The Daily Dab

Let's all go to the Moon!

2011-09-25T05:54:00.000-05:00

It's pretty cool that Buzz Aldrin once punched a guy in the face for claiming that the Apollo moon landing was faked

Dumb fuck totally has it coming, the action at the very end.

also,

Neil Armstrong to NASA: You Are an Embarassment
Thu Sep 22, 2011 03:39 PM ET
Content provided by AFP

Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, told lawmakers Thursday that the end of the space shuttle era has left the American human spaceflight program in an "embarrassing" state.

"We will have no American access to, and return from, low Earth orbit and the International Space Station for an unpredictable length of time in the future," Armstrong told the House Committee on Science, Space, and Technology.

"For a country that has invested so much for so long to achieve a leadership position in space exploration and exploitation, this condition is viewed by many as lamentably embarrassing and unacceptable."

Armstrong was part of a four-member panel of space experts who told lawmakers that NASA needs a stronger vision for the future and should focus on returning humans to the moon and to the International Space Station.

"A lead, however earnestly and expensively won, once lost, is nearly impossible to regain," said the US astronaut, now 81, who was commander of Apollo 11 and walked on the moon in 1969.

President Barack Obama canceled the Constellation program that would have returned humans to the Moon and called on NASA to instead focus on new, deep-space capabilities to tote people to an asteroid by 2025 and Mars by 2030.

The retirement in July of the three-decade-old space shuttle program brought an end to the US capability to send humans to space until private industry can come up with a new commercial space capsule to the ISS, maybe by 2015.

In the meantime, Russia's Soyuz capsules are the only taxis for the world's astronauts heading to low-Earth orbit, and each ticket to the ISS costs global space agencies between 50 and 60 million dollars each.

"Get the shuttle out of the garage down there at Kennedy (Space Center), crank up the motors and put it back in service," said Eugene Cernan, who commanded the Apollo 17 flight and was the last man to walk on the Moon in 1972.

"You want a launch vehicle today that will service the ISS? We've got it sitting down there. So before we put it in a museum, let's make use of it. It's in the prime of its life, how could we just put it away?"

"As unimaginable as it seems, we have now come full circle and ceded our leadership role in space back to the same country -- albeit by a different name -- that spurred our challenge five decades ago."

The image of a panel of old men who have actually walked on the moon demanding that we bring back the space program is strange to imagine, and I can't help but see NASA's decline as the decline of American civilization.

Source: Discovery

HI

2011-09-07T19:49:00.001-05:00

I STARTED A BLOG:

so you can make fun of me online

beenjabean.blogspot.com

Idi Amin you sly dog

2011-08-31T15:10:00.000-05:00

For you Michael, may you forever R.I.P.

2011-08-30T15:04:00.000-05:00

SEX

2011-08-11T21:30:00.002-05:00

it has begun...

2011-07-25T02:52:00.000-05:00

Mythbusters

2011-07-21T21:32:00.001-05:00

You guys this is going to be great

2011-07-01T13:14:00.000-05:00

Megafaun from Hometapes on Vimeo.

hi hi

2011-06-26T21:23:00.002-05:00

Remember our old pals House of Normandie?

2011-06-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

Streaming their album for the sweet pals! (And everyone else.)
<a href="http://houseofnormandie.bandcamp.com/album/truth-for-us">Truth For Us by House of Normandie</a>

The Annual Manitoba Ferret Association Spring Frolic in the park

2011-06-21T10:07:00.000-05:00

St. Vital Park • Jun 25, 12 pm – w/ the great tube race, bean bag toss, peek-a-boo ferret; Free

Each year the MFA organizes games and fun activities not only in summer, but all year round. We have ferret valentines, ferret Halloween, ferret Christmas, the ferret pool party as well as the spring frolic. Please see the attached pdf on all the information on the event and the MFA.

So, who's in?

2011-06-16T16:30:00.000-05:00

yup, thats about right

2011-06-14T03:48:00.000-05:00

Pan-teh-brer

2011-06-07T13:05:00.002-05:00

Cool.

HO HO HO TIM CURRY YOU NASTY SON OF A BITCH

2011-06-02T19:59:00.006-05:00

BOOOM sha-ka-la-ka...

Every morning at my work I get declassified news briefs from NGOs as well as government and non-government news agencies that cover various stories regarding transport safety and security. The vast majority of these news stories involve the greatest threat to maritime security since the U-boat - piracy off the Gulf of Aden in the Arabian sea. Sandwiched between the hilarious lawless pirate headquarters Mogadishu/Somalia/Tortuga and war torn Yemen, the Gulf of Aden has been a prominent shipping lane for centuries. All joking aside, shit is getting pretty insane over there. Hostages are being killed, multimillion dollar ships are being hijacked and many millions of dollars of everything from toilet seat covers to Rebecca Black CDs (? do those exist?) are being lost to modern day piracy.

These pirates are relatively well armed with exactly what you imagine they would be, and generally start their trouble making by boarding vessels of any size from small fishing boats and basically just getting up in everybody's shit. Of course this great evil must have a righteous adversary to combat it until the end of time so that's where private security firms come in. In case you don't already know, these suckers will not be carrying around any AK-47s. They're more likely armed with Heckler and Koch, bluetooth headsets, ballistic shields and in some (read: coolest) cases helicopter gunships.

For some great reading on a really amazing sailboat named le Ponant and the story of its hijacking by pirates, check out the GQ.com article. FYI this boat is probably the single coolest way of getting around... ever. In my books anyway. The 288 ft, tri-masted, super yacht is a state of the art modern take on the ships of oldenyore.

I leave you now with Tim and Sweetums.

ohhh shit THIS is my JAM!!!

2011-05-11T00:11:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure this is exactly how it went down

2011-05-10T16:46:00.000-05:00

May the Radish Spirit treat you favourably in a bathhouse this season

2011-05-09T12:34:00.000-05:00

We watched Spirited Away in The Palace last night. It was wonderful. I kind of wish i knew what that whole No-Face-eating-people-and-giving-out-gold thing was all about. I'm thinking it represented the following moral:

Don't eat anthropomorphic frogs you find in bath houses. They're probably covered in all kinds of weird shit that'll make you go insane and eat people. Luckily you can magically poo gold or whatever, so it's not a big deal.

2011-05-05T02:04:00.000-05:00

Canadian arts funding

2011-05-02T23:42:00.000-05:00

Congratulations you fucking idiots.

