Friday, December 26, 2008

Question: What would happen if Romeo and Juliet never died...

Answer: They probably wouldn't have worked out.




I don't think I'm out of line saying that either. They were kids. They were stupid, and they were horny. When have these factors ever been a solid starting point in a lasting relationship? Never! That is the only acceptable answer. I'm not even considering their family situation, but when you do-forget about it. I would give them like a year. Tops. Fairy tails don't exist. They especially don't when they start with a hook up at a party. Shit, those stories don't even get a second draft.

Thats exactly how they met too (if you haven't caught on by now, my inspiration is from the modern day Leo and Claire Danes version. I don't recall Original Shakespear including pill poppin in his sonnets). Romeo was at a party, and got ripped out of his mind on pills. He found a cute chick that he wanted to lay pipe to, but she wouldn't let him penetrate that night.

Romeo was not to be denied while trippin on a potent combo of pills and testosterone. After her initial denial, he kicked it up a notch and got all Don Juan on her. Shifting into a high powered offense, Romeo focused his attack by reciting some super romantic lyrics, trying to equalize any sense of morality Juliet might hold.

We're talking some serious panty dropping material. Can you blame him? I mean have you seen Claire Danes?I probably would've said something stupid like, 'I love you,' too.

I'll give Juliet some credit here. When Romeo came at her with his first attempt to swoon her panites off, she saw right through it. She put the kabosh to it, quickly. Thats impressive. I'm not sure many girls could squash Leo's desire for the tang. I obviously don't know first hand, but this guy has slayed Giselle. Tom Brady is eating his seconds. I think thats evidence good enough to prove many girls aren't turning down a chance to ride the Titanic.

Fortunately for Romeo, he brought his half stoned "A" game, and really laid it on thick. She ultimately fell victim. Then when you add the factor that he was forbidden fruit because the family situations-it was all over. She was under his spell. He could've done anything to her and got away with it. Shit, he killed her cousin and they still got busy. I know, I know, seems crazy, but girls are stupid like that.

Ladies, I have a feeling you are saying,"Oh Andrew you're wrong! Romeo and Juliet is the greatest love story ever! It is soooo Romantic!" And I want you to know, that it is YOU who is wrong. I've seen porno's with a better chance of coming true then Romeo and Juliet.

Like I stated earlier, they could've lasted a bit. Never under estimate the power of great sex. Guys will be on their best behavior as long as their getting awesome sex, consistently. But great sex can only get you so far. Eventually, even the most clueless of wenches figure out that men are only using them for the warmth provided by their mysterious lady parts. And then when the lady tries to force the man into a "real" relationship, and not one based on crazy animal sex, well thats when the male rebels (and tags her sister).

So back to Romeo and Juliet. I'm really supposed to believe that these two would've just lived happily ever after??? How retarded is that?!? I think you'd have a better chance of convincing Clay Bennett to return the Sonics to Seattle (fucking thief, but that is for another day).

Lets take an honest look of how this relationship would've gone: after a year of their very hot, very physical relationship, it begins it's natural cool down. Only the two love birds have successfully alienated their respected families by marrying into the families of their enemies. Even if they eventually got their families blessing's, they would never be able to get a divorce after the turmoil their relationship caused when it first started.

Or imagine had they never received the families blessings, and were disowned. Now they're stuck in this loveless marriage, because neither of them wants to be alone. Romeo nor Juliet would have family to run to after the separation because they have long ceased communication. In other words, because they couldn't keep it in their pants, they would've been screwed.

The fun doesn't stop there. Romeo probably develops a severe drug problem to cope with his regret for his youthful haste. He views his marriage as a loveless prison, and wastes the majority of his small paychecks on blow and strippers (he had to get a job since he no longer had mommy and daddy's dough to rely on. And it didn't seem like he had put a huge premium on education, so he's doing manual labor for a shitty wage. Fact).

Juliet's life sucks too. She developed an eating disorder, and an addiction to box wine. The highlights of her week now include, and are limited to screwing the funny looking 22 year old Starbucks Barista, and watching her dvd seasons of Sex In the City (which is what she believes her life would've been had she not "settled" for the "smooth talking shit head" Romeo).

Realizing that the flame of the relationship is long gone(because women are gay like that), she starts throwing up every meal so she can be skinny. Like most girls who develop an eating disorder, this seems like the best plan of attack. Heaven forbid you do something conventional, like running, to burn off that carton of cookie dough you just inhailed during "The Hills" marathon. Her justification is the thought that if she remains super skinny, then a handsome, rich man is bound to want to start up a steamy affair with her.

