You only get one chance at a first impression

Someone once said “you can’t judge a book by it’s cover.”  This person was both stupid and ugly.  If they were a book their cover would be something awful like this (not only is it one of the ugliest covers of all time, but if you read the summary the cover does a pretty great job of summing things up with it’s literal imagery and metaphoric bat-shit-craziness. Thus proving my point). Also if they were a book then I would support book burning even more ardently than I currently do.

Rambling Side Note: my support of book burning gets complicated when I think about Fahrenheit 451.  Judging that book by it’s cover leads me to believe that it espouses a philosophy I can really get behind. The idea of reading the book to learn more, however, is a conflict of interests.  Maybe I should just ironically burn it.  Is that ironic?  I don’t know, Alanis Morissette really messed me up on the meaning of that word.  2nd level side note, Alanis in the green at 0:43 is exactly what I look like on the road across America.  Also, what the hell is she smelling at 2:44.  Also, It must be costly for book burning advocates to get their message out there. Gota go with TV ads since distributing leaflets is off the table, and who listens to radio any more?  That’s probably why we don’t hear more people bring up the subject.

So I’d like to share a few of the more colorful covers of America I’ve witnessed on my journey thus far

Clemson, SC – I arrived around 5pm on a Wednesday physically, mentally, and spiritually ready to party it up with Dan Giordano.  I immediately saw that I was not as ready as I thought.  I pulled my car into the spot directly in front of Dan’s apartment only to find a horrifically drunk girl sitting on his steps.  She was drunk in the wonderful way only women can become drunk.  Crying hysterically, pleading to the heavens that she needed to get her car back, and judging by her wet shorts and the pool below her now beginning to trickle down the sidewalk, recently if not currently wetting herself. Being a well seasoned traveler I calmly got out of my car, quietly unstrapped my bike, deftly portaged across the golden stream and beyond the sack of hysterics no longer scientifically categorized among homo sapiens, and into Dan’s humble abode. Don’t worry though.  While I myself may be horrible, I do surround my self with good people and Dan is no exception.  The well know “sick guy” took care of her until help arrived.  Welcome to Clemson, where every fella is a gentleman, and every lady is a f**king train wreck.

Charleston, SC – After settling into my hostel I set out for a nice run in order to detox from my visit with Dan in Clemson ($2 bourbon drinks!).  5 minutes into the run I turned onto the main downtown street (because I only work out in order to ‘be seen’).  There I was greeted by a car door flying open in front of me, and a young man leaning out to vomit all over the side walk.  Again… it was 8pm on a Thursday.  The Palmetto State knows how to party!  They don’t follow the majority and hold off till night fall.  They do have a history of going against the grain (see: The Civil War). At least he was leaning out of the passenger door.

New Orleans – I parked directly in front of Bobby Dressel’s pad in the French Quarter. Stepped out of my car, and immediately had a cumulonimbus of weed blown in my face by the guy casually lighting up next to me.  Yet again it was 3pm on a Wednesday.  Did I miss something?  Is Wednesday the new Friday?  Is pissing your pants while black out and brazen drug use the new drinking responsibly? I blame books.

??? – To protect the innocent I’m going to yada yada over where I was and who I was with.  I arrived and knocked on the door only to be greeted by a poor man’s Dave Navarro. Dave Navarro is of course the poor dothraki’s Khal Drogo (If you need a link to know who Khal Drogo is then you can immediately unsubscribe from my blog, head down to the rickety chair store, swing through the rope depot, and then connect the dots).   Really though, this guy looked just like Dave Navaro if Dave Navarro was less into music and satanic fashion shoots, and more into acid.  The greeting was followed by a 48 hour introduction to rednecks, Abu Ghraib worthy music, and consistent James misery.  I hadn’t felt that out of place since Star Wars Card Friday Nights at the Burke comic book shop was taken over by the cancer known as Pokemon cards.  These 48 hours will require a separate and detailed blog post in order to fully mention the bisque.  It will undoubtedly come in an untimely manner.

Yada yada,

James

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Unstoppable Force vs Immovable Object

By reading this blog entry right now you are participating in a grand experiment! Together we embark to answer a question as old as the title track from Beauty and Beast.  What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?  Long have our greatest minds pondered this question.  From Newton, to Einstein, to Yoda, to Gosling.  None have been able to crack the sexiest of human riddles.

In order to solve this I will abandon scientific theory and work backward from experimental measurements. Just like Max Planck working to make light bulbs more efficient for the German government (classic German, working to make things more efficient.  One of the few admirable “classic German” qualities).

