Brain Poops

Taking a day or two off from writing about the E.E.B. to relax and work on other projects. Day two’s story will have to wait just a liiiiitle longer. Happy Halloween kids!

8:30 Friday - At home, Los Dangeles

Groggy. The sleeping pills from the night before haven’t finished their job just yet, but feel hell-bent on completing the mission anyway. Jesus… I haven’t seen 8:30AM in a long time. It’s as I remember it: overrated and bleak.

My bags are already packed from the night before. They are a few feet away from the base of the bed and looking up at me with their sad, polyester duffel-bag faces. I flop over them and make my way to the kitchen.

Fridge doors are complicated when you’re waking up from six hours of sleep and expecting to be awake another sixteen. I fumble the door open and slam down three cokes to combat my foggy brain functions.

I grab my bags, give NickyNik a quick phone call and belch off on my motorcycle towards the airport. I’m absent the fear of long-term parking costs, since on my last trip there I realized they don’t charge for motorcycle parking for any length of time. The wind wraps me up like a long lost lover, then it smacks me around like a long lost lover finding out about the other lovers in your past.

10:00 - Los Dangeles International Airport.

Nick leaves me a voice message saying he has to piss and that he’ll meet me at the terminal. Well not exactly those words, but you get the drift.

I walk into the ticketing area, mouth agape at the horde of travelers shuffling through the queue. It was a bedraggled, coiling square dance with a lame band, only the band was equipped with weapons and authority instead of instruments and talent. After 30 minutes in three lines, two donation solicitors and one hung over TSA, I headed to the terminal to meet Nick.

The terminal is only slightly air conditioned, which makes me ponder just what the hell they do with all the profits from grossly overpriced chihuahua ashtrays and fast food. It’s gotta be 90 degrees in this fucker! My glasses get foggy in a Dilbert-in-a-strip-club kind of way and I stop to clean them off.

I put them back on and see Nick waiting for me in front of a window. The scene looks as if Norman Rockwell had been working in the 90s covering transit: Nick reading the LA Times with his head down to see over his spectacles, the terminal umbilicus attaching to the airplane behind him. I compulsively check that I indeed washed behind my ears and say hello.

(continue reading…)

Now with 50% less superfluous metaphor and simile!

In our last episode:

Yet again my fears are shot down in a blaze of awesomeness and candor as we all frankly talk and laugh about our strange stories and backgrounds. We’re only a few minutes into the convo before the car arrives.

The driver gets out, and for a moment I think it’s one of my high school classmates¹. He talks as fast and as recklessly as he drives, but we get to our hotel with a quickness.

Our lodging is the America’s Best Value Inn Suites, located in South Market. A misnomer, as the hotel staff is largely foreign and since our room comes with a complimentary copy of the Bhagavad Gita instead of a Gideon Bible. Refreshing, I thought, but different.

Nick and I get to the room to find a luxurious suite with only one king-sized bed. There’s that awkward split-second eye contact between two heterosexual men over the same bed, and we decide to ask for a different room. It isn’t until later that we found out Halcyon and Ashley ended up with the double-bed room and a simple swap would have sufficed.

(continue reading…)

WARNING:This post contains photos of a graphic sexual performance. While there is no nudity displayed, anyone offended by such content or otherwise restricted from it should go to http://www.zombo.com in lieu of seeing those photos. You can do anything… at Zombocom.

In our last episode:

She asks me for more details on what I do and such, seemingly interested in just who the hell I was. I catch the slightest traces of a European accent, and though I couldn’t place it, it was enough to know that while she looked strikingly similar, it was thankfully not Johansson.

I take my leave after a few short minutes to not mess up first impressions and get down to seeing the underbelly of the Ball.

(continue reading…)

I got home today from a two-day stint at the Exotic Erotic Ball in San Francisco. It was, bar none, one of the craziest and most fun experiences I have had in my life thus far.

Mr. Smile like cupcaek

Le Derby du Smash-Up

I hobnobbed with porn stars and incredible burlesque artists, saw an unforgettable stage show, and lots of other juicy things that I’m not going to tell you about untill I get the photos all cleaned up for the full blog writeup.

Suffice it to say, I took a lot of photos. About 500ish after I deleted duplicates and otherwise unuseable stuff.

Can’t wait to show you guys. :D

You might not see too much going on here this week, since I have to finish a writing project and a design job ASAP, but I’ll do my best to eke¹ out processed photos and a writeup on the whole shebang within the next couple of days. I just don’t expect to have much free time is all.

So how the hell was YOUR weekend? [I keed, I keed]

¹: *little kid voice* Thaaaaanks Jaaaaaaide…. ;)

i understand that u dont want to do your ranty bitchy winey vidios again but you have to understand that that was your target audience and now you’v left them bleeding and raped in a puddle after you took then into your and fed them gold. AND WHY DID YOU DELETE ALL YOUR GOOD VIDIOS!?!!?!?!!!?!?!?!????!??!!!!!