Dog Squirts Poop

2011-05-01T20:00:00.002-05:00

Happy Four Twenty

2011-04-20T10:38:00.000-05:00

lolz too cute

2011-04-16T14:45:00.002-05:00

Shut up you stupid nerd pussy ass

2011-04-09T03:39:00.001-05:00

Just listen for a second. This green lantern footage looks cool. I want to see this. Come on, it looks cool.

Superdogs!

2011-04-08T15:07:00.002-05:00

Every SUPERDOGS Show is a canine cross between a Broadway hit and a major sporting event!

SUPERDOGS Shows are suspenseful, dramatic, exciting and fun. The upbeat music, the lighting and the non-stop action keep kids and their families laughing and cheering throughout the entire show. From the hilarity of “Flying Carpets” to the excitement of “Tunnel Relays”, SUPERDOGS Shows are family fun for kids of all ages, from puppies to grandpaws! They entertain more than a million people every year. They are the SUPERDOGS and they cause Poochmania wherever they go. “WOOF THERE IT IS!”

LETS WATCH THIS

2011-04-07T19:41:00.000-05:00

happy birthday dan akroined

2011-04-05T03:17:00.003-05:00

excellent life hack. looky here (. )( .) for an inferior public urination film.

best. pet. ever.

2011-03-31T04:56:00.000-05:00

Delhi 6 coming soon to a theatre near you

2011-03-27T22:14:00.000-05:00

Some guy did 30 hits of acid and all i got was this YouTube video

2011-03-27T21:53:00.000-05:00

i'd bone her

2011-03-25T16:37:00.002-05:00

My parents went to the Cannes commercials showing and all I got was this hilarious Panda Cheese commercial

2011-03-23T23:31:00.000-05:00

How good was that, right?

pee pee pee

2011-03-21T11:20:00.000-05:00

more quotes from stupid people

2011-03-19T12:22:00.001-05:00

"NPR, National Endowment for the Arts, National Endowment for the Humanities, all those kind of frivolous things that government shouldn't be in the business of funding with tax dollars — those should all be on the chopping block as we talk about the $14-trillion debt that we're going to hand to our kids and our grandkids. Yes, those are the type of things that for more than one reason need to be cut." -Sarah Palin

NO, NO NO!

2011-03-19T11:23:00.001-05:00

<a href="http://video.ca.msn.com/?mkt=en-ca&from=en-ca-hpquad&vid=564ca11a-43b3-434e-9434-1bf89f858f63&from=en-ca&fg=dest" target="_new" title="Baby Hates Everything">Video: Baby Hates Everything</a>

I'M SO HOOD RICH

2011-03-13T13:15:00.002-05:00

this is unbelievable. And now they have nuclear explosions to worry about

2011-03-12T18:57:00.002-06:00

Analog Synth?

2011-03-12T04:40:00.001-06:00

The anal lining is only one cell thick

2011-03-08T12:58:00.000-06:00

Some old bitch at a Colorado senate committee knows her truth.

Thank Jesney for this one.

no one asks about jon cryer!

2011-03-03T13:19:00.001-06:00

Crazy new talented youtube asian lolz!

2011-03-03T11:11:00.000-06:00

REGGIE WATTS PEOPLE!

2011-03-02T21:41:00.000-06:00

Dab Man of the Week.

2011-02-23T22:39:00.004-06:00

I am giving a Dab Man of the Week to George Clooney because he looked fucking rad as a young dude and had to say this when asked if he would ever run for office:

"I didn't live my life in the right way for politics, you know. I fucked too many chicks and did too many drugs, and that's the truth. (A savvy political figure) would start from the beginning by saying, 'I did it all. I drank the bong water. Now let's talk about issues.' That's gonna be my campaign slogan: 'I drank the bong water.' "

He's also doing some humanitarian work down in Sudan. Good job, GC.

Girls Girls Girls

2011-02-23T22:09:00.000-06:00

After seeing this i feel better about this whole Thor thing

2011-02-18T10:50:00.000-06:00

This looks good now. Real good.
Watch this and i'll stop talking about Thor.

Quotes from famous people

2011-02-16T17:28:00.001-06:00

"crack is okay if you can manage it socially"

So this is fucking weird...

2011-02-14T21:55:00.003-06:00

And all kinds of wrong.

EDIT: Whoops! Go to this link for the animated gif.

2011-02-14T02:27:00.000-06:00

This is where i want to be eventually

2011-02-10T12:14:00.000-06:00

I didn't even finish watching this video before i posted it here. This is too awesome. That place is exactly what life in the working world should be like. They built their own house, had a party, and went swimming, while making money and contributing to society. This is what we want to build. This is what we should be striving to achieve.

let's get one!!!!!!

2011-02-10T11:35:00.000-06:00

you da man cool guy

2011-02-09T16:03:00.004-06:00

CLICK HERE** YOU FINE SIR ARE A LOAD OF HORSE CACKY **CLICK HERE a fine read

i'm tiiiiiiired of pretending

2011-02-08T23:59:00.000-06:00

Thank you for watching Dancing with Frank Petroski

2011-02-04T17:49:00.000-06:00

A half-naked masked man dances for old people

Fuck Yeah Bollywood!

2011-02-01T06:25:00.000-06:00

an(other) occaisional anti-joke - brought to you by speedstick

2011-01-26T13:26:00.004-06:00

Q: What would someone like you end up with if, say, for the sake of argument (or more accurately--for the sake of this particular joke), that you were a scientist working in the field of experimental bio-engineering, and you made an erstwhile effort to genetically cross JFK with KFC?

A: All of our best data indicates unequivocally that you would get John Fitzgerald Chicken.

Panty bear seven inches

2011-01-21T11:32:00.000-06:00

Panda Bear is giving up half of the tracks from the 7"'s he released. We've already heard Tomboy and Slow Motion, so i'm not posting those, but holy shit is Last Night at the Jetty a good song. Yeah. Holy wow.

You Can Count on Me
Panda Bear - You Can Count On Me by jp917

Last Night at the Jetty
Panda Bear - Last Night At The Jetty by frankyboy

Alsatian Darn
Panda Bear - Alsatian Darn by jp917

Well, colour me boners.

har har har

2011-01-17T21:50:00.001-06:00

I had something here

2011-01-13T12:50:00.001-06:00

but it won't let me make the picture big, so i'm going to show you something else.

She must be right?