I previously attempted to solve this question through empirical means while in college in my “Fratty vs Fatty” experiment.   I would observe the interaction of an unstoppable force (a drunk and horny frat guy) vs an immovable object (a drunk fat chick) at a party.  Unfortunately the University of Virginia was too close minded and refused my submission of this as a senior thesis.  Carrying on unsupported by the university my findings were inconclusive as documentation proved… hazy.

In my current experiment, of which you are all participants,  I’ll observe what happens to an unstoppable force (the J Breezy Baby blog) when it meets an immovable object (mundane conversation about Christian outreach).  That’s right, I’m risking the survival of the internet’s greatest creation according to ‘Things My Mommy Says” magazine (I know it is still second to www.hugh-jackman.com for her).  The experiment is simple: create the internet’s greatest website (check!), create a horribly boring video on a subject nobody likes (check?), post that interview to the website (check… see below), and track if the site continues to thrive like Star Wars Episode 5 or if it is never seen or spoken of again like Star Wars Episode 2.  With that we will finally know the answer to our question.  So feast your eyes, ears, and souls on the video below and decide if you’ll ever visit this blog again.

Video Back Story  Finding myself alone in Rob Manoso’s Knoxville apartment, I began drinking (like any socially and emotionally adjusted person would).  I finished  my rye whisky and much of Rob’s bourbon then grabbed my video camera, hopped on my bike, and set off for Knoxville’s late night scene.  After drinking more beers alone at a bar and getting some late night cereal I pulled out the camera and started talking to strangers.  The video that follows is objectively not entertaining.  I went through the trouble of editing it largely to learn how to edit videos, and after spending so much time on it I felt compelled to share.  So here we are.  An unstoppable force vs an immovable object.

Again… this video is really uninteresting… I’m sorry.

When we concluded they asked what newspaper or TV station I was with, and I started laughing.

Scientifically,

The Force

Now we play the waiting game

Finally… my travel beard has gotten past the awkward itchy quasi-pubescent period and is starting to flirt with the long dreamt of length best describe as pedophilic-light.  Just in time too because look what I stumbled upon in a sleepy West Texas town (see picture #1).  Looks like somebody is extending their visit to Marfa through Wednesday!

Speaking of pedophilia in Marfa TX, check out picture #2.  I started brainstorming the reasons why someone would weld steel plates in place of the windows on their white van.  Each feasible explanation is more disturbing than the last.  This proud member of the lone star state is either preparing for the zombie apocalypses, another Texas secession, a child-tickling rampage that Pee Wee Herman would condemn, or some horrific sexually violent potpourri of the three.

West Texas is a strange place.  Thank god I totally blend in riding around town on my single speed bike wearing thrift store sear sucker shorts, pink shoes, thrift store shirt one size too small, thrift store retro shades (fashion is cyclical bitches), and a free hipster haircut I just got in a bathroom in Austin (DISCLAIMER: the bathroom trim did not involve sexual payment of any form whatsoever. However, if anything did go down “bathroom trim” would be a great double entendre).

This blog post has been particularly uncomfortable, but not half as uncomfortable as the Google searches I did to support it.

Clearing my history immediately,

James

I apologize to everyone for this joke

I apologize to everyone for this joke

Would it be worse if the fan was filled with ammunition or candy?

Would it be worse if the fan was filled with ammunition or candy?

James 0 : Bojangles 1

Billed as one of the highlights of my trip, Asheville NC instead brought rain, searching, and upon finding what I was searching for, intense terror. It was just like that scene in Se7en where Brad Pitt is chasing Kevin Spacey through the rain only to finally catch him and get his ass kicked and nearly killed (spoiler!). In this story, I’m Brad Pitt (like I am in every James’ life to movie character analogy), the rain is the rain, what I’m looking for is sun/camping, and nearly getting killed… is kind of nearly getting killed. Let’s start from the beginning.

I arrive in Asheville only to be greeted by a bitch-slap from mother nature. The Cash sisters (actually people, not some weird nickname for my money) and I do what we can, but we quickly exhaust all of the tea shops and bowling alleys in town.

Side note: what bowling ally plays heavy metal and angsty alt-rock music videos during cosmic bowling? Hitting a strike right in the 1-3 pocket just isn’t the same to Puddle of Mud . Can a roller get some Shirelles or something? (to PoM’s credit, that guy looks like a good dad in the music video despite a short-hat-hair combination that would suggest he’s a better Madden 2K13 player.  If you make it to the 1:57 mark in the second video Shirley, Doris, Micki, and Beverly really amp up the dance moves!)

