I wish I could say that I awoke this morning charged and motivated, positively brimming with derring-do and jillepsorius abandon, but that would be the thing that is untrue. As is the fashion of most humanity residing at this latitudinal and longitudinous axis I found myself awakened by the too-bright glare of an unforgiving winter sun, reflecting off of the snow outside, through my feeble drapery, and into my ill-prepared retinas. Justifiably upset by this unprovoked optical assault I burrowed deeper into my personal example of the primitive nest fashionable with local barbarian tribesmen in this part of the world. My anthropological research has discovered these roosts are called "beds", a deliciously quaint if altogether illogical nocturnal arrangment.
In time ravenous hunger drove from me my sweet hermit dreams and I was once again forced to resurface and brave the painful brightness of the daytime world. Driven by primal urges I enjoyed a little me time in my bathroom/office before completing my morning ablutions and endeavoring to create a provisional breakfast treat. Congratulating myself on my ability to pour both grain-based cereal flakes and milk of bovine origination into a singular vessel I crunched on frosted goodness for a period whilst enjoying the clever wrenchings of TLC's luminary series Junkyard Wars upon my television set's screen.
Upon completion of this momentary divertissement I stepped outside to feed grizzly bear his morning num nums. Fear that the sun's merciless rays would conspire to scorch my porcelain shell ushered me back indoors, where I returned to my horizontal nighttime habitation, literature in hand. Hours passed.
My book reading complete I now contemplate the interior shelving of my refrigerator, and the items contained thereupon in hopes that one shall strike my fancy as a nutricious and scrumtrulescent lunchtime delicacy. Even if a certain victual does not, I am satisfied knowing that I wasted your precious time by writing about how I didn't do shit all morning. And you read it. Jackass.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
official e-vite
Dear America,
I hereby extend the olive-branch of friendship in an open invititation to visit me here. Whether I remain in the Fortress of Solitude, or make the move downtown into Babe/Drama house I very much wish you would join me. I just got a new job you see, working for Harley-Davidson, so alongside my continued nighttime rock climbing instruction I will be able to pay my bills up front and not be living off my savings. This means I have just extended my stay here indefinitely. Well not indefinitely, just until I finish the nerd novel and am ready to return to east coast civilization. But that will surely be several months from now. So save your pennies boys and girls, put your money where your mouths are and come visit a Max Tyson. You Knowwwww i'd visit you. (and i'm just as poor, so that's no excuse.)
Do you love me? Could you learn to love me?
I hereby extend the olive-branch of friendship in an open invititation to visit me here. Whether I remain in the Fortress of Solitude, or make the move downtown into Babe/Drama house I very much wish you would join me. I just got a new job you see, working for Harley-Davidson, so alongside my continued nighttime rock climbing instruction I will be able to pay my bills up front and not be living off my savings. This means I have just extended my stay here indefinitely. Well not indefinitely, just until I finish the nerd novel and am ready to return to east coast civilization. But that will surely be several months from now. So save your pennies boys and girls, put your money where your mouths are and come visit a Max Tyson. You Knowwwww i'd visit you. (and i'm just as poor, so that's no excuse.)
Do you love me? Could you learn to love me?
Monday, January 26, 2009
There is snow outside.
This weekend I worked and chilled and partied and drank and played in the snow. Now about the important things.
- The people in the 5 hr energy shot commercials on TV sound like they're high on coke and pcp. Is it actually that good?
- Sometimes when I'm enjoying my social networking via facebook on the interweb, somebody pops up in my news feed that I haven't seen since highschool or early college and ruins it for everybody. This occurs when that person has allowed themselves to become grotesquely fat over an obnoxiously short period of time. Usually I really want to write on their facebook wall at this point and say "What the hell happened to you, you're disgusting. I mean really? Its only been a couple of years. You used to be hot. Now look at you. You're lumpy and smelly and sweat cottage cheese. How hard is it too eat a salad, switch to lite beer, and jog around the block once in a while?" but I don't say those things because then they'd bitch and whine and nobody enjoys a fatty complainer. (note to self-conscious readers: I'm not talking about people that have thickened out a bit, what with the stress of school and work and our sedentary lifestyles that is bound to happen, and besides I like curves on a girl and a belly on my boys. Its the ones that have turned into diabetic cattle that have earned my derision.)