Then after Romeo starts to get a whiff of the adultery (which wouldn't be for a long time because she is so clever and sneaky. NOT) The rich, handsome man would convince her to run away from her estranged husband, and find her true "ever after". Of course, thats not gonna happen.

In reality, Romeo has known about the Barista for some time. He doesn't pay it much mind, since he spends most of his time paying for sexual favors from classy young ladies named Chastity and Cinnamon. Well that is till the night he comes home, high out of his brain (like the night they met, how cute) and finds the barista up in his martial bed with Juliet. Normally he wouldn't care (because he just spent his paycheck at supporting single mothers dancing through college) but this time is different-he's high. Like very high. Romeo goes off the deep end and pretends he's OJ (Not the Buffalo Bills version, I'm talking like the June 1994).

Don't worry, his trial is quick. He doesn't have the money for a Johnny Cochran level attorney, and was so high didn't do much to hide his tracks. In fact this case is so easy they give it to Judge Judy, who nails the case closed in a half hour plus commercial breaks. Romeo spends the rest of his natural born life in jail experiencing the ironic side effects of being a pretty boy on the outside.

When he was young, being pretty gave him ample opportunities to shack up with hot rich girls like Juliet. When he was older, he got to bang strippers.

Now, being pretty gets him raped. Daily.


The End.


Upon further review: it's a good thing their story ended where it did. Because that story is really depressing.





(Also, who else is really glad I'm not a playwrite!?! Everyone better be raising their hands)

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Late Night Conversations with Black Santa


Chris Cringle. Santa Claus. Jolly Ol' Saint Nick. These names are not new to us. We are all familiar with who he is and his purpose. He is the undisputed face of the holidays. The happy go lucky, round bellied man who flies around rewarding the good kids in the world on December 25th every year. A figure head of holiday season hope. A spokes person for coke-a-cola. 

There was a time when I had simply dismissed him as a children's tale. As I'm sure is the sentiments for many adults in the world. I felt like he was nothing more then an excuse to keep kids on their best behavior for the rest of the year. That is until I met the man.

Don't bother re-reading that paragraph, I'll say it again. I have met Santa Claus. I know you probably are having a hard time believing me, and you're probably going to request that I pee in a cup, but I promise... I have met Jolly Saint Nick.

It happened by chance two years ago.

I was at my dads house on Christmas Eve that year. Jesse, Jake (the son of my dads girlfriend at the time) and myself were sleepin baggin it up down stairs talking madden, and other kinds of trash. Jesse and Jake had crashed out, and I decided to follow suite, but needed to shit before. After I filed the paper work, and flushed the specimen, it was time to return to my bag. Thats when outside arose such a clatter.

I went to the window and saw a sleigh and some reindeer. 'What a gay Christmas decoration' I thought. Some people go real over the top with their holiday spirit, and sometimes I wish I could just get like five minutes in a dark room to beat their self serving ass's. 

Small rant: Whats the point of having excessive decorations and bright lights covering your house and yard? Are you trying to fuck with airplanes flying over head? No one gives a shit that you dropped more money on decorations then you did on the presents you are handing out. 

I take that back. People do give a shit. It pisses people off. You are never going to hear this conversation, "man this is awesome. A real life nativity scene? You are a true pioneer! Who would've though to turn your whole lawn and house into one big brigh flashing light? INCREDIBLE!" But you are likely to hear someone say, "wow, this your house?" (you nod) "YOU DUMB SON OF A BITCH, I'm trying to sleep and your flashing lights are giving me a fucking seizure!" and then they proceed to beat your ass.

So lets avoid a hospital visit and jail time this year, and just have you admit that your excessive lights DO make you look like a prick. Just take them down, and go spend your time with your family. Thank you.
*Return to the story* 

I realized this wasn't just a decoration when a huge man in a red coat hopped off the sleigh and slung a sack over his back. He came straight for my dads house. There was no fire place, so he was going to need to use the front door. The door I was a step away from. My butt hole was puckering.

This is probably where I need to clarify something. I don't usually get scared by the appearence of Santa clones. They're nothing but fat white guys who are probably unemployed 11 months of the year. Not a fight I couldn't win. But this one is different. Mainly because he was black. Yes, Santa is black. He doesn't look like a jolly grandfather, rather he looks like Kimbo Slice with a bigger belly.