Anyways…hanging out in Amanda Cash’s apartment is not a sustainable solution because it is disgusting. So Rachel and I are desperate to get outdoors, and are considering driving upwards of 6 hours away to find some sun. Until… Monday morning the clouds part unexpectedly and let a little hope fill our hearts.

We set out for the Graveyard Fields in the mountains of Asheville rejoicing in a rare moment of hydrologic fortune as we travel a remote and winding mountain road. We reach the top of the scenic pass which should join us to the main road cutting across the ridge of the mountain. Our joy immediately erodes as we are pimp-slapped by the man. Lord knows why, but there is a gate down blocking our entrance to the main road. We are literally 10 yards away from the road we need to get on. Much brow furrowing ensues, and we backtrack.Fail

Blah, blah, blah we make it to Graveyard Fields, dominate the hike, scope some choice campsites, and decide to make a night of it since the weather continues to hold. We get our gear from the car, and set up about 1/2 mile away. The night gets cold and I fail to start a fire with the sopping wet wood #EagleScout. So we turn in early. Us in the tent, my pack right outside the tent 18 inches away from my head under the rainfly.

… I bolt awake at 1am to the sound of someone ripping my pack out from under the rainfly and running away. I shake Rachel awake and declare  “you are not going to believe me, but somebody just stole my pack… stay here!” I grab my headlamp and knife, throw on my shoes, bolt out of the tent, and dash up the trail to catch the thief. I’m scrambling up the trail in the dead of night save the narrow beam from my headlamp. At this point I actually begin to think thoughts which include “what happens if I catch this guy”, “does he have a gun”, “what if there are multiple guys”, “did he even run this way”, “shit, I just left Rachel alone!”. Upon that last thought I run back to the tent.

There Rachel and I shiver together in the cold and terrifying night. Every twig snap or leaf rustle sounds like some Bojangly ass mother-f***er moving around outside. Who is out there? What are they capable of? I don’t want to get delivered. Did they break into my car? They stole my damn pack!

The mix of anger and fear are hard to describe. If you’ve ever had something stolen from you then the anger is easily understood (a catalytic mix of innate carelessness and living at 5th and P in DC has made me well practiced in this form of anger).  The fear, however, was an uncommon one. We’ve all felt rushes of fear before, but this was a sustained fear. The kind that is only felt when you are totally alone and helpless in the wilderness. It is a vulnerable fear that sinks in deep.

Our tent became a cocoon of terror. The visual sensory deprivation heightening the fear registered by our ears. Eventually this was too much to bear for me, and I hated the thought of Rachel feeling similarly. So I got out of the tent to stand guard  At least then I could see what was out there, and put myself between Rachel and whatever pack-thieving, bucktoothed, bojangly ass, coloring book reading, single digit tooth having, back water son of a bitch was out there. I grab a big stick and take up my post.

I was right outside our tent on the edge of the path with my head bolting left, then right, then left, then right. Up and down the trail. About 20 yards away up the trail to the left was a small bridge which was a little lighter then the surrounding wilderness. Every look left and my first thought was that it was a person. I became a metronome of fear. Look right, then look AHHHH, then right, then EEEEEE, then right, then WHAT, then right, then WHOLY SHIT… on and on and on. I remained there for about 30 minutes before returning to the tent very cold and at least confident enough that we were out of harms way that I could fall asleep. This was not very confident…I’m just a great sleeper. Like Brad Pitt in Sleepers (I have not actually seen it, but assume it heavily features napping).

Blah, blah, blah… In the morning I find my pack in the woods about 75 yards away from our tent. It had been shredded by a bear!

First of all, is it more or less scary that it was a bear?  I don’t know.  It is just different scary.  I certainly feel more stupid because it was a bear.  Second of all, I’m really glad I didn’t catch it when I ran out of the tent.  That would have gotten awkward real fast. Third of all, this was clearly not his first pic-a-nic basket. To have known to snatch the strap of my pack from under the rainfly, run off, and slice through the pack like a surgeon (well… a bear surgeon.  Reference the pictures) is pretty darn impressive. This was the Yogi Bear of Asheville. Definitely smarter than the average bear, and arguably smarter than the average James. The biggest loss besides the pack itself was a beautiful sandwich I’d held off eating the night before in anticipation of an awesome breakfast. My secret ingredient is baked sweet potato. Also my pride… that was lost too.

