welcome to epic del rio

I recently embarked on a pimp ass trip to the windy city of Chicago for a vacation of extreme relaxation and a couple of Cubs games.

My vacation began by staying up until 1am and then getting back up at 4 so I could be ready for my ride which was to pick me up at 5. Luckily for me my ride didn’t wake up for his 45 minute drive to my house until 5:30 so I had plenty of time to sit around and wait. A quick trip to the airport ensued where I was advised my bag was too heavy and I would need to pay $50 for the airline to take my luggage, I was not pleased. Upon boarding the plane we were advised there was a “minor” problem that would take a few “minutes” to fix. We then were advised that the problem was a little bigger than they thought and they had to wake up the head maintenance engineer at home and ask him how to fix it. Several minutes later we were advised that it would take at least an hour to fix. Several minutes later we advised that we would have to switch planes because the one we were on was completely fucked. After boarding our second plane and waiting roughly another hour we were airborn and soon “treated” to a showing of Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer. I drank plenty of Gin and Tonics and finally arrived in Chicago. Our hotel was pimp as could be and Wrigley Field just as magical as I remembered it, oh yeah, Cubs won! Day two started with room service and breakfast in bed, almost. Room service brought my girlfriends breakfast but didn’t even bother to make mine, a call to the kitchen and an hour later and I was enjoying eggs benedict while watching Sportscenter. Game two was a day game that the Cubs were winning in the ninth inning thanks to two Alphonso Soriano homeruns. Ryan “Garbage” Dempster came in to close it out but decided giving up 4 runs and losing the game would be a much better idea. (Oh yeah, I forgot, riding the L-Train is quite convenient but totally sucks ass.) Our Benefactor for the trip, Barry”fucking Barry” Mortough, hooked it up so we could get into the mack daddy Foundation Room at the House of Blues and we drank in style whilst some shitty funk band from England wore horrible Pleather pants and piano key neckties and tried to hit on drunk sluts with giant beachball like plastic boobs. The Brits struck out. Hard. I laughed. “Ha ha ha” Laughed Jason. We were also given free tickets to the Macy Gray concert that was going on, we checked it out for two minutes before we remembered that Macy Gray sucks ass.

Day three was a whirlwind tour of the Shedd Aquarium and the Herd Museum. The aquarium is expensive as shit to walk around and look at fish, but still pretty interesting. They have an anaconda slightly larger than SideBobs, a whale, dolphins and my favorite, The sea otters. The otters were pretty indifferent to the fact that we were watching them frolic and swim and play. So indifferent in fact that one of them began to bathe himself in front of us and then pleasure himself in ways no man could ever. I wondered if he was just showing off or trying to impress my girl, either way, I had enough and we left. Off to the museum for lunch and old stuff, speaking of old stuff, the second Cubs game we went to had more geriatrics than Joseph’s High School reunion. The coolest part of the museum were the dinosaurs, truly freaking cool to think they used to cruise around the same spots we do now. After the museum kicked us out we waited in line for a cab. Holly looked to the sky which was glooming with storm clouds and asked if I thought it would rain on us. Thinking of all the “good” luck we had been having I answered yes. 1 minute later it was pouring like Niagara Falls. We were the only two in Chicago without an umbrella but we laughed it off pretty good, it was only water after all.

The last part about the umbrella brings me to another story. As we were exiting the subway station one day, we were startled by a loud “wooooo!” I turned around and saw this stupid looking “thug” and his mud duck girlfriend, they must have had nine teeth combined. As the “thug” got to the top of the subway stairs he started yelling how it smelled like “boo boo” up in here. Not “doo doo”. “boo boo”. I was confused, especially when I realized this “thug” was carrying an umbrella, odd thug accessory I thought. Odd until I noticed all the thugs carried umbrellas in Chicago. I imagined a typical day for a Chi-Town thug might go like this:

Thug 1: “Yo dog, you ready to ride on these fools?” Thug 2: “Fo sho son, these niggas is….hold up dog, looks like rain, lemme grab my umbrella.” Thug 1: “Good looking out homie, I ain’t supposed to get water on this new jacket, moms would trip.”

Any way, we partied with Barry, met some cool people from California and ended up at the Foundation Room again where Holly became like cocoa butter to the black men, they were drawn to her like moths to a flame. It was all “hey baby” this and “yo baby” that. One mother fucker had the nerve to wait until I went to the bar to get drinks to go over and mack, I came back as he was kissing her hand. The same damn hand I kiss! As soon as he saw me back he scampered away. It was all pretty funny. The next day we went to Navy Pier and Millenium Park, both pretty cool places. The airline then called and said our flight was cancelled and we would have to wait until the following morning to leave. That didn’t sit well with me so I told them to find us another flight, they had one left and it was leaving in an hour. We hauled ass back to the hotel, grabbed our shit and boned out in a taxi. The cabbie was the worst ever, all durka durka and what not. He wouldn’t point the AC back to us, drove slow as hell and swerved all over the place, narrowly missing walls, cars and pedestrians. We made it to the airport, barely got our luggage checked in time and booked it to security. Security didn’t like me or my laptop, I had to send Holly ahead and deal with the pricks. I finally got through and track-starred my way through the terminal, moving at speeds I hadn’t voluntarily forced myself to go since high school. I arrived at the gate just as they were closing the gate, VICTORY! Only one problem, no Holly, and I had the boarding passes. She showed up soon after and we were off. One hell of a trip, I can’t wait to go back.