- Comedians that aren't funny: Carlos Mencia, Kat Williams, that guy that does the thing with puppets
- My all meat diet experiment continues, but has made my farts smell really bad.
Good day America.
- The people in the 5 hr energy shot commercials on TV sound like they're high on coke and pcp. Is it actually that good?
- Sometimes when I'm enjoying my social networking via facebook on the interweb, somebody pops up in my news feed that I haven't seen since highschool or early college and ruins it for everybody. This occurs when that person has allowed themselves to become grotesquely fat over an obnoxiously short period of time. Usually I really want to write on their facebook wall at this point and say "What the hell happened to you, you're disgusting. I mean really? Its only been a couple of years. You used to be hot. Now look at you. You're lumpy and smelly and sweat cottage cheese. How hard is it too eat a salad, switch to lite beer, and jog around the block once in a while?" but I don't say those things because then they'd bitch and whine and nobody enjoys a fatty complainer. (note to self-conscious readers: I'm not talking about people that have thickened out a bit, what with the stress of school and work and our sedentary lifestyles that is bound to happen, and besides I like curves on a girl and a belly on my boys. Its the ones that have turned into diabetic cattle that have earned my derision.)
- Comedians that aren't funny: Carlos Mencia, Kat Williams, that guy that does the thing with puppets
- My all meat diet experiment continues, but has made my farts smell really bad.
Good day America.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
New Office
It turns out my bathroom receives the best wireless signal. I think you know where this is going.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Male seeking female: intimacy and light housekeeping
Good evening America. How are you? I am well. Evidently we have a new president now. I'm not impressed. I am sure Mr. Obama is a perfect gentleman, and certainly the lesser of two evils (Sarah Palin in the White House? Good God.) but this all becomes moot since I continue to plot the revolution in my desert hideaway. After my swift and efficient coupe, a new world power will rise from the ashes, that being of course my benevolent dictatorship. Max Tyson, King of America at your service. I'll totally have a statue made somewhere.
To comment on the present and very recent past a bit, today was sunny again, although a little chilly. I woke up early and worked on Nerd Novel, and then left the Apt to get some fresh air and sunshine. The truth is America, I have not done my dishes in a long time. So long that I actually don't have one piece of kitchenware left to use. I do keep my shelf stocked with paper plates and plastic utensils however, so the lack of formal dining implements is only distressing in so much as the pile of uncleaned stuff has begun to smell. Real Bad.
Avoiding the problem like a proper American, I went to the bank and then back to the Harley Dealership for another meeting that I had scheduled in my head and not told them about. I feel they were pleasantly surprised with my unannounced conference. Afterward I came back home, and at the cost of seared nostrils lurked in my fortress watching standup on comedy central until work. At work I met a former senator of the USA and got scammed on a little by mom-babes. I then ran a few miles and did a leg workout, anything to keep me out and away from the steaming pile of crusty dishes waiting for me back home. If you leave unwashed dishes for long enough, they go through a natural evolutionary process which is rather fascinating to behold. At the moment mine have achieved basic motor abilities which allow them to move on their own and, I fear, plot horrible things while I sleep.
It looks like I am going to have to bite the bullet America. There is only one logical next step that must be taken, no matter how unpleasant it is to think about. I have to get a girlfriend.
What? Its not like I'm going to clean them. I don't have a vagina.
To comment on the present and very recent past a bit, today was sunny again, although a little chilly. I woke up early and worked on Nerd Novel, and then left the Apt to get some fresh air and sunshine. The truth is America, I have not done my dishes in a long time. So long that I actually don't have one piece of kitchenware left to use. I do keep my shelf stocked with paper plates and plastic utensils however, so the lack of formal dining implements is only distressing in so much as the pile of uncleaned stuff has begun to smell. Real Bad.
Avoiding the problem like a proper American, I went to the bank and then back to the Harley Dealership for another meeting that I had scheduled in my head and not told them about. I feel they were pleasantly surprised with my unannounced conference. Afterward I came back home, and at the cost of seared nostrils lurked in my fortress watching standup on comedy central until work. At work I met a former senator of the USA and got scammed on a little by mom-babes. I then ran a few miles and did a leg workout, anything to keep me out and away from the steaming pile of crusty dishes waiting for me back home. If you leave unwashed dishes for long enough, they go through a natural evolutionary process which is rather fascinating to behold. At the moment mine have achieved basic motor abilities which allow them to move on their own and, I fear, plot horrible things while I sleep.