2011-01-11T18:17:00.002-06:00

Cindy Jacob's reasonings for why so many birds keep dying and falling out of the sky

Sunday Night Special

2011-01-09T21:52:00.001-06:00

Saturday day night drug story time with Kol

2011-01-09T01:19:00.000-06:00

Kid Cannabis, an article from rolling stone 5 years ago or so

Nate Norman was hanging out with his buddy Topher Clark when he
came up with The Idea. The two friends were sitting around Nate’s
house, a dumpy little place near the cemetery, and both of them
were extremely stoned. And yet The Idea had more legs than your
typical pot-inspired idea. It did not involve a second
Twinkie inside the first one. It did not involve
genetically modifying the bugs so their blood
would not be blood but windshield-wiper fluid. It
was, in fact, based on a practical application of global economic
theory. That, and cheap weed in Canada.

At the time, Nate was a nineteen-year-old high school dropout
who worked at a Pizza Hut in Coeur D’Alene — a gorgeous but dull
resort town in Idaho — and sold the occasional dime bag on the
side. Chubby and baby-faced, Nate had never been the type to come
up with a million-dollar brainstorm. “He was one of those guys
everybody used to pick on,” says his friend Scuzz — Ben Scozzaro,
a year ahead of Nate at Coeur D’Alene High. “He looks like the
Keebler Elf. That’s what we used to call him, actually.” Nor was
Nate much of a scholar. His girlfriend Buffy once received a letter
in which Nate spelled “pot” with an extra “t.” “He can’t spell
‘marijuana,’ either,” she adds.

Always ready with an eager grin, Nate developed a puppy-dog need
for approval — and perpetually holding proved a quick way to earn
the love, or at least tolerance, of his peers. Topher, nine years
his senior, initially met Nate as a customer. An avid outdoorsman
who hunted deer and elk for meat, Topher didn’t have much in common
with Nate but found him goofy yet likable, a “fat, funny kid” with
a “big heart.”

Nate had been getting his stash from a dealer in Spokane,
Washington. But he had heard about how easy it was to cross the
Canadian border — only an hour north of Coeur D’Alene — and bring
back the popular, extremely potent marijuana growing in abundance
in British Columbia and known, generically, as “B.C. Bud.” Rumor
had it that the town of Nelson had become a sort of hippie
Shangri-La, a place where if it took you more than ten minutes to
find someone to sell you a dime bag, there was a good chance you
were already high.

Nate turned to Topher and said, “I’m cool. Are you cool?”

Topher said, “I try to be.”

Nate said, “I’ve got a plan.”

The Idea turned out to be a textbook case of business economics:
Buy low, sell high and eliminate the middleman. Things happened
quickly after that. Suddenly, Nate and Topher and all of their
friends had more cash than they’d ever dreamed of, along with
expensive cars, hot girlfriends and fancy lakefront homes. And
then, just as quickly, they began to lose control. Harder drugs,
guns, paranoia, eventually violence — it was like a movie,
everyone agrees. “Mini-Scarface,” chuckles Nate’s lawyer
Frank Cikutovich.

“Have you seen Blow?” asks Topher. “You should sit down
and watch it sometime. That’s what it was like. We’re at these
parties, watching naked women jump into pools, feeding piranhas in
aquariums, smoking out of big, fancy bongs.”

Topher is sitting, at the moment, in the visiting room of a
federal prison in Terminal Island, California. He’s a big guy, with
solid arms and blocky features. Outside, there are palm trees in
the parking lot and a decent view of the harbor. “When I heard
about the Butler kid, I just wanted out,” he says. He attempts a
smile, but his eyes do not cooperate, the final effect being more
of a pained wince. “I was like, this is pot, right?’ This isn’t
supposed to happen. No one’s supposed to die.”

According to law-enforcement officials, the sale of B.C. Bud has
become a $7 billion-a-year industry. Though marijuana remains
illegal in Canada, the stance of the government regarding pot is
far less hysterical than in the United States, with laws enforced
sporadically and penalties never especially stringent. “Americans
like to think they can stop this,” says Donald Skogstad, a defense
lawyer in British Columbia who specializes in pot cases. “The
Canadian border is five times longer than the Mexican border. There
is no fence, no barrier at all, just a curtain of trees. Right now,
they’re catching all the dumb people. That’s all the Americans get.
They’ll never get you if you’re doing it properly.”

Smugglers have buried stashes in semi trucks filled with wood
chips and driven across the border. They have hidden pot in buses,
in horse trailers, on trains and in mobile homes driven by
gray-haired retirees. They speed across the border on snowmobiles.
They kayak backwoods rivers, or fill the fiberglass hulls of yachts
and sail down. They fly small planes, low, dropping their loads at
agreed-upon locales — farms, raspberry fields — without landing.
They have dug a 360-foot tunnel, beginning in a Quonset hut in
Canada and ending in the living room of a home in Lynden,
Washington. They drag their stashes underwater, behind fishing
boats, so the line can be cut if an agent approaches; buoys,
attached to the loads with dissolvable strips of zinc, rise to the
surface the following day. They float hollowed-out logs, outfitted
with GPS tracking systems, down the Kettle River. And some — “the
bravest,” says Skogstad, “but not necessarily the brightest” –
hike the seven-mile border crossing, through the forest, on
foot.

Once Nate hatched his smuggling plan, he and Topher realized
that their first order of business would be to scrape together
enough cash to make a buy. Luckily, Topher had salvaged a sunken
jet boat from the lake in Coeur D’Alene and had spent the summer
restoring it. To kick-start their enterprise, he dragged it to the
side of the highway and sold it within minutes for $1,500.

The two friends both had big plans. Raised a Buddhist, Topher
had essentially grown up on a boat, sailing the world with his
free-spirit parents before they settled in Coeur D’Alene when he
was fourteen. Though Topher dreamed of opening his own
car-detailing shop, by the time he met Nate he was working
part-time at an amusement park, living with his brother and barely
scraping by.

Nate was also into cars. As a kid, he restored them with his
grandfather, who became a father figure after his parents divorced
and his mother moved the family to Idaho. The oldest of four
children, Nate became especially protective of his mother. Despite
his academic shortcomings, he was always a hard worker, his string
of shitty day jobs including paper routes, telemarketing gigs and a
stint at the Taco John at the mall.

