Gallon of Milk- 1, Chandler- 0

It's not the Bonnaroo post!

God damn, has it already been 21 days since I last updated? Yes, rhetorical question, it has.

Please forgive me on the lack of posting, and more specifically the Bonnaroo post. However, please take into consideration that I took a full memory card worth of Bonnaroo pictures and I'm stuck with a 42.6K modem until mid-to-late August.

In the meantime, however, I would like to tell you a story that just might help you later on down the road.

Years ago, my friend Ian H. told me that he had a plan to get out of a traffic ticket. He said: "If I'm ever about to get pulled over, I'm just going to drive really fast to my house, run inside for about ten minutes, come back out and tell the cop that I just had to shit really bad and that's why I was speeding."

As absurd as this scheme sounds, I come before you tonight with real-life testimony as to the power and genius of the plan.

Tuesday morning at around 3:30 I was returning home, heading west on Samford Avenue. Suddenly, my police radar detector started going off, I quickly slowed down just as an APD squad car zipped right by me. Thinking that I was in the clear, I began to turn onto my street. As I was making the turn, however, I noticed that the police car was turning around. I realized that I was about to be pulled over.

I completed the turn onto Pinedale Drive, and came to a sudden stop in front of my house. As the cop came around the corner, I ripped my radar detector off of the windshield, unplugged it, and stashed it under the passenger seat. (From what I hear, cops are real Nazis about that shit).

Suddenly remembering the plan Ian had told me all those years ago, I got out of the car just as the cop was pulling in behind me. I stood there on the steps outside of my house and let slip the master thespian living inside of me. This was his time to shine.

I imagined holding back a turd the size of a male Mako Shark. A turd of the magnitude that I was trying to convey would, undoubtedly, lead to shaking, so I began to shake.

The officer opened his car door, and just as he did, I said "Can I help you?"

Okay, I realize that's not the best thing to say to a cop right off the bat, but, think about it, if you really have to go, you're not thinking about what you're saying. All you're thinking about is that pristine porcelain reservoir you're hoping to reach in time. If the situation that I was pretending to be in were real, the cop's menial accusations of a so-called "traffic violation" would take an immediate back seat to the more pressing (literally) issue at hand: your impending bowel movement.

To the aforementioned comment, the officer replied: "Yeah, I'm pulling you over because you were going 47 miles per hour in a 30 mile per hour zone."

What do I say now? I can't just say "I gotta shit!" What should I do?... I've got it!: Feign a medical condition. Then I thought, it's best not to show my cards until the end of the game. So I just let out some urgent-sounding bullshit: "I'm so sorry" I said.

"Can I see your driver's license and proof of insurance, please?", he said.

I carefully bent down into my car and pulled out the two requested items.

After examining them for what must've seemed like hours for the toilet-deprived character I was portraying, the cop unleashed the golden question and my key to salvation:

"Son, is there any reason you were going that fast?"

Mustering up a voice that sounded both pathetic and urgent, I quickly let out the following:

"Sir, I have food allergies and I really have to use the bathroom..."

I put my hand on my stomach so that he knew I was talking big business here.

"...It must've been something I ate earlier. I don't really know what's wrong, but I have to go to the bathroom NOW!"

The officer took one last look to see that my papers were legit, and then he said:

"If you want to save yourself about $160 dollars you best be going slower down that road from now on. Now, take off."

I grabbed my papers and ran inside, a free man once again.

Thank you Ian for your idea. Though I didn't follow it down to the T, I still credit you for it. Its brilliance comes in the fact that even cops know what it's like when you really gotta go.

Also, Ian you'll be happy to know that, last Sunday, Richard backed into, and hit me with a car. It was almost exactly the same way I did to you that one night. All is right with the universe now.

Next Time: BONNAROO 2005

Summer 2005 Part 1



It's been awhile. Things have happened. Let's begin.

With the exception of exceeding my bandwidth on Photobucket, Summer 2005 is off to a great start. As you all, undoubtedly, know, times and dates are not my forte. Therefore, I will just break down the events of the last month or so into separate stories, musings, etc.

Days of Graduation



First, and foremost, I'd like to congratulate the AHS Class of 2005, or, more specifically, the 20% of said class that I wouldn't shred with a diseased weedwhacker.

Here are the pictures I took at the event.





Miles took his diploma from Dee Are Long, and then got in the Graduate Gravy Train.



Trent was not far behind.

After the extremely boring graduation pomp and circumstance (pun very much so intended) the non-graduates and I met up with the honored.



Trent tries to land one right on Chandler's face while Sean looks onward.



Weeks prior to the graduation ceremony, Caroline purchased a pair of gold sequin high heels from Mike's Merchandise to wear at the event. I was able to see them from the opposite end of the coliseum. They were dazzling... literally.



Sean show us his pearly whites while Richard sketches anxiously in the background.



