Was Gone For A Minute, Now I'm Back Let Me Hit It

After a lengthy hiatus from venting my personal issues and experiences, I would like to welcome myself back to the blog. We have a lot of catching up to do as much has happened while I was out.

First, I'd like to address a ridiculous event that happened back in August when I ventured up to my old stomping grounds of Old Orchard Beach, ME. I went up to the OOB to party and pump the "crowd" with my boy DJ Breeazy, one of Boston's Best DJ's currently. I had gotten wind from him about his vacation up to his beach house in Maine and that while he was there he was doing a favor for a buddy and spinning a night on the renowned Pier. The classic boardwalk, tourist, junk gift shop, bar at the end kind of Pier. Any touristy beach community has one and this one happens to inhabit not only the out of towners, but everyone I went to high school with and everyone you don't want to see.

So long after deciding to go, I found myself basking in the sun on the beach with Breeazy and his girl, sluggin beers and truly gearing up for the shitshow that was upon us. I mean shit, him and his girl even bought two corny ass tourist shirts that read something to the likes of "Come at me bro" or "Everyday I'm shufflin" (because apparently LMFAO's song had JUST surfaced in the OOB). The next step was to nap off the beers then down unbelievable Miami Vice's brought to us by his girl, shouts to Ms. O'Hara for making a serious summer drink and helping approach Blackout City.

Long story short, we arrive to set up and the place is obviously empty, mind you it's 8pm, shits about to get real. Ms. O'Hara and myself decide to get inebriated beyond belief. I mean shots of Goose and Patron before each new drink, which were RedBull and Vodkas, kind of drunk. Now apparently they don't allow any liquor at all on stage with the DJ, which is complete bullshit. But I proceeded to do so and sloppily bring my forbidden concoction on stage to hype the crowd and watch my boy murder the turntables.

Well at about 11pm, yeah it didn't take long, a bouncer had had enough and yelled for me to get off stage. After refusing, he then made the mistake of grabbing my arm and trying to pull me off the stage. At that point I made an even bigger mistake and punched him in the jaw, dropping him to the plywood floors. You ever heard "The customer is always right?" well in the Club world we have a similar one, "The bouncer is always right." Meaning, don't try and take them on because you will lose. While I did get in a few more licks after being hauled to the ground, there were four more bouncers that came in and left me seriously bruised. I was then carried out in a hogtie type of hold; yes carried down to the first level, out the entire length of the pier and down the ramp. All this by a very disgruntled Old Orchard Beach Police Officer, never did catch his name.

The party went on, my sister pleaded the officer to stop placing the handcuffs on me and to let her take me home. Do you remember that I mentioned most of my High School class was there? Or that my girlfriend had showed up late, but just in time to see me wrestle one bouncer to the ground and then be caught in the middle of a WWE Tag Team match with four others. Needless to say, I made it home without any charges, but I did however have two black eyes, a busted up elbow, bruises all over my back and a hangover I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.

Lessons learned here Kidds are:
-Never try and fight back when a bouncer is simply enforcing the rules.
-Check out my boy DJ Breeazy, he spins at Down Ultra Lounge on Thursdays, Royale on Fridays, The Greatest Bar on Saturdays and does some occasional appearances at Umbria, District and whatever event we are holding.

Twitter @djbreeazy



Stay intoxicted Kiddos.

Boston Style?

So I've turned into a straight up City Kidd since I moved to Boston. It fits my personality as well as my interests, and one thing I always loved was the different styles that Boston City Kidds have. We got kids with awkward haircuts, skinny jeans and reverse pedal bikes: Hipsters. The grunge graphic tee, torn jeans skaters that everyone else has. The hip ass Asian kids with the crisp Nike's and pressed Crooks and Castles apparel. Your typical college student with their school sweatshirt on, levi's and Asics running shoes, usually white kids. But before going through all the others, there is one particular style that I do not understand as a whole. It is monopolized by my beloved black friends, yes they tell me to say they are black since they hail from the Bean or NY and not Africa; but this style is also taken on by the flashy white kids with lineups at times. Everyone reading this post is going to know at least one person who reps this swag and it's not a bad thing, I just wonder where the creativity is?

Now just to start, they always wear Jordans, stricly Jordans. One of my boys has like 80 different pairs of Jordans, he's a fiend and has a true hobby collecting sneakers and I respect that because my idol, the late great DJ AM was a sneaker head. But okay, Jordans on the feet, then usually the crisp, dark Levi's jeans, nuff said. On to the top half, usally a 10Deep graphic tee, or some other rising clothing company you can find at Karmaloop. Colored G-Shock watch of course, throw a large black North Face coat over that, fur hood optional and to top it all off, a snap back hat that matches perfectly with the shoes, the watch and the tee. Usually not even a relevant team, some crazy ass squad that's not even close to Boston.....like Pittsburgh? Bro we know you don't give a shit about the 'Burgh. But it's all good, I'm not hating, just trying to understand why it's gotta be all these things at once?