“Nathaniel has always been a really good kid,” insists his
mother, Teresia Franks. “He’d go out of his way to help somebody.
There was an old lady who lived across the street from us. Her
driveway would get blocked every time the snowplow would go by.
Nathaniel would always run over and shovel her drive, and later
she’d tell me that she tried to give him money and he’d say, ‘No,
no.’”

For their first pot run, Nate and Topher drove up to Creston,
B.C., a little farming town just over the border. Once there, they
hit the local bars in search of a connection. It didn’t take long.
“We saw this old man, and we made a hand gesture, like smoking a
bowl,” Topher recalls. “He just nodded his head and told us to come
outside.”

“You guys looking for weed?” the man asked.

The boys said yes.

“You Americans?” he asked.

The boys said yes.

“Good,” the man said.

Minutes later, they were in an apartment making their first
deal: $1,400 for a pound of B.C. Bud. “I put it under my arm like a
football,” Topher says.

Nate drove back across the border, while Topher, the designated
runner, began the long hike through seven miles of thick forest. It
was late afternoon. He’d changed into camouflage gear, stashing his
street clothes and the pot in a backpack. It was a scary trip
nonetheless. Topher was not only worried about border agents but
also grizzly bears and mountain lions, and he wanted to reach U.S.
territory before dark. He and Nate had bought two-way radios to
arrange the pickup. They gave each other code names. Nate was Joe
Blow. Topher was the Space Cowboy.

Once safely on American soil, the pair met their friends at an
Outback Steakhouse and, in Topher’s words, “ate like starving
coyotes.” Excited by the success of their first outing, they showed
their friends the weed — which was, they all had to admit, fairly
skunk-looking tourist weed. “B.C. Bud is really Chronic,” says
Scuzz, who had been brought on board as a dealer. “This was like
Cali Mexican weed.”

But the quality didn’t stop it from moving. Hitting the streets
of Coeur D’Alene, Scuzz and the others sold it all in a couple of
hours.

Having doubled their initial investment in roughly a day, Nate
and Topher quickly planned a second run. This time, they bought two
pounds. Before they knew it, they had gone from struggling to put
gas in their cars to running a major pot enterprise that was
bringing in thousands of dollars a day. “Within a few weeks I went
from selling eighths to quarter pounds,” says Scuzz, who could pass
for a pro snowboarder with his goatee and wraparound shades. “Our
plan was to make 3 million and get out. When you crunch the
numbers, that’s nothing. We figured out we could do it in fourteen
months. But when you’re making twenty or thirty grand a week, why
the fuck would you stop?”

As business boomed, the guys found a couple of steady suppliers
from Nelson — a town that Drew Edwards, in his book West Coast
Smoke, calls “the marijuana-culture capital of North America.”
Nelson’s remoteness makes it ideal terrain for pot growers — so
much so that the town of 10,000 has its own currency exchange.

Overlooking the main street is the Holy Smoke Culture Shop, a
white clapboard house with a giant marijuana leaf painted on the
side. Next to the pot leaf is a profile of Peter Tosh large enough
to rival Soviet-era portraits of Stalin. Holy Smoke is the local
head shop — but in Nelson, it functions more like a second city
hall. Hikers, snowboarders and potheads come to Nelson from all
over the continent to openly smoke weed and to buy one of the
various strains of B.C. Bud, christened with brand names for
marketing purposes: Triple-A, Crystal Globe, SIN/D.

“You know, name sells,” says Jonas, a local who has worked
full-time as a grower and smuggler. “I read in People or
some stupid shit a list of the highest-stress jobs. Number one was
president of the United States. Number two was drug smuggler.” He
chuckles. “This is above astronauts!”

To keep up with demand, Nate and Topher soon drew their friends
into the operation. Aside from Scuzz, there was Topher’s friend Tim
Hunt, a nineteen-year-old whose family had moved to Coeur D’Alene
from Alaska after his father, caught poaching moose, committed
suicide; Scuzz’s best friend, Rhett Mayer, a supersmart kid who
never touched weed but began driving scout cars en route to the
border; and Nate’s buddy Dustin Lauer, ironically nicknamed “the
Rock” because he was five-foot-six and chubby but always tried to
be a tough guy. The dealers rarely made border runs. “Nate did it a
couple of times, just for fun,” says Topher. “He’d drink four Red
Bulls and be darting from tree to tree like a crazy guy.”

Topher remained the head runner, paid a flat fee of $1,000 per
crossing. He was also in charge of the new recruits. The crew was
immediately outfitted with hundreds of dollars’ worth of equipment,
everything from new boots to night-vision goggles to a spray,
purchased on the Internet, that was supposed to make them
“invisible” to heat sensors. (Says Terry Morgan, a police detective
who investigated Nate’s crew, “I always tell people, ‘Oh, yeah,
that works great. Keep using it.’”)

Runners would cross the border, six at a time, carrying long
canvas hockey bags filled with cash — eventually as much as
$400,000 a run. In Canada, they would meet their contacts from
Nelson on an old closed road and exchange the cash for weed. They
always crossed at night. Once they were back in America, a truck
would swing by and pick up the weed. Topher and his men would spend
the rest of the night in the woods and be picked up around sunrise.
Aside from the obvious demands of hiking for miles with heavy
loads, they had some close calls. One night, Topher stumbled across
a DEA agent, asleep in his truck; another time, they got lost and
nearly froze to death when the temperature dropped to fourteen
below zero.

Nate and his friends were suddenly making — and spending –
preposterous amounts of money. They bought four-wheelers, jet skis,
plasma-screen televisions, minidisc players. “If it had a ‘best’
option, we had it,” says Scuzz. Tim Hunt threw a lavish New Year’s
Eve lingerie party. Platinum jewelry, deemed not flashy enough, was
returned for gold. Aside from Topher, everyone involved was in
their teens and early twenties, which made the upswing in their
collective lifestyle that much more radical.

“When we started, most of us were still living with our moms,”
notes Scuzz. Now, they were buying or renting enormous lakefront
homes — one simply as a stash house for money and drugs. Nate’s
house had eight bedrooms. “I moved into a lake house that was
unreal,” says Scuzz. “My parents didn’t know about it. I told them
I lived in a bullshit-ass apartment.”

Perhaps unwisely, the guys flagrantly ignored an oft-quoted
maxim from Scarface — namely, never get high on your own
supply. “We were stoned every day,” Scuzz confirms. “Me and Nate
would just take the best-looking bags. I don’t think I had a sober
day for three years. I mean,” he quickly adds, “a lot of it was
networking. We were finding clients. You know, go hang out at some
dude’s house, smoke with him, find out if he knows anybody out of
state to sell to. Next day, go to some other dude’s house. But in
the in-between time, yeah, we’d be rolling two-ounce joints and
playing video games.”