It looks like I am going to have to bite the bullet America. There is only one logical next step that must be taken, no matter how unpleasant it is to think about. I have to get a girlfriend.
What? Its not like I'm going to clean them. I don't have a vagina.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Cold in the Desert
Its cold in the desert. It would appear our record-setting stretch of warm weather has come to an end. A heavy fog came in overnight, along with sub-freezing temperatures. Driving to work this morning everything had a glossy coat of silver frost, which created a strange monochromatic dream world in the thick fog. Since I got back from my shift, I have succumbed to a lunch-induced itis and now lounge on the couch coated in peanut butter drippings and queso cheese salsa wearing a too-small tshirt and undies that should have been retired long ago. Truly I am garbage. I hope that in time my self loathing will overcome my lethargy and I will depart the fortress of solitude to run some errands and follow up on some job applications I have submitted. The monetary situation has grown bleak. If I do not find gainful employment full time soon, I will be unable to last past march or maybe april in keeping up with my bills. Should this be the case, I would most likely return to my beloved Connecticut. Unless a new adventure comes to mind of course. Drums. Drums in the deep.
Note: The title "The Holy Babble" had tickled my fancy as a potential monicker for what has until now been dubbed the nerd novel but unfortunately I discovered that a book by that name already exists. Now I need a new idea. Discuss.
Note: The title "The Holy Babble" had tickled my fancy as a potential monicker for what has until now been dubbed the nerd novel but unfortunately I discovered that a book by that name already exists. Now I need a new idea. Discuss.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
South to NorCal
The sun woke me up before my alarm. It tends to do that. After a long shower and potty break I ate a small bowl of generic brand cereal O's and then woke minitruck 2 from her subterreanean slumber. (She is parked in the lowest garage now because the Road runner and the chopper have claimed the upper garages. Sure it hurts her feelings, but she hides it well.) Together we ran south down 97 through the deschutes national forest. A short distance outside of bend this brings you past cinder cone volcano territory and lava flow. The largest town on this route for a good distance is La Pine, which boasts a hefty population cerca 1500 people. The road reminds me of the old rt.66 in the south, with small towns existing only by the grace of the roadway. They have changed little in decades, creating small time-capsules in the vast tract of forest. Past La Pine and Sunriver and hilarious little nooks and crannies like Gilchrist, Crescent and Chemult. Oregon roadways are unceasingly frustrating because they are well made, usually straight, and often empty yet the speed limit never exceeds 55 mph and police lurk everywhere to make sure nobody would dare travel like they have somewhere to be and want to be there relatively soon. 97 is one of the worst, since it is often 4 lanes, and when it isn't the center lane is rarely solid yet everyone still drives 50 and seems happy about it.
Therefore it was a much needed breathe of fresh air to turn off onto 138, which is arrow straight for about 20 milespassing through the mountains next to crater lake and winema national forest. There was nobody else on the road except me and towering walls of snow on each side meant that no police were hiding waiting to ensnare me as I sped. The roadway itself was clear, thanks to week of inordinantly warm and clear weather central Oregon has been enjoying, but on each side it was deep and dense. Instead of the lumpy humped piling caused by snowplows that I am accustomed to the snow was cleanly cut, as if by an enormous DOT wielded samuri sword, showing the true depth so be significantly higher than the roof of my truck. It was not until I turned off of 138 onto 230 that I saw the monster responsible for such a clean cut. Imagine homedepot variety suburban snow blower America. Now imagine it in prison working out in the yard for 10 years hocked up on steroids that have been muled in by conjugal visitors hiding syringes up their bum holes. That is what I saw. Ten feet tall and farting fire it ate into the snow bank like a jersey girl eats coke clearing the worst of natures fury swiftly and easily.
