or whatever, called the 1800IMFUKINHUNGRY whatever and gave them a credit card number over the phone. She had completely forgotten she had done it until a month later when Abakar sent her a letter. Abakar seemed like sweet enough of a kid I guess, if you’re into that sort of thing. Enclosed was a touching little drawing he drew for her and of course a picture of little Abakar. Kinda cruel, but I swear to god he looks just like a kid on the back of one of those CRASS records. Kid couldn’t draw for shit in my opinion. Seriously, a fucking palms tree, a couple birds, and some sand. Definitely not dealing with Van Gough, naw mean? Any who, I was really proud of her for doing something so selfless and it really stuck for the first couple months well until she was broke. “ Jesus, I'm so broke, I'm not even gonna have enough money to send Abakar his 23 dollars this month”- says Randa while drinking a beer staring at a cable TV in a central air-conditioned house. I'm sure he’ll understand. Maybe she should send him a snickers bar or maybe a Bob Ross paint by numbers book. Kid needs all the help he can get. I wonder is he can hook me up with any Nigerian psych records. I got money, just saying.

Abakar got me thinking. Fuck we are some lucky motherfuckers. More or less for my entire life if had nothing but first world problems. I don’t come from money or anything, cough, Brace, cough, but i've never had to eat of a trash unless I was trying to impress a I chose to, usually to impress a girl which is entirely different thing all together. I did get called “trash kid” when dad made me wear a trash bag for a raincoat while waiting for the bus. He said I didn’t need an actual raincoat since we lived in Texas and it never really rained anyway. Thanks Dad. Most of the people I know, myself included, live in reasonably nice house, are able to bathe on at least a semi regular basis, depending on preference, and can eat pretty much whatever we want, whenever we want. Right now in fact, i'm on a 2 and half-month vacation. A little work here and there, but hardly anything to bitch about, though im sure I will a bit. What a piece of shit I am.

I’ve shit myself 5 times in the past 2 years. Now, this fucks up my previous assumption that’d id at least shit myself 5 times during my entire adult life. That could still be case I suppose, I just can’t play Mexican roulette again till I'm dead or dying. I don’t know why I just told you that. I guess I just feel really comfortable around and for some reason. Ill always fined it really funny when people bet on a fart and lose, though I don’t particularly enjoy bathroom humor. It happens more then you’d think, btw.

Right now, I'm sitting at MRR headquarters once again finishing this column last minute. The first stop on this long strange trip is, in case you couldn’t figure it out, San Francisco. You locals got a great thing going on here, beautiful weather, great food, amazing people watching. Bailey, the lady I'm staying with, lives in the Castro. FUCK. Shit pops off down there. Now, I'm from Texas and the Castro is literally encompasses every reconvened notion of what we think of San Francisco to be. I love it. Shitless dudes, drag queens, and huge slides. It is kinda weird seeing so many babies being pushed around down there though. Whats that all about? I went into a sex shop called “ Does your mother know?” a couple of days ago to pick up a few things on the way home. Dude at the counter reminded me of the dog whisper. Really cute Puerto Rican guy, with maybe like a CRISS ANGEL vibe going on. Any who, as I was checking out he asked where I was headed, I told him my lady friends house and with that awesome Dog Whispers Puerto Rican lisp he said, ehh lady friend. Made me feel like a million bucks. Thanks Castro Street. You gave me confidence back .

Now to address a couple punk things…. DYS “Wolfpack” goes real fucking hard, still. I continue to like Bruce Rhoers more then most people and Dolores park a Saturday fucking sucks. As much I hate to admit it, SF’s WILD THING, is really good. DISCHARGE is also pretty good, if you like that sorta thing, you know, like perfect things. There’s this fest in Austin where I live called fun fun fun fest. It’s the worst thing that has ever happened to music. I put it up there with the SPICE GIRLS. Actually the SPICE GIRLS have way more integrity (INTEGRITY actually played FFF once too) then FUNFUNFUN because at least they don’t hide who they are. Its basically some yuppie with a Japanese tattoo sleeve who maybe used to be down, book a bunch of bands who broke up 20 years ago, who I'm sure had a really good reason to do so in the first place. I think last year BAD BRAINS played. How the fuck are you gonna put BB on the fest named after a BIG BOYS song. That’s not cute or funny, its just plain disrespectful. This year its just a kick in the dick over and over again. Fucking 7 seconds to Gorilla Biscuits to Dazing. Why must this man make such a mockery of my child hood? Leave the Reunion shows for the fucking Eagles.