Such behavior, while enjoyable, led to the occasional lapse in
judgment. Example: Nate decided he needed a Cadillac Escalade, so
he sent a couple of his guys — with $40,000 in cash — to buy one
from some dude in North Dakota.

“The dumb-asses,” says Detective Morgan, “took a video
camera.”

“It’s like watching Wayne’s World,” says Cikutovich,
Nate’s lawyer. “They’re videotaping themselves smoking doobies.
Then they get there and there’s no Escalade, and they’re going,
‘Dude! Let’s find this guy and beat him up!’” Nate eventually
bought the Escalade in Seattle, paying cash and telling the
salesman he won the money gambling.

“We were doing a lot of stupid shit,” groans Scuzz. “I mean, we
were living in a town where, if you get in a car wreck, your mom’s
uncle will know immediately. Everyone knows everything that’s going
on. And we’re moving hundreds of pounds of weight, making millions
of dollars. But we were a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, and we
weren’t thinking about the long run. We just had that attitude. We
didn’t give a fuck.”

Nate, meanwhile, was beginning to change. His presence had
always been tolerated with a smirk. Now, suddenly, he was Tony
Montana. He became cocky and disrespectful. He also began using
cocaine, which made him paranoid. They had all agreed, early on,
not to have guns. But now, with so much cash around, Nate bought a
Mac-10 9 mm submachine gun and an AR-15 assault rifle.

“He went from having this humble personality to thinking he was
this badass smuggler no one could touch,” says Topher. “He would
drive around town with his twenty-four-inch rims and diamond
chains, listening to hardcore rap. Just this perfect drug-dealer
image. And people were starting to fear him, because he had power
and money.”

Now the only thing the drug kingpin formerly known as the
Keebler Elf needed was a girlfriend. He found her, of course, at a
strip club.

Stateline showgirls falls, technically, on the Idaho side of the
border with Washington, in a town that’s actually called Stateline.
As Idaho law does not permit nude dancing in establishments serving
alcohol, half of Stateline Showgirls is a strip club, where you can
buy a Coke and watch a topless girl gyrate to U2′s “With or Without
You.” The bar is next door. It also has a stripper pole, and
occasionally a fully clothed server wearing, say, jeans and a tight
red sweater will perform a perfunctory pole dance.

Buffy (her stripper name; she was born Katrina Stewart) works
several nights a week at Stateline Showgirls. She’s off tonight,
drinking in the bar and wearing a low-cut blouse that could pass
for a negligee. The top shows off her rather impressive cleavage,
the surgical enhancement of which is a favorite topic of
conversation with Buffy. She’s cute and blond, and began dating
Nate Norman almost four years ago, when he was nineteen and she was
twenty-six. “I met Nathan next door, down by the stage,” she says.
“I remember he saw me and said ‘Fabulous.’ That’s my word! I always
say that. I couldn’t believe a guy would say it to me. We did some
dances after that, and became best friends. He had a great smile.”
Buffy smiles herself. “That first time he walked in here, he
looked, literally, like he was twelve.”

They soon became a couple. Buffy liked dating a younger guy with
no baggage. Nate also lavished her with gifts. They took trips to
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Buffy insists she had no idea of Nate’s
true profession — “He told me he owned a snowplow business” — but
she admits to being a longtime pothead. She once considered
submitting a topless photograph of herself with a huge bud between
her breasts to High Times. She used to refer to Spokane,
where she lives, as “Spokompton” on bad days and “Spoke Vegas” on
good ones. Now she simply refers to it as “Spokannabis.”

With a stripper girlfriend, weapons and gratuitous bling, Nate’s
transformation was nearly complete. “Oh, man, you wouldn’t believe
it,” says Scuzz. “He started buying these stupid homey clothes,
when he’s a white dude from Coeur D’Alene. And he got this
crazy idea in his head that he was going to be a rapper. He got
this little accent when he talked, and he’d always be freestyling
in the car. That’s why you couldn’t help but like him. He’d do such
stupid shit.”

They all would. One night, during an especially crazy
party at Tim Hunt’s — the place was completely packed out, at
least 150 people, and everyone’s wasted — a fight broke out over a
girl. One of the kids left and came back with a group of friends.
They bum-rushed the house, knocking down the door and starting a
full-on brawl. People were getting thrown over furniture and down
the stairs. “If you saw someone you didn’t know,” says Scuzz, “you
took a swing.” Tim ended up running outside with his .45 and
shooting it in the air. But it was so loud in the house, with the
music and the fighting, nobody heard him. So Nate, who was
piss-drunk, grabbed another Magnum, only he shot it off in the
house. “Have you ever shot a .45 Magnum in a house?” Scuzz
asks. “It’s deafening. It was like a fucking bomb went off.” All
the girls started screaming and everyone ran outside.

Scuzz and his girlfriend made it to their Lexus and took off,
but they were immediately pulled over by five cops, who yanked
Scuzz out of the car and put him on the hood, guns drawn. Just
then, his friend Rhett drove by — on the wrong side of the road –
and took out a fence right in front of the cops. They were so busy
with Scuzz, they didn’t even notice. Eventually, they figured out
that Scuzz didn’t have a gun and let him go. Later, when he got
home, he realized that he had twenty grand in his pocket. He had no
idea how it got there. “Someone at the party,” he says, “must have
owed me money or something.”

The next night, they had another party at the same house.

By this point, the operation had expanded to include at least
thirty-two people. They were making four to six runs a month,
moving hundreds of pounds of B.C. Bud to California, Montana and
other parts of Idaho.

Topher, though, was becoming anxious. He’d already tried to quit
once, but Nate had upped his pay to $8,000 a run. “So I kept doing
it,” he says. “But I told myself, ‘This is going to have a horrible
ending.’” He tried to warn his friend about being so flashy with
his spending, but Nate just laughed, insisting he wouldn’t stop
until he went to prison.

The Coeur D’Alene police department knew about Nate and his
crew, but the cops were too busy to bother with pot dealers. “They
were back-burner cases,” says Detective Morgan. “We were doing
three meth labs a week. We don’t hold a back seat to anybody with
our meth labs.”