RC and his BFF, Miles made for a great picture.



I'll end this segment with a shot of the one and only, Mr. Scoops. At the ceremony, Scoops looked... gay. He looked very gay, really really gay, and that's fine. I'm happy for him.

Lake Martin: Casa de Patterson

One day, Richard gave me a call. It was time. The day had come when I would finally get the chance to look at his lakehouse. I was very excited. I went about calling a few choice folks to share in the adventure. I even managed to talk Sean out of going to church. "Your soul is gonna be fine" I told him. Also, it's Sean. If Sean doesn't get into heaven, then the criteria is fucked up.

Anyway, we set out for beautiful Lake Martin. The sky was blue and the sun was shining. A more beautiful day I've not seen.



After driving down a bunch of winding backcountry roads for what seemed like hours, we finally stopped in front of the chateau that is Richard's lake house. My eyes grew to the sized of hazelnuts.



But when I saw the inside my eyes turned the size of bagels. Then they began shooting lazers and coffee. That was when things got weird.



The lake house has everything. Even a huge bottle of Lubriderm lotion.



Conor was unable to contain himself any longer, and he strangled himself with a funnoodle.



The view from the deck is gorgeous.



Just ask Sean and Conor.

Down by the water you can catch a glimpse of Tommy Tuberville's gigantic lakeside estate.



There's even a wooden platform down by the lake front; perfect for discussion committee circles.



Just like it's Auburn counterpart, the house is stocked with bottles of Jelly Belly jellybeans.





Sunset over Lake Martin.

After a brief swim in the lake, our group moved up to the deck where hot dogs, hamburgers, and oversized Kielbasa sausages were served up.



The meat overload sent Sean into the "sausage doldrums".



Richard returning from the moonlight swim that followed dinner.



Conor cools out on the couch after a good swim. It should also be noted that the sofa set found inside the house is identical to that found in my own living room. Yes, it's true.



It was during this fateful trip that the debate over the word "both" started. "The word 'both" you say?" Yes, that's what I said.

I had always assumed that it was universally accepted among those who use the English Language that the word "both" was pronounced bow-th (bow as in "bow and arrow" or "bow tie"). However, Rollie seems to think that the word is pronounced "bolth" with an "L" sound in there. Despite the fact that everyone in the civilized world is against him, Rollie holds on to his pronunciation. So, we decided to look it up in the American College Dictionary that Richard had inside the house. (I told you the house had everything, didn't I?)



"What the fuck did I tell you Rollie?" I said. "The dictionary agrees with me. No "L" sound anywhere to be found." The argument should be over right? Wrong! Rollie then stated that the only way he would concede defeat is if Mr. Jones and Mr. Thompson BOTH said that he was wrong.

Mr. Jones, if you're reading this, please back me up. Rollie is an idiot and he must be stopped.

Later That Night...

We arrived back in Auburn from the lake. Somehow or another we ended up at some chick's house. As is customary in the households of people we don't know, we set about the job of creating fun for ourselves.



Lock and load motherfuckers!



Best picture of the night. Thanks "Night Portrait" mode.



Flaming cans were also BB'd, right before the owner of the house/gun took the firearm away from us. We later recovered it, and the action continued.



Another great shot made possible by the "Night Portrait" mode on the old DigiCam.



Always the loner, Sean found the smallest possible corner to sink into.

Later that night, Charlie, Jessica T., and I ended up at a swimming pool owned by Charlie's neighbor, the Auburn jet-setter, John Bedford. Upon Jessica's assurance that he was in Europe, we hopped in for a pre-dawn swim. I left the pool just as the sky was getting cobalt blue from the forthcoming sun.

I got home, changed clothes, and got into bed. Not five minutes had passed before I received a phone call. It was Charlie. "Dude", he said, "John Bedford was home man!" Right after I left, it turns out, John Bedford, an early riser apparently, came out of his house only to find Chongo and Jessica in his pool. Wow, how fuckin' awkward. is that?

New Ryder Art





The Tiki God



Rebarb Forms and Jack-O-Lanterns



Oscar the Grouch 2005

Orion's Car

For his birthday this year, Orion's dad decided to "do something crazy. Here's what he decided on:





Recreated Matisse paintings on the front and back of one of the Stan-Gravois family's Mercs.

Star Wars



The night of May 18th, it was time to see Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith



Everyone was packed into the theatre. This was going to be good.



Conor and Eoghen even dressed up like a couple of gay French vampires for the movie. The idea behind their costumes was lost on me, but it was irrelevant. This was sure to be the greatest movie of all time. As it turns out, it should've been called:



This film was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. God Dammit! George Lucas got me once again with his bullshit. When it comes to Star Wars, I'm like a battered house wife. I love Star Wars some much, and he keeps hurting me; but no matter how many times he hurts me, I always come back to him. "He just loves me too much," I tell my friends. "Maybe this time he won't hurt me," I think to myself. But he always does.