As a side note, I would like to address the completely unfound rumors that I have contracted a viscous strain of Vaginitis. I would like to confirm to my family, friends and fans that nothing could be further from the truth and I will fight these rumors to the bitter end. I have gone to great lengths to study the Vaginitis disease and it’s origins. Many may be surprised to find that Vaginitis typically occurs when a male grows his hair to female like length. I have found examples we can examine for our little case study. Mr. Smithenoza has tried to disguise the fact that he is a carrier by cutting his hair short but this was done in vain, his Vaginitis is so extreme that he actually SOUNDS like a pussy whenever he speaks. By the way, your black eye is neither from falling down, being punched or being beaten up by lime juice. The shocking truth is Mr. Smithenoza got the bruise in question by pressing his eye so hard into the microscope trying to find his own penis.

Mr. SideBob has tried to draw attention away from his Vaginitis by super gluing an elephants trunk to his crotch but alas, his massive vagina shines loud and proud with each pedicure, hair highlight and facial he pays hundreds of dollars for. These Manginas need our help people. Let’s send our prayers, and most importantly our money to:

The Penis Reclamation Project 2007

P.O. Box 71618, Chicago IL 32511

There are certain times in life when things sort of go in slow motion and you wonder to yourself “what am I doing here?”

I had one of these moments this past Saturday evening just before I became a member of the Stuntman Crew. After snorting a healthy amount of salt up my nose, shooting some tequila and squirting lime juice in my eye I realized that stupidity truly knows no bounds.

I once rode a child’s Razor Scooter off the roof of my house into a 4 and a half foot deep pool, it was dark on the roof and I didn’t see the lip on the edge. I went head first into that pool. I climbed back on the roof to do it again because I didn’t get my trick right. Not quite as stupid as doing a stuntman.

I once got really drunk at a WWF wrestling event and rushed the ring. I tripped while hurdling the barricade and landed face first on the floor, when I put my hand on the ring to get up a wrestler by the name of the Undertaker put his foot on my shoulder right at the joint and dropped all his weight down dislocating said shoulder. It still hurts to this day. Not quite as stupid as doing a Stuntman. (But damn close.)

I once (while drunk) told a girl I was dating that I would definitely fuck her sister if given the opportunity. Pretty much a tie with doing a Stuntman.

I figured the older I got the less stupid things I would do. What I’ve realized is, I am a man which means I will ALWAYS find something stupid to do. If I cannot find something stupid to do I can always count on my friends to find something stupid to do. At least life isn’t boring.

Hillary Clinton is well on her way to winning the Democratic nomination. Holy bad fucking idea Batman. I’ve always said I believe we would have a female President before a black one and I don’t think it should be that way. Not that a woman isn’t capable of running the country but you gotta see how it makes us look in the eyes of the world. All these fucked up countries we have to deal with don’t respect women for shit. Do you really think that the Grand Sheik of _______(insert unpronouncable country here) is gonna come have a sit down and talk man business with a woman he feels is slightly below fingernail clippings on the evolutionary chart? FUCK NO! It’s unfortunate, but that’s the way it is. We will look weak and we will be attacked and bombed and all kinds of shit within a year.
That’s why, in my opinion, if we’re going to go in a totally new direction we need a black President. Not a Colin Powell or a Jesse Jackson or an Al Sharpton…..well, maybe Al Sharpton. He is kinda gangster.
No, we need a no nonsense, shut the fuck up before I smack a bitch President.
We need a President Shaft, or a President Dolemite, or a motherfuckin’ President Sam Jackson motherfucker! “Tat, Tat, Tat, what the fuck man?!”
Apparently experience is not really a factor, Hillary has only been a Senator for a few years. That’s pretty much the political equivalent of “No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.”
Seriously, a black white house would make an entire planet shit their pants in fear. Even black people are afraid of black people running the country.
But come on now, who isn’t ready to hear a P Diddy Hail to the Cheif remix? Or a speach that vows to put a 40 in every fridge and a nine in every waistband? Think about it, the 1st and 15th would become National holidays, work would become optional and traveling would become much easier once every street in America is changed to MLK Blvd.
Jokes aside, Hillary is not the woman to try this experiment with. Come on, she’s the same lady who couldn’t catch Bill banging bitches in the room next door. Now she’s gonna be way too busy to keep an eye what he’s doing. Dude’s gonna be having Girls Gone Wild foam parties in the West Wing while she’s at global warming summits with Al.
A woman President will happen someday, and it should. But this is the wrong time in history for it.

Paid for by the motherfuckin’ commitee to get motherfuckin’ Samuel L. Jackson in motherfuckin’ office. Motherfucker.