In the end, Nate was not undone by his own greed but by
overlooking one of the basic tenets of capitalism: Never
underestimate the competition. Nate’s most serious rival was a kid
named Brendan Butler. Born in Korea, Butler had been adopted at age
two by an upper-middle-class couple in Hayden Lake, a suburb of
Coeur D’Alene. His friends and family all called him by his
nickname, “Wang,” which means “little prince” in Korean. Butler was
a short kid, only five-foot-four, but exceptionally bright, having
graduated early, and with honors, from the prestigious Gonzaga
Preparatory School in Spokane.

Instead of going to college, though, Butler had an epiphany
similar to Nate’s. Soon after graduation, he’d set up his own
smuggling operation. And like Nate, he wasted no time in working up
his own gangster persona. He drove around town in a low-riding ’93
El Dorado with tinted windows and tricked-out rims, and began
abusing cocaine and OxyContin.

In a market as small as Coeur D’Alene, there was bound to be
trouble. Nate and Butler “were running across a lot of the same
customers,” says Detective Morgan. The crews clashed as they
encroached on each other’s territories. As Topher says, “It became
this ‘fuck you’-'fuck you‘ situation.”

Butler began to put out word that he was looking for “muscle.”
Through friends, he met an older “enforcer” type — a
thirty-three-year-old aspiring graphic artist with no criminal
record named Giovanni Mendiola, Gio to friends. Butler met with
Mendiola in Coeur D’Alene and told him that he wanted Nate and
Scuzz robbed and killed. Mendiola agreed to do the job for
$100,000. A few days later, Mendiola checked into a Howard
Johnson’s with his brother Eddie and two other men. Butler paid
them $5,000 upfront, then accompanied them on a shopping trip to
Kmart, where they bought black shoes, pants, gloves and
windbreakers, as well as tarps for disposing of the bodies. Butler
also provided guns: two assault rifles, a .357 Magnum, a 9 mm
semiautomatic pistol and a Tech 9 handgun. Mendiola had brought his
own knife. He planned to cut off Nate’s and Scuzz’s fingers.

One night in June 2002, while Butler hosted a big “alibi party”
so he couldn’t be implicated, Mendiola and his crew broke into
Scuzz’s house. Scuzz and his girlfriend, Crystal Stone, didn’t hear
anything until a group of armed men with shaved heads and goatees
kicked open their bedroom door and began yelling in a combination
of English and Spanish. Crystal, who was nude, was bound with white
plastic zip ties and gagged with tape, while Scuzz was forced to
reveal the location of his drugs and cash. After robbing Scuzz, the
men let him go. Returning to Spokane, they divided the spoils with
Butler and made plans to return later to finish the job.

Nate’s crew, meanwhile, was rattled. Nobody knew what to make of
the robbery, which only added to the overall paranoia. “We didn’t
know it was Butler,” says Topher. “We thought it must be some dudes
from out of town. All kinds of rumors were going around.” The day
after the robbery, Scuzz moved, and he began sleeping with a Tech 9
under his pillow.

Later that summer, Nate broke both of his arms in a dirt-bike
accident and moved in with Buffy. “That was a bad time,” she
recalls. “Nate’s arms were in casts. I was recovering from my
surgery.” She fluffs her breasts as a visual aid. “And my cat Titty
Bar Bob had broken his back, and he got addicted to these
painkillers. He’d crawl up the sides of the wall to get to them. It
was a weird summer.”

Back in Spokane, Mendiola was growing angry with his client.
Butler had yet to pay the agreed-upon advance and kept providing
bad information. He insisted that Scuzz had not moved (when a
simple surveillance run quickly proved otherwise) and gave Mendiola
a crude drawing of a house that was supposed to be Nate’s.

Nobody knows for certain what happened on October 11th, when
Mendiola and his men met Butler at a campground near Hayden Lake.
Butler planned to show the men a remote location to dispose of the
bodies. But at some point, his contrived “gangsta” persona
apparently rubbed this group of actual gangsters the wrong way. In
what police describe as a dispute over money, Mendiola turned on
Butler. As his brother and friends watched, shocked, he began
choking the undersized twenty-year-old, who begged for mercy.
Mendiola continued choking him until blood came out of his mouth
and nose. After Butler was dead, Mendiola slashed his throat
repeatedly with his knife, hoping to cover any fingerprints.
Leaving Butler’s body in the woods, the men proceeded to one of his
safe houses and stole sixty pounds of marijuana.

A month later, a woodcutter discovered Butler’s body. “Once they
found the body,” says Detective Morgan, “it was like, ‘Holy shit.
It’s not just kids out here smoking dope and buying Escalades and
boats. There’s a dead guy out here.’” Investigators quickly tracked
down Mendiola, after discovering his number in Butler’s cell phone;
the crew was arrested in March 2003. Police also began running
surveillance on Nate’s crew.

After news of the murder broke, Nate and his guys were shaken.
“Everybody started pointing fingers at everybody else,” says
Topher. Things, suddenly, had become far heavier than anyone had
anticipated. It was also clear that a body would bring more heat to
the scene, so they began to make plans to dissolve the operation
and either retire or leave town.

“It was like, ‘This dude Butler is done, we made all this money;
now we either need to take a break or get out of it completely,’”
Scuzz recalls. “Nate had a house rented in San Diego. It was like
one of those houses on — what’s that fucking show? The Real
World. Nine bedrooms. An indoor swimming pool. It was
sick.”

The group assembled at Tim Hunt’s house early one morning in
April 2003, with plans to hit the road by 6 a.m. “We all met on
time, but we didn’t leave on time,” says Scuzz. “This guy’s not
packed yet. This guy needs to put his street bikes away. If we had
left on time, I don’t know what would have happened. Instead, we
were sitting around like a bunch of stoners, and we weren’t ready
to leave until nine. And that’s when the raid happened.”

Hunt’s house was one of the sites under surveillance. When
police spotted a U-Haul, they decided to strike, seizing guns,
cash, marijuana and computers. Morgan spent the rest of his summer
turning informants and building a case against the crew. In
November, his department, working in conjunction with the FBI, made
fourteen arrests, including Scuzz, Topher, Hunt, Rhett Mayer and
Buffy. The crew was accused of moving at least seven tons of B.C.
Bud, worth $38 million.