Past this snowgobbler and through the other side of the pass I entered old growth forest reminiscent of the majestic redwoods in Cali or the great Fangorn in middle earth. The venerable pines were thick and proud towering hundreds of feet into the air. The air was still and calm, resonating with the peace that can only be found when alone in the oldest forests in the middle of winter. My route took me into the Rogue river valley, and then to the river itself which was deep and swift with snowmelt. It was a mesmerizing teal color I've never seen before. All along the river the road was hilly and curvy and made me wish it was summer, I was on a motorcycle, and that plow trucks weren't dropping golf ball sized volcanic gravel for no apparent reason other than to bombard innocent passerby's windshields. The sleepy towns like Shady Cove I passed through made me smile, until a dreary fog took over and followed me all the way to Medford. I think the fog might have been apologetic in nature, as it allowed me to see the vast beauty of the mountains, rivers, and forests and then covered the "human improved" areas with their wal-mart super centers and drive through fast food restaurants. In a red lobster parking lot I met Rob and Scotty and received 3 coolers full of elk, moose and fish. Deliciousssss.
My drive home took 3 hours. It takes oregonians 5. I win.
Therefore it was a much needed breathe of fresh air to turn off onto 138, which is arrow straight for about 20 milespassing through the mountains next to crater lake and winema national forest. There was nobody else on the road except me and towering walls of snow on each side meant that no police were hiding waiting to ensnare me as I sped. The roadway itself was clear, thanks to week of inordinantly warm and clear weather central Oregon has been enjoying, but on each side it was deep and dense. Instead of the lumpy humped piling caused by snowplows that I am accustomed to the snow was cleanly cut, as if by an enormous DOT wielded samuri sword, showing the true depth so be significantly higher than the roof of my truck. It was not until I turned off of 138 onto 230 that I saw the monster responsible for such a clean cut. Imagine homedepot variety suburban snow blower America. Now imagine it in prison working out in the yard for 10 years hocked up on steroids that have been muled in by conjugal visitors hiding syringes up their bum holes. That is what I saw. Ten feet tall and farting fire it ate into the snow bank like a jersey girl eats coke clearing the worst of natures fury swiftly and easily.
Past this snowgobbler and through the other side of the pass I entered old growth forest reminiscent of the majestic redwoods in Cali or the great Fangorn in middle earth. The venerable pines were thick and proud towering hundreds of feet into the air. The air was still and calm, resonating with the peace that can only be found when alone in the oldest forests in the middle of winter. My route took me into the Rogue river valley, and then to the river itself which was deep and swift with snowmelt. It was a mesmerizing teal color I've never seen before. All along the river the road was hilly and curvy and made me wish it was summer, I was on a motorcycle, and that plow trucks weren't dropping golf ball sized volcanic gravel for no apparent reason other than to bombard innocent passerby's windshields. The sleepy towns like Shady Cove I passed through made me smile, until a dreary fog took over and followed me all the way to Medford. I think the fog might have been apologetic in nature, as it allowed me to see the vast beauty of the mountains, rivers, and forests and then covered the "human improved" areas with their wal-mart super centers and drive through fast food restaurants. In a red lobster parking lot I met Rob and Scotty and received 3 coolers full of elk, moose and fish. Deliciousssss.
My drive home took 3 hours. It takes oregonians 5. I win.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Tuesday
The day was warm. As is my wont I began the morning with a naked telephone chat on my deck with Mr. Cino, about middle schoolers and dildos mostly. After this invigorating foray into the spoke word I quaffed a cool jug of badger milk and went to the fitness center. While there I lifted weights until my intestines threatened to explode out of my scrotum. When faced with the choice between leaving to run some errands and continue working out at the cost of having my insides smeared all over the nautilus hugification instrumentation, I chose the road. First I went to BMC to ask uncle Greg if he had some coolers I could borrow. He was not in.
Miffed by this betrayal, I then went to the Harley-Davidson dealership down the street and applied for a job. Take that BMC. Then I went home and ate lunch. It was a bread and cheese sandwhich. After Lunch I worked until dinner, and got a little bit of climbing in for myself. While working, most of the climbers were relatively experienced people my age, but I did get a few of the young ones in, most notably a little guy named Max and his sister Rachel. There is nothing very special about the kids besides that he has the best name ever, but their mommy is an interesting subject. She has always been very friendly with me, and I assumed it was simply because she was a nice lady. (pretty too) Well, it turns out that daddy is not in the picture and I think nice mom has actually been flirting with me. I am kind of into it. I'm kidding, i'm really into it. After work dinner was a hot dog roll I found with some peanut butter and raisins. I need a better paying job. Now I am looking for coolers again. Tomorrow I'm rolling south to Medford to meet up with Scotty and Rob. Theyre in the state to fish steelhead, and they were kind enough to bring up my elk meat, so I don't have to pay for shipping. Its a bit of a haul to Medford, but it will be cool to see the guys, and I'll have my sweet sweet dead elk mommy carcass all the sooner.