Day 4 of 120. We are off to a promising start.

Bojangaly,
James

A pretty literal hiking trail

A pretty literal hiking trail

Some light bear wear and tear

For Sale: Male hiking pack with light bear related wear and tear

Shaving a few ounces off my hiking brush. Thanks bear!

Shaving a few ounces off my hiking brush. Thanks bear!

It is really a nice place when you aren't quivering in fear

It is really a nice place when you aren’t quivering in fear

Chapter Two : Not Again…

Well well well nerds… here we are again.  I’m out on another adventure, and you are either bored as hell or looking to craft your editing skills.  On that note, let’s set a few ground rules for this second go around.

1) Be Nice

I get it.  I’m not the greatest technical writer.  A lifetime of parent-teacher conferences, standardized test scores, and frat email chain ridicule has made this abundantly clear to me.  More specifically, I can’t spell.  On a tangent here, why is it that it is somewhat fashionable to suck at math, but not being able to spell is unforgivable in society? How many times have I seen some bimbo publicly announce they are unable to calculate a 10% tip only to find moronic solidarity around the table.  When I announce that I can’t read, however, everyone mentally photo-shops a dunce cap on me. Also, when anyone wants someone to understand an obvious point they say “do the math”.  WTF society?  Make up your damn minds!  Is math easy for you or hard?  It can’t be both.  Do the F-ing math on that.  Sorry… I’m just angry that I had to spell check 17 words in this paragraph.

The only real point I want to make is that just like winter is coming for the Stark family, spelling and grammar errors are coming for the readers of this blog.  Like the Sharks right after their brawl with the Jets I just want you to be cool. When I posted blog entries from Australia 80% of the comments I received back were snarky grammar corrections.  I’m here poring my black heart out, and all I get in response is “wow did you skip 5th grade English?  You use they’re not their when trying to say they are”.  I want to get it right, so feel free to send along corrections.  Just be cool about it.

2) I’m not “looking for” anything

If one more person tells me “I hope you find what you are looking for” in regards to my trip then I’m going to punch you in the back of the head.  I find that statement so condescending it makes me sick.   I’m not looking to “find myself”.  If I needed to do that then I’d simply go to O Dream Board like I do in any moment of existential crisis.

 

Okay, those are my only rules.  Does this entry seem angrier than normal?  It’s probably because I’m 1 week into my 4 month trip and thus far it has been defined by rain and one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.  I’ll write about that on my next entry.

-James

My new Kit Fisto key chain is my trips talisman

My new Kit Fisto key chain gives me strength in the dark moments of my trip.

Saying goodbye to Lucy was the hardest of all

Saying goodbye to Lucy was the hardest of all

Many miles to go before I sleep

Many miles to go before I sleep

The Ooze is the general of my black/green with a splash of white magic deck which I brought on the road

APT taught me to play Magic The Gathering in my last weeks at work. The Ooze is the general of my black/green deck with a splash of white. I’ve brought it on the road and look forward to some Friday night Magic around the country.

Requiem

I’m sure you are all slightly misty eyed to be reading my last travel blog post, but I know what will cheer you up…

A STORY ABOUT ME GETTING MUGGED!!!

Metaphorically of course (I’m like Lue Ferigno or Adam Ayash next to everyone in these countries). That being the case I have received a metaphorical mugging from my life style here. First of all, I’m not exactly fueling my body with vitamins and minnerals as I’m pretty confident I have set a world record for Pad Thai consumption. I am litterally the reason the “street food” sector of Thailand’s economy has gotten out of the world recession. As Thialand has been setting my body up with a nutritional jab Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam have followed up with haymakers to the face, leg, and body respectively.

The face:

Laos is popular for it’s “tubing” which is popular for being one of the most deadly parties in the world that takes place every day (lots of people drown). Therefore Phil and I went twice. It seemed that the quintessential drinking deck was stacked against me as I have lost most all my drinking tolerance after living in Australia, “tubing” goes all day, you get all the free snake whisky shots you want, and there are 30 foot rope swings everywhere. Yada yada yada, I woke up the next day with a black eye, and without the ability to turn my neck. Naturally we went a second day. Other stuff happened… but I assure you it was nothing morally or ethically questionable… just questionable.