So now you understand why I said I was a tad frightened when this street fighter look alike with a Santa hat came strolling into the house like he owned the place- at 3 am. I will now accept your apologies. I mean how many of you would've either said a hail mary, found a gun, called the cops or all three. I just froze. Don't you dare call me a racist, Kimbo Slice is scary.

He opened the door and immediately looked at me. I'm sure he didn't even need the little light from the porch that was shinning off my face to tell I was damn near shitting my pants. Don't even act like I was being over dramatic. Lets just say, it's a good thing I took the Browns to the Super Bowl before this meeting. 20 year olds don't need to be shitting themselves.

"Whats really hood, bitch?" He sneered as he strutted through the door. It looked like a real life mug shot. His teeth were mostly replaced with gold. He had an assortment of huge gold chains that hid his chest. I nodded. I wasn't sure what was going on at this point. His shoulders spanned like two of me. This might've been the scariest, biggest dude I'd ever seen. Then couple that with the fact that he was super dark chocolate and blending in with the darkness of the room, and I think we can assume that I was a wee bit intimidated. 

"Who are you?" I asked. When you think about it, that was a fair question. A scary black man dressed up as Santa, in the living room of my fathers house at 3 am. He took a step back, and sat his sack down. He stuck his head out side the door and looked at his sleigh. Then gave himself an up, down, side to side and then looked back at me.

"Who do I look like? I'm Santa Claus motha' fucka'." 

"But dude, you're black." He just stared blankly back at me. 'Oh Shit,' I thought, he may kill me now.  Instead, he just slung his sack back over his shoulder, and moved past me to where the tree was at. He started to unload presents and place them under the tree. I couldn't believe it. I'm not sure if I was more shocked at the fact that he was actually Santa, or that he wasn't stealing shit.

After my imagination stopped fueling the thoughts of Black Santa actually being their to pillage the house and/or rape me had ceased fire, I began to feel confident enough to talk to the man. The only problem was, I had nothing to say to him. I didn't see how ' so, uh, thanks for not stealing my shit or raping me' was going to lead to a worth wild conversation. So I waited. 

He stopped packing presents and looked at me. " You got anything to eat?" His gold plated mug came back for another exhibition.

"Yeah, I guess we got some cookies. Does that work?" I asked. It was the first thing I could think of.

"Shit yeah, I got the munchies son. The last place I was at had some rotten ass cookies. Bring them here, and a big glass of milk." So I did. I hooked up a whole plate of chocolate chip cookies. When I came back, Black Santa's sack was empty and laying on the floor. I looked around and couldn't see him. Had he just left? I ran to the still open door, but the sleigh was still parked in the middle of the street. "You lookin for someone, youngsta?"

"Uh, I got the cookies." I had totally overlooked him. He was sitting in my dads recliner off in the corner. Completely camouflaged by the darkness. I could now make him out, he was sitting down, feet up, sippin on what appeared to be a forty.  I brought the plate over to him, but because of my shaking, I dropped a few of them to his feet. 

He looked up at me and chuckled. "Shit, am I really that scary homie?" I shrugged.

"I just didn't expect you to be black." Which is the truth. When you spend your whole life recognizing a fat white bearded,  rosey cheeked, white dude as the Giver of Christmas Joy, and then late one night a massive black man comes crip walking into your living room, well it's kind of unsettling to say the least.

"Yeah it hasn't always been this way." He said, taking another sip from his forty.

"You haven't always been black? Thats weird."

"What ch'you stupid or somethin? Santa Claus hasn't always been black." He paused for a second. I spent that second hoping he was going to add more to that statement because I as lost. " Santa Claus is a title youngsta."

"Like the pope?" 

"Yeah, I guess." He shook his head, and started to load up some more pictures. I could tell he wasn't getting annoyed. But I was fascinated. I demanded more knowledge. This was bigger then when I found out how babies were made (ok maybe not that big, but nevertheless- thank you skin-a-max).

He was playing coy for awhile, refusing to divulge most of the information. But I kept poking, and probing, trying to find some information. He finally cracked after another 15 minutes of me begging and reassuring him that no one would believe me that I talked to Santa, I finally got some more out of him about the truth of Santa Claus.

My pope comment had been tongue and cheek, but apparently it's exactly how it was. A Santa Claus would serve until he died, then a committee of elves would pick the next Santa Claus. I was very relieved to find out it wasn't at all like that gay Tim Allen series that had them turning into Santa as soon as they put the coat on. In fact the Santa Clauses have been very distinguishable. They decided it would be fiscally irresponsible, pointless and very ineffective to inform the world everytime the face of Santa changes. Perfect example, just look at what happened to Michael Jacksons career when he lost his nose.
In fact LaAndre Claus was the first Black Santa Claus. Something he was very proud of. "So, I mean what other types of Santas' have there been?" I asked.