1. u were cool but now u suck
2. your vidios WERE cool and the haberdashery ones are a nice break BUT then i read your blog and to my absolute disgust it ses that type of vidio is all u r making ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????

i dont think you understand benjamin that if you were to make the haberdashthing vids
coupled with your normal vids more people would listen to what you had to say
BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOO you have to be a complete fucktard

mehrurururmrmrmrrblaaaaah CUNT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Likes-To-Hold-Down-Buttons,

First off, I’d like to thank you for illustrating by text your thoughts as the equivalent of leaning on a bitchy, whiny car-horn with a spelling problem. The 53 question marks¹ after your two points really showed me just how confused you are, in spite of the sentence prefacing it being a statement and not a question. Your punctuation proclivities are only further proclaimed with the 52 exclamation points¹ accenting “CUNT”, although I don’t know why you choked up on that last exclamation point. Is it an unconscious reflection on your confusion slightly outweighing your anger?

(continue reading…)

Writer note: If you decide to order these books from Amazon.com, it would be greatly appreciated if you use the links embedded in the post as a part of the Amazon Affiliate Program. Each book bought by those links sends a cut of the profits to keep the site running.

A bachelor pad is an oasis in the desert of bad apartments. If your body is a temple and your target’s body is a temple, the pad should be the holy land on which the temples collide. Consider this a recommended list of flora and fauna for your “cradle of life.”

Books never expire or change… they don’t break as easily as expensive plasticine trinkets and when used right can open your eyes and mind to previously unknown possibilities and perspectives. I’m of the mind that books, with some obvious exceptions, are one of the most solid investments you can make.

Consider your bookshelf a profile of your brain. A billboard of your brain without the pomposity of braggadocio and an easy icebreaker that informs as well as stimulates.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

This book is a must-have for any man or woman in this topsy-turvy world. It presents important philosophical principles in an easily digestible way with the backdrop of a cross-country motorcycle trip between father and son.

Don’t let the title deceive you: this book will change your entire world view. Concepts like classical and romantic thinking will become profiles for understanding your fellow man’s thought processes. You will understand the Metaphysics of Quality and, inevitably, recommend this book to anyone you value in your life. I know I do.

(continue reading…)

I’m yanking the dead meat off of YouTube like fat ole Uncle Jessup at Thanksgiving grabbing a drumstick.

I’ve been mulling over removing many of my videos from YouTube for a long time. Occasionally in stupid emotional fits, others in cold rationality, and yet again after enough drinks to put down a medium sized caribou. But this time it’s in the works and I won’t take any bitching about it, mainly because the videos aren’t really leaving as such. They are just migrating.

Anything that contains copyrighted material is being torn out and remastered. Any video that I think is either topic-based and long past it’s expiration date or is not work I am proud of will be ripped from it’s sockets. After the peices are scrubbed and primped, they will be Frankensteined here for those of you who actually enjoy the videos.

Allow me to explain: Haberdashery is a big step for me. Huge, actually. It’s a reinvention in the most extreme sense of the word in that I don’t plan on going back to the old state of mind. Ever.

YouTube appealed to me originally because it was the upstart rebel platform to the established, hulking giants of the media. Now, it IS the damn media and the nastiest people are settling in like maggots in a rotting log. I saw the revolutionary turn into the dictator, and I decided it best to leave town.

(continue reading…)

I recently read an article on Kingmag.com called “The 5 Best Video Games To Play With Your Girlfriend”.

To sum up the article in brief: Fitness, cooking, karaoke, trivia and cel-shaded “family safe” crapola.
Seriously. That’s what the article suggests you play with the love of your life.

Fuck that¹.

I want a girl who get’s pissed if we own an XBOX360 but not Gears of War. I want a girl who can headshot me with a pistol from across Blood Gulch and still melt my heart when I glare at her over my controller. I want a girl who can whip my ass at any game on any console with a little practice, or at least give me a run for my money.

(continue reading…)

2:26 AM, Hollyweird time.

The video is uploading now and I’m terrified.

Anyone who has worked freakishly hard on a project to be shown to the public must feel like this. I slaved, I sweated, I bled and I lost sleep over this, and by god it was worth it. Can’t wait to do it again.

This is sincerely the best video I’ve ever made, and I’m scared nobody is going to like it.

An irrational fear, obviously. On a spinning rock populated by 6 billion people SOMEone is bound to like it. I mean in a world where Pauly Shore was king for a day there’s hope for anyone, right?

2:36 AM, Hollyweird time.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.

3:00 AM, Hollyweird time.

(continue reading…)