Nate, who remained at large, decided to surrender himself to the
authorities. For legal representation, he hired Frank Cikutovich,
whose e-mail address begins with the letters “FU DEA” and whose
business card folds open to reveal a stack of rolling papers.
Cikutovich recalls the reaction when he accompanied his client to
the police station. “In their mind, it’s like they’ve just caught
Noriega,” he says. “And here’s Nate, all five feet of him, in his
Izod shirt, looking like his mommy bought it for him. It was like
Geraldo Rivera opening the vault. Like, ‘Is that it?’ This is the
guy who’s orchestrated a multimillion-dollar operation? And he
looks like, and has the job skills of, a pizza delivery boy?”

Nate had promised his friends that he would cover their legal
fees if anything went down. But once they were busted, the guys
wasted no time rolling over. “Everyone told on everyone,” Scuzz
says. “If they tell you you’re getting ten years, it’s like, ‘Fuck
that. I’m eighteen years old.’”

When the cases went to trial in 2004, Nate was portrayed as the
kingpin of a drug empire. Scuzz and Topher both got thirty months;
most of the others, somewhere between thirty and forty-six. Nate
pleaded guilty to five of the fifty-nine counts against him and
received a twelve-year sentence; ten years of the sentence is a
mandatory minimum and not subject to parole. Giovanni Mendiola, by
contrast, pleaded guilty to the murder of Brendan Butler and
received a life sentence with a possibility of parole in eight
years.

Nate, currently appealing his sentence, has declined all
interview requests. Just before he went to prison, he spoke briefly
with a reporter from the Spokesman-Review in Spokane,
insisting, “I’m no kingpin. I never told anybody what to do.” The
writer described Nate as smiling and waving from the other side of
the jail’s bulletproof glass, possessing “the eager grin and jazzed
body language of someone who had just had an excellent
adventure.”

Buffy was convicted of possession and is currently on parole. As
part of her sentence, the judge ordered her to wear a key around
her neck — “the key to your future” — as a reminder to keep
straight. Buffy bought four keys: one gold, one white gold, one
Playboy bunny and one white gold with diamonds. She has
kept a scrap album of newspaper clippings from the trial, complete
with word- and thought-balloon stickers that comment on what
happened. On the day of her arrest, for example, her mug shot is
thinking, “This must be my lucky day!” Next to the POT SMUGGLER
GETS 12 YEARS headline, another balloon reads, simply, “Mr.
Right.”

Still, Buffy and Nate remain a couple. They talk once a month.
Buffy, these days, mostly strips to “missing you” songs, like
Simple Plan’s “Miss You” and — her favorite — Pink Floyd’s “Wish
You Were Here.”

Scuzz, meanwhile, avoided prison by going to boot camp; he’s
currently serving his time in a halfway house in Long Beach. We
meet at a Jack in the Box near the garage where he works six days a
week. Through the plate-glass windows, dun-colored mountains are
visible in the desert haze. Scuzz hates the halfway house and his
job. But he’s still with his girlfriend, Crystal, whom he describes
as a “down-ass chick,” adding, “I almost got her killed, and she’s
still with me.

“It’s funny,” he continues. “Everyone asks me, ‘Do you regret
what you did?’ And the answer is, fuck no. I mean, I think of
myself as an entrepreneur, and I went about some of that the wrong
way. But I’ve done more at twenty-two than most people do their
whole lives. I partied my ass off. There were so many women. I
smoked so much weed. Anyone says they regret that, they’re full of
shit. They’re saying that to please other people. I don’t care. I
had a blast.”

bryn rulz

2011-01-07T01:24:00.003-06:00

MC Mike Choi goes balls out in public

2010-12-29T23:06:00.002-06:00

Asian Teen is Very Awkward - Watch more Funny Videos

Merry Christmas You Filthy Animals!

2010-12-25T00:35:00.001-06:00

I'M A VAMPIRE I'M A VAMPIRE- dedicated to sir aiden and tinksi

2010-12-19T00:35:00.001-06:00

o hai

2010-12-18T21:40:00.001-06:00

My early Christmas bitch to you.

2010-12-18T01:46:00.000-06:00

This is my all time most favourite Chrimble movie ever. I hold it dear. I can recite almost the entire film offhand. I hope one day you can too. Just watch it. It holds up. It is gigantic. Is is the lord. It is the state of Islam. It is your grandmas only pair of slacks. It is creamy beans on a stir fry. It is legend. Behold:

Occasional Anti-Joke

2010-12-17T19:30:00.002-06:00

So a man walks into a paint store and asks for red paint.

The man behind the counter says, "Sorry sir, we're all out of red paint, all we have is blue."

So the customer replies,

"That's fine, I've got my bike outside."

Nagasham!!!!

2010-12-16T01:32:00.001-06:00

merry chrimbus

2010-12-15T22:14:00.000-06:00

i havent even watched this yet, but i bet its funny

God hates Football!!!!

2010-12-12T23:18:00.000-06:00

Branagh's Thor for realz.

2010-12-11T18:26:00.000-06:00

my balls are faintly tickled

VICE n VIRTUES

2010-12-11T12:19:00.001-06:00

Meowy Catmus one and all!!!

2010-12-10T14:29:00.001-06:00

Aaron Soarkin rulz

2010-12-09T11:46:00.002-06:00

So sarah palin recently shot a caribou on her reality show, carved it up and ate it because there wasnt a grocery store for miles. Some people obvs were like wtf, one of them being Aaron Soarkin, and heres what he had to say (its awesome):

"Unless you've never worn leather shoes, sat upon a leather chair or eaten meat, save your condemnation."

You're right, Sarah, we'll all just go fuck ourselves now.

The snotty quote was posted by Sarah Palin on (like all the great frontier women who've come before her) her Facebook page to respond to the criticism she knew and hoped would be coming after she hunted, killed and carved up a Caribou during a segment of her truly awful reality show, Sarah Palin's Alaska, broadcast on The-Now-Hilariously-Titled Learning Channel.

I eat meat, chicken and fish, have shoes and furniture made of leather, and PETA is not ever going to put me on the cover of their brochure and for these reasons Palin thinks it's hypocritical of me to find what she did heart-stoppingly disgusting. I don't think it is, and here's why.

Like 95% of the people I know, I don't have a visceral (look it up) problem eating meat or wearing a belt. But like absolutely everybody I know, I don't relish the idea of torturing animals. I don't enjoy the fact that they're dead and I certainly don't want to volunteer to be the one to kill them and if I were picked to be the one to kill them in some kind of Lottery-from-Hell, I wouldn't do a little dance of joy while I was slicing the animal apart.