"Well, the last one was a Jewish dude. But he only served one year, he couldn't hack it." It made perfect sense.  I mean not necessarily why he was only able to do one year, but why last year I only got a Top and two used dvd's for Christmas from Santa.

About that time, my boules came calling again. I had been pounding through the plate of cookies that I brought out for Black Santa, and they were now asking to be released.  I got up, and went to the can. When I came  back, he was gone. The door was shut, and the sleigh was gone. The only proof of my late night conversation with Black Santa, was the beautiful assortment of presents left under the tree. I smiled, and went back to bed.

I awoke the next day to my sisters going crazy over presents. The whole family sat around, and we were handed out presents. Over the next hour was laughed, opened gifts and listened to my little sisters exuberantly exclaim how each gift was 'just what they wanted'.  Santa came through big too. Giving Jake an Xbox 360.

"Oh Yeah!" Every male in the house exclaimed. We knew that the rest of the day was going to be devoted to playing Madden on the Xbox on my dads beautiful 48" Sony flat screen. As soon as the last gift was opened, us boys peeled off into the other room. When we got in there, I was reminded once again of my late night conversation with Black Santa. The tv was gone. 

Once again, my dads 48" FLAT SCREEN WAS GONE!

I've spent alot of time thinking about my conversation with Black Santa, and the missing tv. And you know what? I don't think "LeAndre" was actually a Santa Claus. Also, Maybe a top and two used dvd's weren't such  bad presents after all.  


Friday, December 19, 2008

The best night on record

Holy Shit.

Seriously people. You ever have one of those nights where you are so happy that your face hurts? Then you're not able to sleep because you got like 50,000 thoughts bouncing about through your head like pieces of flubber (that might be a dated reference but "s" my "d" I'm tired, and I'm going to stick with it). Well lets just say that was me last night, and it was incredible.

What? You want to know what happened? Well, thanks for asking. At the risk of sounding super gay, I had the best night ever! Not even a four hour knob slobbing session starring my johnson and Megan Fox could have made it better. Ok, I lied. That would've taken the cake.

But since I wasn't the proud recipient of Megan Fox BJ, I'll stick to bragging about last night if you don't mind. And no, I didn't get laid.

But what did happen was arguably better. The night started off with some old friends and myself catching up at Olive Garden, where I had a plate of Raviolis that might've come straight from Gods personal pantry. They were that delicious. I seriously want to run to the top of the mountains and proclaim their majesty to the world.

From there I went home to wash my ass. I needed to make sure I was clean and free of funk, because I had plans with one good looking betty. Not gonna admit to being nervous, because there wasn't much to be nervous about. I wasn't planning on putting any moves on my good looking accomplice. However, I was definitely worried about denying any future forward progress by smelling like shit. I know, I know I'm a smooth operator.

I met up with the betty, and after slamming an energy drink I was good and ready to go... TO A BLAZERS GAME! Suns vs Blazers to be exact. This is a matchup I've been dreaming about watching in person for years, because of my unhealthy man crush on Steve Nash. This year, it became irresitible for me. Nash is the point guard to a team that features Grant Hill, Amare, Shaq, and J-Rich. I have long waited to see these players play.

So lets recap real quick. I'm in love with the Blazers. If I did a top 10 favorite sports teams of all time, the 08-09 Blazers are easily in the top three with the 2001 Mariners and the 2005 Seahawks. They will be number one on this list as long as they make the playoffs this year. Thats a foregone conclusion. I have two legit man crushes playing in this game. Brandon Roy and Steve Nash. I finally get to say I've seen Grant Hill, Shaq, Amare, and Jason Richardson play in person. And the cherry is, I'm taking a girl thats probably too hot to be hanging out with me. HIGH FIVE!

You jealous yet? Well if you're not get ready... you will be. In fact, before I go on, I want you to make sure there are no sharp objects around, or laces in your shoes. I don't want you taking your life after I blow your mind.... Go ahead, I'll wait.

(Waiting...)

(Waiting...)

Ok good. Thanks dude, I'm just looking out for your best interest.