HEAR ME OUT! I enjoy all of these items, I have just about all of these, except Jordans, not my thing but that's a different story. I just don't understand why every "City Kidd," has this look? Switch it up, grab a different watch, wear shell toes, maybe go back to fitted hats? I'm not even sure, this is my take on the current styles hitting the Bean. I'm wondering what some of my boys' take is on this, I do embrace this style, and each item within it, but can't we switch it up Boston? Guess I just like to be different, plus I'm white, and my boy with the Jordans always tells me "I just don't understand cuz I'm the white kid." Haha it's straight though, some things I may never understand, until then, Ima keep posting these opinions and feeding you with Drunkadelic style. Get at me.

Shouts to all the companies I mentioned and to everyone that reps this style, rep tha bean children. Be sure to check out Karmaloop for all your apparel intoxicating styles.




The perfect 90's hottie for this post....

Ode to Miller High Life

Here's to you oh Miller High Life.

Only until recently, did I realize that you are a poor man's beer, a cheap alternative to a night, a so called sham of hops and water. How you hid this all so well with your golden tint, your 1950's classic labels and that pretentious bitch that's sitting on the moon toasting to life. You lurk in the shadows of the Bohemian Pilsners, the IPA's and the other unpronounceable brews, like Chunk from the Goonies stuck in the basement. Priced at only $10.19 at the local Blanchard's for an 18 pack, you provide a safe haven for hipsters and cheap college students. You've earned such a bad rep......or have you?

You are a hand crafted gem, brought to us by the Miller Brewing Company in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Making the list as one of the most American things in my life, you bring a sense of comfort when consumed. On several occasions, I have had epic nights with my boys while drinking these High Life delights. You truly are the Champagne of Beers and I want to commend you on being my beer of choice. So while I sip on one of these, in a can no less, I dedicate these next few years to you, because God knows you and I are going to be chillin for a long time.



Here's to Honor; Get on her. Stay on her . And if you can't come in her , come on her. To Honor.
Cheers.





I leave you with this post's Random 90's Hottie.....

 

Is Tropical- The Greeks

This was shown to me by The Hebrew Hammer, an unbelievable music video editing with everything from little kid violence to fake youth drug cartels. The song is sick, the video is ballsy. Enjoy.

SKIPPY

Every ripper we throw at the 66 Quint Palace would have our very own, "SKIPPY," on tap. And by on tap, I mean thrown into Gatorade jugs and placed on the counter in the kitchen, right next to the counter that girls get on top of and dance on; no matter their size..... We would literally go through three batches of SKIPPY in less than two hours. It has always been a huge hit and now become a classic drink provided by the Quint boys. So what are the ingredients you ask?

• One full thirty rack of beer. Preferably Busch Light or some other cheap shit.
• One fifth of Vodka. Again, something cheap like Cossack or Orloff. 
• Two 2 Liters of Mountain Dew
• One entire small bucket of Country Time Lemonade mix. Flavor of your choice. 

Now sometimes you may be running short, but you promised that hot blonde with the mini skirt a cup of SKIPPY. Now you need to improvise, Gatorade bucket isgetting dry, how are you going to pour the drink? Improvise with rogue ingredients of course:

• Excessive amounts of Red Bull. They once sponsored one of our parties and I emptied a case into a SKIPPY batch, along with other things.

• Any FOUR LOKO. (Be careful, this is a one-way ticket to Black Out City.

• Brugal. Some Spanish liquor that a friend of mine introduced me to. It's pretty serious, and along with the Red Bull, I added half a bottle of this.

• Sauza Gold Tequila. 

• Your typical Lemon Lime Gatorade.

• Random beers you find in your fridge.

These are all personal additions as I scrambled through the kitchen trying to stretch the last batches at our blockbuster parties such as Highlighter Party, Halloween Ripper, Farewell FOUR LOKO. This has always been a hit with us, it was shown to me and I cannot take full credit for the recipe, nor any credit. I think it's a 53 Joy recipe, who knows. I also have no fuckin clue why it's called SKIPPY, it has absolutely nothing to do with peanut butter. Fuck it, try it out, it's sure to take off at a party.

Trust me, it tastes dangerously good. Would I steer you wrong? Grab your SOLO cups, tell the DJ to spin some face melting Dubstep and get weird with that blonde chick in the mini skirt already!


Now ending with the random 90's hottie......this brought to you by The Hebrew Hammer.

Summer fuckin Sanders, Salud.

The Hebrew Hammer

Growing up I never had any Jewish friends, simply because where I am from is very uncultured. Of course once I moved to Boston, that all changed. Most recently when I got my new apartment with 5 of my other friends, we had two bedrooms we still had to fill in the giant, now well known, 66 Quint. So thanks to craigslist and Emerson College, we got two new roommates. Enter Rockman, a Bay Area native with some serious HipHop knowledge, scary good talents in writing, an apathetic attitude and oh yeah, he's Jewish. Literally the brunt of all Jewish jokes in the house now and for no absolute reason. Anything from "Hey Rockman, there's a penny on the floor." to dropping Hard J's (Jew) to his face. By all means it was in good fun: I mean we are a house full of mid 20's dudes. Trust me, none of us are anti-semetic, in fact we all acknowledge that Jewish People run the world and are fantastic with numbers, it's just facts and we are merely jealous. But at the time, Rockman was viewed as the roommate who could hang, but wanted nothing to do with the shenanigans we were bringing to the house. The man in the cave we called him. We would throw parties and he'd get down, but to an extent, filing into his room when the opportunity presented itself. Now me being the outrageous alcoholic prick that I am, I seemed to take notice to this and then quickly took advantage of it.....