Honestly, before this movie came out, just seeing the previews made my heart rate go up. According to Richard and Caroline, I got to talking about it so much one night that my unadulterated excitement changed the tone of my voice to that of a prepubescent boy child clamoring for a piece of candy at the K-Mart checkout line. The previews for that movie were more than misleading, they were false advertising.

I didn't even get to see Jar-Jar Binks die a horrible and violent death. Boba Fett didn't come back to kill Mace Windu, come on! Lucas should've let me write that screenplay. Imagine it, Mace Windu gets thrown out that big window and lands somewhere on the busy streets below. His Jedi ability allowed him to survive the fall, but he is weak and can hardly move. Just as he's reaching for his lightsaber, Boba Fett steps on his hand, grabs the lightsaber, and cuts his head off. Poetic justice. Am I right? No shit, I'm right. All that's left to say is: George Lucas: Best Writer of all time, worst director of all time.

I could rave all day about how fucking disappointing this movie was, but I'll spare you. Although, I do encourage you to read Maddox's review of the film.

Adam Monty G Bitch



Adam Montgomery hosted a party at his house one night. Fun was had by most.



I took a picture of Junior that looks like the photo from every Time Magazine article about raves and rising ecstasy use in teens.



After his trip, Junior jamed out in the bathroom.



Orion and Ryder showed up and then the party began.



More "Night Portrait" magic



No explanation will be given.



Ryder's blue period. Yeah, we all agree, that was a cop-out.

Columbus Adventure

During one of the first days of summer, Trent, Chandler, and I loaded up the Mini and took a trip to the magical land known as "The Fountain City" a.k.a. Columbus, GA.



Before leaving we stopped at Mike's Merchandise. If you've not been there, you're gonna want to go.



Yes, those are old WWF Wrestling notebooks that Chandler has.



Trent shows off his favorite book: The Stink Files.



Then he tries to grope Chandler's balls.

After the quick stop at Mike's, we headed to Columbus. As expected there was little to do there.



We stopped at a place called "Rotary Park". It's exactly as interesting as it sounds.

We saw a forest fire on the side of the road, and we got lost at Ft. Benning. It was a harrowing experience. We also saw this sign:



It was the saddest thing that I've ever seen.





The real fun started when we stopped at the Dolly Madison Discount Bakery Store and Gas Station. Yes, you heard right.







It's really a very fun place.



Check out the signs that were posted in the breakroom.





With sweet rolls purchased, the ensuing sugar high was phenomenal.



We also discovered that Chandler bears a striking resemblance to Twinkie the Kid.

While we're on the subject of Chandler:

Chandler, here are your MySpace photographs that you requested:





The Creek

We've been to the creek many a time of late.



On one such occasion, Trent brought down a strange structure that had been erected on the site some time ago.



Later, he released Miles' shoe into that same water



Miles looked on in horror.



Miles then chased Trent down and strangled him.



After it was over, reactions among the crown were mixed.



Then Miles and Adam left. It was sad.

Summer Sitting Out By the Pool



Milo lounges around the Gullatte family pool one lazy summer afternoon.



Conor puts on a pair of Adam's skivees. Hee hee.





Meanwhile, across town and into the future, Charlie is launced into the water in a chair by Ryder and Rollie.



Ryder doesn't share the same luck, as the chair fragments during his turn.





Rollie swims around the Kingsport apartment pool facility.

I'll tell you, the damndest thing happened while we were there.



As he was doing the backstroke, Ryder was suddenly lifted out of the pool.





He danced around on the surface of the water for a few minutes. He kept flicking me off saying something like "Hah, ha I can out-Jesus you anyday, punk".



Following that, he was raptured away. I thought he had gone to heaven. Turns out he just went to Alaska. He'll be back in September.





It was at this point I noticed Charlie was also being raptured away. Unlike Ryder, however, Charlie was raptured away to a Jesus Camp in Appalachia. Sorry Charlie!



Here's a close up on that face, by the way.

Misc.



Sean with "Mr. Bone" the club footed fruitfly.



RC's foot after a slight moped malfunction.



Ryder shows his attitude about his new Alaska-bound hairdoo.



Ryder then warms his face by the grill.



Rollie... IN SEPIA!



Sean... IN SEPIA!



Chandler in my headlights.



Chester signs Chandler's graduation present, a road cone!



Ray at Project Graduation.



Close-Up of Miles



Adam D. and his giant tally-whacker laundry hamper.



Charlie puts his feet up.



Conor rests his bones.



I go to sleep now.

*UPDATE*

At the strong urging of Miles, I have decided to post these pictures:







There you go, Miles. I was a little tired when I first posted this. I'm sorry I forgot you.