The leg:

At some point in Cambodia I acquired a massive infection on my leg that made it incredibly painful to do most anything involving said leg. The worst part was removing Kris Kross “Jump” from my “DJames j4mz: Azo 2K-Zen” playlist (I still wore my cloths backwards in tribute to them anyways). Can’t tell you how I got it because, like Magic Johnson was to AIDS, I was to biological infection… just way to many opportunities. Luckily pharmacies here let you self prescribe anything, so I’m better now (just addicted to methadone). Also here is a riddle: what do anti-malaria pills, anti-biotics, and Cambodian food all have as a common side effect?

The body:

Similar story to the face, but this time I was doing back flips off of a 30 foot tall boat, and now my entire chest and abdomen hurt like hell. Instead of repeating the face fiasco and going out again the next night, I slept for about 14 hours. I’m all better now.

Other news:

I did in fact go to Bangkok where the first thing a cab driver asked me was “do you want to riot?”

I went to watch Muay Thai fighting at the stadium in Bangkok. It is not really as much a sport as it is a gambling venue. I lost every bet I made.

An opium den is much less plush than anticipated.

Dog is not man’s best friend, but rather man’s most delicious friend.

“After 15 years as a monk, today is my last day” is the greatest pick up line ever. If that guy wasn’t actually a monk he is still clearly in gods favor.

“James, lets shave ridiculous mustaches for all of Laos.” Turned out to be the same as Phil saying “James, lets not have friends.”

While in Delat, Vietnam Phil convinced me to purchase a cake with him in the middle of the night. As we walked down the street with our treat, two well weathered street vendors emphatically asked if “you wa chicken?” and to this Phil said “you wa cake?” Everyone answered yes. I was holding a bunch of trash and asked one of the women if there was a rubbish bin around. I must have forgotten I was in Vietnam, but the women quickly reminded me by taking my trash and hurling it into the center of the street. So we all sat down together to a lovely dinner of chicken, cake, and laughter. A 10 year old boy in a Winnie the Poo jumpsuit soon joined us as translator. Here is a riddle for you: What do late night Vietnamese street chicken, anti-malaria pills, and anti-biotics all have as a common side effect?

Laos sleeper buses should be renamed to Laos “why don’t you two go get glued with sweat to that pleather mat in the back with those two smelly ass Laos people and try not to hit your head on the ceiling as the bus bucks you fully airborne every 20 seconds” buses.

Well this needs to be the end of my (last?) blog. Why? Simply answer my riddles.

-DJames

PS: I get home June 22nd. If any of you are ever going to 5-guys, chipotle, Buffalo Wing University, any Mexican place, any fast food place, or any grocery store: please call me first because I want to go.

The Massacre

Let us pick up where we left off…

BECOMING THE EXCLUSIVE BARTENDER FOR THE GAY & LESBIAN COMMUNITY OF SYDNEY’S NORTHERN BEACHES

Yes this is one of my prouder accomplishments as the gay community is a picky one, and exceptionally aware or what makes a “smart cocktail.” I was asked to become, “the bartender for all future private events held by the Gay and Lesbian Alliance of Sydney’s Northern Beaches” while bartending one of their private functions held at my bar (Henry Africa’s).

A gay and lesbian dream team was assembled to make them more Mai Tai’s then they knew how to handle. Bartending was myself, and “sugar James” aka “Gay James.” When a gay and straight James team is assembled, there is no cocktail that can’t be made (with sas!), and no interior that can’t be redecorated. When their president asked for my number so that I would be their private bartender, I was nearly moved to tears… one of the happiest moments of my life. Not even “gay James” was offered this job, and the first word of his nickname sounds like it would be a prerequisite for the job.

BECOMING A MASTER THAI CHEF (with a certificate to prove it)

This happened.

REACHING “ADVANCED” SCUBA DIVER STATUS

Also took place

DODGING ABORIGINAL PEOPLE

So it turns out Aboriginal people are no fun. No fun at all. While traveling through the Australian outback, Rachel and I happened upon the town of Alice Springs. This was to be a place that I now consider to be the worst place on earth. Employment as well as belt-wearing seems to be completely optional, and most residents have opted for the “no thank you” approach to both. So there are a lot of people and a lot of asses simply hanging out. Another fun fact about Alice Springs is that there is a banner proudly waving above the entrance to the hospital reading “Smoke free since July 2009!!!” This was a banner I assumed most hospitals had hung proudly a few decades ago. I guess I should have known not to expect a bustling cosmopolitan metropolis in a place whose main attraction is a big rock (granted this rock was very very cool).

