CIT

"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

Shit it fucking real ya'll

FAFS SOCIAL EXPERIMENT: SPORTING EVENT

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

some things.

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

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

enjoy.

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

BRUCE ROEHRS

BRUCE ROEHRS 1950-2010

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

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

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

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

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

SXSW

SXSW: WEEK IN REVIEW

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

Tuesday:

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

Wednesday:

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

Thursday:

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

Friday:

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

Saturday:

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

Sunday:

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

Once a day to keep me regular

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

The following is a list of the things I got.

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


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

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

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

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