Archive for the hey bud, go fuck yourself. Category

The wretch

Posted in Booze Shit, Bullshit shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., Music Shit, shooooot on January 21, 2012 by heavymetalspey

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Real American fucking doom. By far this is the band’s best and most prolific album to date. Filled with songs made for crashing horses and swords to. One night this winter, I poured myself what was planned to be a single whiskey and set into motion a chain of events that were a direct result of this album’s immense stature. Listen with caution….

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It’s on

Posted in Fish Shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., jose cansecofish, shit the bed in fear on October 19, 2011 by heavymetalspey

Designed to throw lead lines and roosters a country fucking mile.

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The new hotness marinated in awesomeness

Posted in Bullshit shit, Fish Shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., shit on September 12, 2011 by heavymetalspey

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Shits mine, bucko.

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holy god… christmas is here

Posted in hey bud, go fuck yourself., Music Shit, shit, shit the bed in fear on December 21, 2010 by heavymetalspey

Labor day slaybor day

Posted in Bullshit shit, Fish Shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., reading writing shit on September 3, 2010 by heavymetalspey

Trucks are loaded, jet skis are fueled, we are eastbound and down. Headed for lake called chelan. fly rod tubes, reels and waders on my desk at home. Metal will soon blare through the speakers. The Pendleton bottle sloshes under my seat, the one labeled- “shotgun”. The Dog is snoring in the back seat and I am a breathing contradiction- chasing vicodins with black label 5 hour energy… Let the heartburns begin.

old boy

Posted in 1, Bullshit shit, hey bud, go fuck yourself., shit the bed in fear on March 29, 2010 by heavymetalspey

good morning? goodnight? since i was young enough to remember i have never felt complete- perhaps a bit condescending but the truth lies here like a rug. I, even as a young boy have lived with a certain level of guilt-for what i know not but again, the rug fills the room. i have always thought of myself as a bit of a sociable introvert, if such a thing is, i am.  “worry wort” as my beautiful grandmother used to say and a solidified prick under the right lights.  i revel in the thought of my friends laughing about things said and the fury of half witted whole hearted stupidity that i may bring. the plight of mans current interests never really brought any of my blood to the surface, as i type on a laptop computer and check the time on my blackberry… i waver in my thoughts and i digress, my worrying has at one time or another had a stranglehold on my thoughts. i have always felt tied down to something and i drag, whether it be my heart, brain or my feet. my idealistic life would be…unknown. A thought that brings a real fear to my chest and a rush of time’s realness to head. Perhaps some lives weren’t destined to be decided in a class room or upon the puppy love of another. regardless the thought that the story of my life in words is being written nanoseconds before i make my next fumbling judgment is frightening yet endearing. I have acquaintances that were wed moments after their eligibility to legally purchase nicotine came and some who i think the nicotine may take into the ground before they truly hold the hand of another. lives lived, who am i to judge. the young boy so full of plans for life that were smashed against the dashboard courtesy of a inebriated driver heading the opposite way to the near ancient man employing his standing death bed full time after a life of broken promises and bottles. a young girl looking for acceptance giving in and mothering multiple children out of bodily pleasures to the only sister of eleven to never find love. so many people, so many different people.  there in lies the cruel beauty of life, being in the fact that nothing is promised, little given, so much taken.  I don’t request answers for what i will do in a decade, only the hope that i will be…full. full of life, full of love,  full of..fucking dinner. To pry is to push while not pushing is remaining stagnant. fill your glass and open your eyes, no reason to worry. we balance on the hands of a clock that runs on borrowed time. hope like hell while wishing for heaven.