Mexico

2009-11-09T14:25:00.000-08:00

Walking on Water

I had just got home from an amazing trip when all of a sudden reality was thrown in my face by this stupid, white Rasta fuck who hangs out at my work. “Yo Ras, Ras?” Fuck it kills me.the closes place to Jamaica that assholes been was the reggae section at Best buy. Every time I hear that piece of shit call me Rasta a little piece of me dies. In an attempt to avoid further aggravation I bolted out back door holding 3 plates of bullshit making a B line for table 23. Once I got through the back do my coworker’s 3 year old daughter Olive was standing before me directly in my path. “Watch out Olive baby”, “fuck off Logan”, was her reply. Being told to fuck off by a 3 year old was an all time low for me. Why couldn’t I be back down south where the good times and the bowel movements flowed like wine.

I had spent the last few weeks touring around Mexico with my homies or to you less cultured individuals, my amigos. Mexico is a lot like summer camp, the foods good and you don’t wanna sit on any toilet seats. Everyone was so amazing and the weather was top notch. Being a Texan man such as myself, it was a very welcomed change to be able to go from 100+ degree weather to 70 degree weather with the crossing of a little imaginary line. The “scene” there is incredible. Everyone’s just trying to have fun. It seemed to me and my “amigos” that people there are just looking for one hell of a good time while trying the escape the same meaningless dull void that we also call life.

The Food:

“Mexican” food or as BSA calls it, “normal” food is gods gifts to punks. Want it vegan? No problem. Want to get down with some carne? Fuck yeah you do. Want it vegan but secretly want them to fuck up your order thus giving you a weird get out of jail “I don’t know how to say no cheese in Spanish” free card. No Problem. Down there they have these things called Tortas or sandwiches as we call them in the Texas. Now tortas are just like sandwiches except that they taste way better then sandwiches. Also a popular traditional Mexican dish is something called a taco. Now, bear with me if you can. A taco is kinda like a burrito or little donkey except it actually stays together when you try to eat. No napkins required. Remember that name Yankees. Taco. Often times while dinning you will be entertained by traditional Mexican folk music. In Morelia we had the pleasure of dinning with crust punk while lulled into an eating frenzy with the powerful rhythms of the Village People and MC Hammer. No shit. Oh well, it beats shitty crust. There’s also this food called….. Well I forgot what its called, but its supposed to taste like fish though its just tvp and bullshit. Anyway, it sucks.

The Terrain:

Mexico has a vast plethora of geographical landscapes for your traveling pleasure. Wither you fancy the deserts of Nuevo Leon or the lush mountainous forests of the state of Mexico, south of the Rio Grande has got a little but for everyone. I swear I saw a chubacabra fucking a jackalope in the desert by Sal Tillo, but I guess it could’ve just been a mirage or a KFC or something. I think my favorite is definitely the mountains. We don’t really have those things here in big Tex, we have something more like big hills which rich people use to build houses on so they can continually be able to look down upon and keep a watchful eye of the poor. We played one of the shows up in the mountains of Mexico City at a squat. We played on the roof while it was raining. It was kinda like a poor mans Woodstock, but for actual poor people, not some rich kids with too much time, money, and bad acid on their hands. There were some cholos from the states trying to get in the show for free who wanted us to get them in. Not on my watch.

Oh, a cholo is just an asshole with style. See Despise You.

The People:

I love Mexicans. Ive been touring with em for years and goddamn I love em. Keep the Dutch. Send more Mexicans. I had so much fun with the people down there that is brought tears to my eyes when I had to leave. Our generous host bought us into their homes, their country, and their hearts. There was Tio, one of my favorites. I know Tio means uncle in Spanish, but I still found myself calling him uncle Tio most of the time.

Tio like 2 things, drinking and Swedish Pop music, which dramatically differed from his appearance. I always preferred it when he drove. Mother fucker drove fast as hell with no disregard for stop sings, traffic signals, and lanes. You can’t drive in Mexico City on certain days so for the seconds Mexico show we had to take trains and then later random cars to get to the show. On the way home, Tio drove us back to Roger’s house during a torrential downpour. The streets got flooded due to the horrible drainage system, but Tio decided during theses hazardes conditions that the best way to get home was a drive real fucking fast thus getting us there in a hurry. If it would have been that I had already shit in a bush by the venue I would’ve right there in his car. Mastur was our driver for the majority of the trip. He also liked equal parts shitty crust and Swedish pop music. Ok, 70- 30 crust to pop, but who’s counting. His dad “Don Master” came to the last show with us in Monterrey. That dude knows how to party and smoke. A friend of Masters gave us some organic tobacco from Oaxaca he has grown. Matt, Master, and I took pulls off that shit like little babies, Don Master took a puff and just shrugged and said he had better. We were green.

That about sums up my Mexican adventure, I miss it more and more everyday. Europe aint got shit on you Mexico. You’re like the Geto Boys and their like Soulja Boy. You got more balls then a dude with 3 balls. No to get back to work and make coffee and serve food to worthless hippies who don’t care if I live or die just so long as I don’t scuff up their yoga mat with my shoes.

No to get back to work and make coffee and serve food to worthless hippies who don’t care if I live or die just so long as I don’t scuff up their yoga mat with my shoes.