Countless nights from November on, I would come home obliterated beyond recognition and make it a point to barate and torment my new West Coast roommate. It started with just simply screaming his name as loud as I could until he'd come out and have some after hours drinks with the rest of the roommates and company that came out. And then it quickly turned into me sneaking onto his balcony and breaking into his room to scare the living shit out of him just to get a laugh. STOP, I know what you're thinking, I have absolutely nothing against him, at all. I just thought it was hilarious to include him in the insane and out of line shit we were doing. I felt like he needed to be a part of it, shit, I thought it was my duty to break him in. He would complain, make a small stink, but never truly got upset with me. I am an extrovert and he is an introvert, we both knew this and it became an unwritten law that any night I came home smashed, Rockman was waking up to hangout, whether he wanted to or not. But one night, the rock didn't think it was funny anymore, oh no, this time the Hebrew Hammer laid down the law.

After a night full of drinks and exchanged phone numbers, my boy JonJon and I returned to the house with a few ladies of the night and for some reason, JonJon told them that we had a roommate we called the penguin. Now we have never called Rockman the penguin, it doesn't even make any sense really, clearly we were trashed and the word penguin was funny. But then while we were drinking at the house and trying to keep the party going while everyone else was sleeping; the girls decided to provoke "The Penguin" out of his "igloo." Again, no idea why this was even happening. Both girls were just, "Hey penguin, come out in your tux!" or "Come here little penguin!" Now this had gone on for a good half an hour if not more. I then recieved a text from my San Fran Giants lover Rockman, stating that if i didn't shut these bitches up, he'd do it for me. So I proceeded to quiet these chicken heads but there was no use. The Penguin Brigade continued, these girls seriously wanted to see something waddle out of that door. Now I even wonder if they thought we seriously had a penguin, none the less the door handle jiggled a bit and with a swing of the door, out came the rock. Absolutely furious, screaming "Get the fuck out of my house you dumb bitches!!" I have never seen this kid mad let alone yell at females, this was a surprise! The girls left immediatly and JonJon and I were left with our jaws on the floor. Because no sooner did he turn back into his room without a word to us.

To this day I have no explanation for the penguin incident, since then I haven't seen him get nearly as upset or even yell for that matter. It was a day I will never forget, it was the day I got hit with the Hebrew Hammer. Rockman and I remain boys, and I no longer ruin his life while he tries to sleep and I am intoxicated.



Fuck it, pour me a drink, let's wake this dude up....

Zoo Specimens

This Blog Post is brought to you by Boones Farm Tickle Pink, and Marlboro 100's.....

Just returned to Boston and nursing a severe hangover after a long weekend in the Great North; Maine. Day one of my visit consisted of taking my little niece to the "zoo" aka York's Wild Kingdom; pretty much a fenced in area with a plethora of random animals that have seen better days. This establishment has been around for as long as I can remember, and I am pretty sure that white tiger is the same one that I went to see when I was seven.... Needless to say, the place could use a few updates in not only their animals but the outdated 1970's signange as well. Regardless, I enjoy the zoo so I was ready to witness these decrepid animals in their depressing little play pens.

But it wasn't the caged animals that I ended up getting a kick out of. Oh no, it was the creatures that flocked in from what seemed like a sewer plant neighborhood. Now I'm no high class snob, but holy shit, some of these people were straight specimens. They waddled around the park with their stained sweat pants, chain smoking cigarettes and tugging their kids on leashes. It was like the Trailer Park Express bus was running fifty cent rides to the zoo. Between viewing this, smelling their corndog and Marlboro stenched outfits and the hangover I had from the night before, I was about ready to vomit onto the platform where you could ride the ancient elephant for $20. Luckily I held my composure because shit, I'm with the fam. So instead I'd point out these wretched creatures to everyone in hopes of easing my nausea. Soon enough we had seen the fleet of expired animals and walked over to the amusement park that is attached.

Now we are seriously talking about outdated equipment; rides and fun houses that were built back in the 60's. Some of these rides seemed like they were going to just collapse in place and the bolts would just pull out if you touched them due to the 50 years of rust. Did I mention the staff that is employed on this side of the park? A mix between your average carney that only knows the stop and go buttons and the characters from Rob Zombies: House of 1,000 Corpses film. Just absolute terrifying, back country folk who all shared the same "I'll eat you" grin and "put the lotion on" stare. Did not have any close encounters with these people but after a few hours with this material in front of me, I had had enough so we planned our departure.

We all made it out in one piece and had a ball with my niece as well as people, I mean specimen watching the entire day. I guess I don't have a moral to the story, just an insane view on the creatures that populate where we live.

Pour me a drink in honor of these Stephen King characters.....

SWAG!