Other than that ch.7 of nerd novel is done, nothing else is new. I love you.
Miffed by this betrayal, I then went to the Harley-Davidson dealership down the street and applied for a job. Take that BMC. Then I went home and ate lunch. It was a bread and cheese sandwhich. After Lunch I worked until dinner, and got a little bit of climbing in for myself. While working, most of the climbers were relatively experienced people my age, but I did get a few of the young ones in, most notably a little guy named Max and his sister Rachel. There is nothing very special about the kids besides that he has the best name ever, but their mommy is an interesting subject. She has always been very friendly with me, and I assumed it was simply because she was a nice lady. (pretty too) Well, it turns out that daddy is not in the picture and I think nice mom has actually been flirting with me. I am kind of into it. I'm kidding, i'm really into it. After work dinner was a hot dog roll I found with some peanut butter and raisins. I need a better paying job. Now I am looking for coolers again. Tomorrow I'm rolling south to Medford to meet up with Scotty and Rob. Theyre in the state to fish steelhead, and they were kind enough to bring up my elk meat, so I don't have to pay for shipping. Its a bit of a haul to Medford, but it will be cool to see the guys, and I'll have my sweet sweet dead elk mommy carcass all the sooner.
Other than that ch.7 of nerd novel is done, nothing else is new. I love you.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Queermo Sensuals
I knew things were bad America, but I had no idea how bad. I just saw a music video from a "Rock band" called The Academy Is. I'm not sure what the academy is, but it surely isnt rock and roll. As these anorexic looking tweeny boppers strutted around whining about love and how chocolate sooths their menstruation in jeans tight enough to show off the string from their tampons and the fact that they have never ever grown a pube I died a little inside. The 80's were bad enough with Glam rock and Hair metal turning men into question marks, but at least the music was fun and funny and at times wonderfully hard core with topics like whores and boobs and drugs and parties. These guys simply make me want to do violence, and I've never been inclined to beat women before.
Our parents created Rock in the 60's and perfected it in the 70's. Our older brothers almost ruined it in the 80's. We brought it back in the 90's and early 2000's. Was it dirty and simple? sure. But at least the men looked like men, and sometimes the women did too. This current generation however, has sunk to a new and unforseen low. Emo, goth, nu-rock, pop-rock whatever it is, tell it I hate it. Will this be the youth of America's legacy? I hope not. Tell all these bands to get off the stage, produce some hormones, grow a beard and some nut, buy clothing from the mens department and when they get back so help them they'd better actually rock. No more whining. No more love songs. Learn to play your instruments, lift some weights, eat some red meat, shoot some guns and be a man. Preferably a hilariously ugly one. Its Rock and Roll for Gods sake, not ballet.
Rockers still allowed to do their thing:
Zakk Wylde (aka the greatest rocker of all time)
Glenn Danzig
Henry Rollins
M. Shadow
You see what these men have in common? Theyre men. That's my only requirement.
Our parents created Rock in the 60's and perfected it in the 70's. Our older brothers almost ruined it in the 80's. We brought it back in the 90's and early 2000's. Was it dirty and simple? sure. But at least the men looked like men, and sometimes the women did too. This current generation however, has sunk to a new and unforseen low. Emo, goth, nu-rock, pop-rock whatever it is, tell it I hate it. Will this be the youth of America's legacy? I hope not. Tell all these bands to get off the stage, produce some hormones, grow a beard and some nut, buy clothing from the mens department and when they get back so help them they'd better actually rock. No more whining. No more love songs. Learn to play your instruments, lift some weights, eat some red meat, shoot some guns and be a man. Preferably a hilariously ugly one. Its Rock and Roll for Gods sake, not ballet.