Anywho… upon leaving this waist-beltless wonderland Rachel and I are cruising down the highway excited for another 3000 kilometers of mindless driving. It is just past sunset when we spot some commotion ahead on the highway. Rachel slowed down our whip as we approached and we were delighted to find that the highway was filled by an old fashioned Aboriginal street fight. Several cars were pulled over, and people were throwing fists all over the highway. Naturally I tucked my head down between my knees and emerged only after Rachel assured me we had successfully dodged them. About 200 meters later, we find several more cars pulled over, and a group of Aboriginal people outside of them hailing us down to get them to stop. Again I entered my “safe place” and began dreaming about all of the cocktails I could make the gay community of Sydney… what new and fantastic garnishes might they enjoy? But I didn’t dream for long, because again Rachel successfully slammed on the gas, and blew past whatever doom was waiting for us there.

FIGHTING MONKEYS

Monkeys suck… just want to get that out in the open first. None of that hippie pro-monkey sentiment here.

Phil and I kayaked to “monkey beach” were we expected a warm friendly monkey welcome. I planned to leave the beach with a nice servant monkey, who would subsequently train more monkeys to take care of me on the rest of my travels. I ended up leaving hungry and scarred (I was only emotionally scarred, Phil was physically scarred).

Within 2 seconds of landing our kayak on the beach this little punk monkey ran right past me, past Phil, onto the kayak, and then ran off with our Oreo cookies. He dropped a few cookies behind him, and I swallowed my pride and gathered the scraps he left behind in his thievish wake. I was soon confronted by more angry monkeys, and I quickly surrendered my remaining treats. The monkeys picked my cookies up off the sand, looked them over, brushed off the sand (something I hadn’t even thought of. I was just going to eat the whole thing sand and all), and then concluded it was too sandy. So the monkey separated the cookie into two, and licked off the sand free cream filling.

Phil and I later sat down near the monkeys, but it turned out they wanted my bottle of water as well, so a little one jumped onto the bench we were on, and scratched Phil. We both ran off and I screamed “we are being attacked by small wild monkeys.” I never gave them the water (James 1 Monkeys 1), and I’m pleased to see that when I’m in a crises, I respond by very vocally, and accurately describing my predicament.

MODELING IN NEW ZEALAND

It has always been my dream for people to pay money to look at me (extra fees for direct eye contact), and I’m proud to say that I have taken a small and insignificant step closer to that goal. While Rachel and I were traveling through New Zealand we were growing a little tired, and agreed to stop off at a beach and just look good for a while. After an afternoon of looking good we strolled along the beach back towards our station wagon/house, and somebody took notice.

A strange man with a large tripod and film camera came up to us and asked to film us. Naturally I assumed he was in the pornography businesses, but when I realized he wasn’t… I grew suspicious. Don’t worry Mom, I remembered what you told me, and kept safely behind Rachel while talking to strange men.

It turns out he is actually making a 30 minute promotional video for southern New Zealand, and wanted to film Rachel and I walking along the beach. He took our information and said he would mail Rachel a copy of the DVD. If this ever happens I’ll rent out a movie theater, and have an exclusive showing for whoever is reading this right now. Yes, I will stick around for a few minutes after the screening to answer questions.

BECOMING FAMOUS

“I really enjoyed your Oz post. I miss it there. My blog is looking for travel photos. If you have the time, email us some at dirtyhippiesblog@gmail.com or check us out at dirty-hippies.blogspot.com Continued fun on your travels, Eric”

This is an actual comment posted onto my blog from an actual stranger. This is how it begins people, first Eric starts following my blog, then an unsuspected facebook friendship emerges between us… it turns out Eric and I have much in common… it turns out Eric IS INSIDE MY HOUSE!!!

Perhaps it may not go that far… perhaps, but between this comment and the fame I’ll soon garner in Southern New Zealand there is no telling how big I’m about to get. I’m picturing myself in 5 years having authored something featured on Oprah’s book club, and having invested wisely in a small frozen yogurt chain.

So Eric (I know you are reading this): let’s talk figures. This blog I’m doing is already pro-bono, and now you want me to send pictures too? I don’t think so. Please don’t even waste my time with your first offer. I have been bartering on the streets of Thailand while you sit in your parent’s basement scouring the net for more “dirty hippies.” It’s not about free love/blogs for me… I just watched a boot legged copy of “Get Rich of Die Trying,” and I’m jacked as hell to start “make’n dat paper.” So go ahead and double your first offer, and contact my management/legal team of Dickstein Jain & Lloyd.

-Ja ja ja Ja ja ja JAMES UNIT!