I'm able to make a distinction between you and me without feeling the least bit hypocritical. I don't watch snuff films and you make them. You weren't killing that animal for food or shelter or even fashion, you were killing it for fun. You enjoy killing animals. I can make the distinction between the two of us but I've tried and tried and for the life of me, I can't make a distinction between what you get paid to do and what Michael Vick went to prison for doing. I'm able to make the distinction with no pangs of hypocrisy even though I get happy every time one of you faux-macho shitheads accidentally shoots another one of you in the face.

So I don't think I will save my condemnation, you phony pioneer girl. (I'm in film and television, Cruella, and there was an insert close-up of your manicure while you were roughing it in God's country. I know exactly how many feet off camera your hair and make-up trailer was.)

And you didn't just do it for fun and you didn't just do it for money. That was the first moose ever murdered for political gain. You knew there'd be a protest from PETA and you knew that would be an opportunity to hate on some people, you witless bully. What a uniter you'd be — bringing the right together with the far right.

(Let me be the first to say that I abused cocaine and was arrested for it in April 2001. I want to be the first to say it so that when Palin's Army of Arrogant Assholes, bereft of any reasonable rebuttal, write it all over the internet tomorrow they will at best be the second.)

I eat meat, there are leather chairs in my office, Sarah Palin is deranged and The Learning Channel should be ashamed of itself.

Fucked up video of the year

2010-12-05T17:10:00.002-06:00

This is why there will always be assholes in the world. Assholes beget clean souls but then raise them in a way where they think this is normal. Sure, if you grow up conscious of your choices, and you choose this as your faith and way, then cool. But when you are given no choice, especially at such a young age (this kid is like what, 1 or two?), then it's not fair. not fair.

but it's kinda cute too.

video of the year

2010-12-03T15:53:00.000-06:00

This commercial was made directly for Tinski

2010-11-29T21:42:00.000-06:00

A Well Balanced Breakfast

2010-11-20T04:03:00.000-06:00

"Breakfast is the only meal of the day that I tend to view with the same kind of traditionalized reverence that most people associate with Lunch and Dinner. I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas or at home — and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed — breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert... Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours and at least one source of good music… All of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked."

- Hunter S. Thompson

kitty kitty

2010-11-18T23:10:00.001-06:00

and it shall be proclaimed the day of ryan

2010-11-18T23:01:00.001-06:00

what is box happening...

2010-11-17T15:40:00.001-06:00

Cool Optical Illusions - Watch more Funny Videos

WHOA. I shouldn't a said that

2010-11-15T15:35:00.002-06:00

So i learnt about Taras Bulba (real name Barovets) today,

he was a ukrainian dude who organized insurgent armies against the Germans in WWII. Now you know.

Also because I have been ukrainianized 24/7 with this 12 page essay I have to write check out some info about this crazy russian politician Vladimir Zhirinovsky, hes run for president a couple times but his party has like 8% popularity......:

direct quote to time magainze in 1994: "Ukraine and Belarus will be the first to rejoin Russia. Tajikistan, Armenia and Abkhazia are begging to be taken back as Russian provinces. As for the Baltics, they are welcome to their independence- if they have sufficient resources to sustain it after we cut short all energy supplies."

Hates the jews obvi, thinks they're responsible for russian prostitutes, Loves Hitler and is bffs with the guy who denies the gas chambers during WWii... and obvi, his dad was jewish.

thinks the chinese should be deported from the russian far east.

when he visited the US, he said on tv be careful your country should preserve the white race, its turning over to blacks and hispanics.

wants to have alaska back from the US because it would be a good place to put all the ukrainians....

thinks nuclear waste should be dumped in the Balkans.

Thinks Romania is an artificial state created by Italian Gypsies.

When Condi Rice critisized his policies he said "Condoleeza Rice needs a a company of soldiers and be taken down to the barracks, where she will be satisfied..."

Loves nukes, has threaten nuking chechyna, japan, and wanted to drop nukes in the atlantic to flood Great Britain.

To eradicate bird flu, he wanted to arm all of the russian population and have them and the army shoot down migratory birds.

say whaT?!

2010-11-15T12:12:00.002-06:00

Wait..... what is this comercial REALLY for?

2010-11-12T17:37:00.000-06:00

Tinski Takes A Tumble

2010-11-11T22:48:00.003-06:00

Tinski took a tumble at the boys house this weekend and, long story short, his phone was 'left' outside over night. It is now fucked... so, if you want to, or are forced to reach him, dial 668-9891.

(If something claiming to be Maria picks up, say you are from the Airforce and hang up.)

NNNNNYYYYYYKKKKK

2010-11-11T19:41:00.004-06:00

come over and watch movies tonight TITS

Well, this is fucking crazy

2010-11-11T16:47:00.000-06:00

Special thanks to Kol for this one

2010-11-09T18:16:00.002-06:00

Watch live video from Siggas live on Justin.tv

BUCLE UP COMRAD!!!!

2010-11-07T23:59:00.001-06:00

YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME

2010-11-05T17:34:00.003-05:00

Yup, and so are these freaky people. Awesome I tells ya!

robots fucking in the jay-z video

2010-11-05T01:39:00.000-05:00

The Coolest Guy in the World - The funniest home videos are here

if youve got the time, these are really funny. but two of them are editing really stupid

2010-11-01T18:26:00.003-05:00

RIDIN DIRTY

2010-10-30T15:49:00.000-05:00

rising star

2010-10-30T15:46:00.001-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XC3yaCaBcdA

the embeding was disabled.

i suggest you watch this if you want to meet the next rising star of the world.

seriously.

HOLY SHIT LETS DOWNLOAD AND WATCH THIS NOW

2010-10-29T13:17:00.002-05:00

Children go where i send thee (How shall I send thee)

2010-10-28T01:57:00.000-05:00

Wednesday Lunchtime Special

2010-10-27T12:25:00.000-05:00

i'm losing my mind...

2010-10-26T18:57:00.000-05:00

...and you're reaping the benefits

speak now or forever hold your peace

2010-10-25T11:29:00.001-05:00

”I just gotta be careful of gold diggers out there. That’s the thing, I got money now, so I got gold diggers comin’ out the woodwork. I went out to dinner with one last week. She ordered lobster and I was like, ‘You know that lobster tail is three fingers up the butthole, minimum?’”

-TRACY MORGAN at a recent New York Magazine Dinner.