Rockers still allowed to do their thing:
Zakk Wylde (aka the greatest rocker of all time)
Glenn Danzig
Henry Rollins
M. Shadow
You see what these men have in common? Theyre men. That's my only requirement.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Updaten
I realize that I have not been keeping you updated on my day to day drudgery of existence. Accept my apologies and allow me to remedy the situation. After the California/Arizona/New Mexico/Colorado trip I flew to Connecticut for Christmas. Big Momma got me socks. Cino got me a 2008 babe calendar. Heavily used. The Bossman beat me in a milk drinking competition. I saw a few of you. The ones I didn't, shame on you. I returned home to Bendover Oregon all too soon, and got back into the rock-climbing/nerd noveling/job search swing of things. I was invited to an interview with an internet marketing company called Audettemedia. The next day I was called back to meet the owners. I think the interviews went well. I was handsome at least. Hopefully something will come of these meetings, I could do worse for a 9-5er.
In recent days I have been drinking too often, too early and too long in a feeble attempt to quell the unease and frustration I feel. Only now do I realize what the problem is. Oregonians are happier than they have any right to be. They're all overly content and peaceful, accepting a lower pay grade than they are qualified for because they like the lifestyle and the area among other things. In the America I know noone would settle for such nonsense. Instead they will happily slit their competitions throats for a perceived step upwards. I miss that.
In recent days I have been drinking too often, too early and too long in a feeble attempt to quell the unease and frustration I feel. Only now do I realize what the problem is. Oregonians are happier than they have any right to be. They're all overly content and peaceful, accepting a lower pay grade than they are qualified for because they like the lifestyle and the area among other things. In the America I know noone would settle for such nonsense. Instead they will happily slit their competitions throats for a perceived step upwards. I miss that.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Zombies
If zombies were real, the east coast would be way more screwed than us here. I'm just saying. Unless of course they orginated from somewhere in asia, like most horrible terror infections. Then I suppose California would be doomed. But lets face it, Cali is doomed anyway. Oregon though, I have a good feeling about Oregon. Relative isolation, tall mountains, lots of guns. Yeah. Fear of zombies doesn't keep me up at night. You on the east coast though...maybe you should start thinking about it. Better to be safe than the rotting undead I always say.
Zombies definitely got the short end of the stick in the undead lottery. They smell weird. They aren't sexy. To most people. They maintain a community college education at best. I guess it would be liberating to not have to think about things ever. Like how to survive zombie assaults. Even so, no thank you my ravenous shambling friend.
Vampires though, they're doing alright. They get to dress up nice, party all night and seduce the unwary. I've known a few people like that, they were always a fun time. I think I would miss the sunshine though, if only because i've always been an aficionado of bikini clad beach babes. Plus what if a vampire caught herpes or Hep V (a virulent vampire infection)? An eternity of shame and embarassment? nahh. You can keep your bat rabies vampirism.
So who wins this monstrous showdown? I submit, and feel free to disagree, that werewolves are the most kick ass. Though technically not undead like the zombie or the dracula, they still fit into that illustrious horror niche. They get to hang out in the sunshine, although they might want to think about a heavy waxing regime prior to hitting the beach. They get super human strength and longevity. And once in a while they have a free ticket to flip out and tear shit up with no regard to manners or self restraint. Not since the Irish invented beer in 1927 has man known such freedom. So if some crazy wolf beast decides to nibble on my tender manskins, I probably wouldn't be too put out. I'm just saying.
Zombies definitely got the short end of the stick in the undead lottery. They smell weird. They aren't sexy. To most people. They maintain a community college education at best. I guess it would be liberating to not have to think about things ever. Like how to survive zombie assaults. Even so, no thank you my ravenous shambling friend.
Vampires though, they're doing alright. They get to dress up nice, party all night and seduce the unwary. I've known a few people like that, they were always a fun time. I think I would miss the sunshine though, if only because i've always been an aficionado of bikini clad beach babes. Plus what if a vampire caught herpes or Hep V (a virulent vampire infection)? An eternity of shame and embarassment? nahh. You can keep your bat rabies vampirism.
So who wins this monstrous showdown? I submit, and feel free to disagree, that werewolves are the most kick ass. Though technically not undead like the zombie or the dracula, they still fit into that illustrious horror niche. They get to hang out in the sunshine, although they might want to think about a heavy waxing regime prior to hitting the beach. They get super human strength and longevity. And once in a while they have a free ticket to flip out and tear shit up with no regard to manners or self restraint. Not since the Irish invented beer in 1927 has man known such freedom. So if some crazy wolf beast decides to nibble on my tender manskins, I probably wouldn't be too put out. I'm just saying.
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