So there we are, at the game minding our own business. Again I lied, the Garden was going freaking nuts. A sell out crowd who was not above booing Amare, and reminding Shaq that he is nothing but a shell of his former self. Oh and not only was I, and a surprising amount of my friends in attendance, but so was Anthony "Give it away, give it away now" Kiedis.
Yes, the lead singer of my favorite band (as well as one of the more popular bands to come from entertainment capital of Los Angeles) the Red Hot Chili Peppers was in the building. How I missed the fact that apparently he is a fan, I will never know. But it just goes to show you, that game recognizes game. The legend that is Kiedis recognizes the future legends that are The Portland TrailBlazers. I'm giddy right now.

The game itself, was a goodie. Scratch that. The game itself was a unbelievable. It's the kind of game I'll be telling my grand kids about. I'll keep the sports talk down to a minimum. But there were countless score changes, the Blazers fell down by over ten in the third quarter. I want to say it was 14 points. But like I mentioned before, this crowd was rocking. And about six minutes to go in the third Brandon Roy (who had 21 at that moment) decided,' you know what? Screw the Suns! I'm taking this bitch over'. And take that bitch over he did. He scored 15 points over the next four minutes without many people even noticing. I did, cuz I'm a stat nut. But it took him tying and passing his career high by the fourth quarter before people understood what was happening.

When he hit 40, I started hyperventilating. We had a whole quarter of crunch time (which should get renamed 'Roy's time' because thats when he takes over and scores the majority of his points) and he was already at a career high. If you actually pay attention to Roy as a player, then you knew 50 was not out of reach. And the scoring didn't stop. It just kept coming and coming and coming. Every basket was so exciting, that half way through the quarter I started to consider stepping outside for a cigarette.
Long story short, the Blaze fired back, and pulled out the 124-119 win. Brandon Roy contributed at whopping 52 points. Steve Blake contributed a 20 points 10 assist game. I was left with a an emotional chubby, and a loss for words.

Another note: You should've heard us shower Roy with MVP chants during the forth quarter. Everytime he scored, "M-V-P, M-V-P". Everytime he went to the line, "M-V-P, M-V-P,".

I am convinced that unless I am able to afford season tickets one day (god willing I will), I will never, ever see a game like this again. Incredible throw back to the 80's basketball that I unfortunately didn't get to witness. Great players, aggressive play, defense that only showed up when it was ABSOLUTELY needed, which resulted in an abnormally high score. And after all that, I got to witness Brandon Roy (now officially my favorite ATHLETE ever. Not just basketball player. ATHLETE) announce to the world that he needs to be treated like superstar that he is (this game was on TNT. And he gets no respect outside of basketball fans. 52 points while the TNT boys are calling the game, a big step toward acquiring a few more all star votes from the casual fan).

I went home after the game, not being able to say much more then "I can't believe he scored 52 points." I just repeated that over and over, and occasionally through in some expletives to convey my excitement.

It didn't change even after I had gotten home. I wanted to tell everyone about it, and show off my new Brandon Roy jersey (I'm broke, but I had to do it. I mean how many times will I get to see 50 +?).

All in all, it was an amazing experience. Full belly, cute girl, and then life changing game? Really? I'm not sure what I did to deserve all that, but I wish someone would tell me so I could rinse and repeat.

But hey, I'm going to take a nap now. I'm super tired. I didn't get to sleep much last night, I was smiling too much.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Finally...Belvin has COME BACK to Waaassshhhington

Did you hear that? Thats the sound of thousands of girls fist pumping.


Time to do some crunches ladies, the the account holder of your future child support check is back in town! Trojan Condoms stock prices just shot up(your welcome stock holders).

The professional drifter has landed back in the main nest, and it's time to act accordingly. So if that means not finishing meals and throwing up the part you've already eaten, by all means do so. Maybe it means telling your boyfriend that you're leaving town to visit your grandparents for the weekend. Hey, if your relationship is based on a foundation of lies then who am I to tell you to stop? The point that I'm trying to get across here is that in four hours I'll be getting off a train ( my second in a week) dry humping my brother, and kissing the dirty concrete of the streets of Vancouver.

Time to get crazy.


Also, It's December, so that means christmas is pissing distance away! Yeah for the presents...I have to buy (fuck). Monetary commitments aside, daddy loves Christmas. I'm not too big on Thanksgiving because I've never really been a Turkey guy (that changed this year, mainly because drifting around california makes one hungry). It's a chance for me to hang out with my family, eat good food (mom usually hooks up a mean lasagne, or we ordered Dominos), and get presents!


Hopefully if you're reading this, you know that lately I've been a wee bit of a transient over the last little bit. In the last 6 weeks or so, I've slept in 6 different places. I spent Thanksgiving in Healdsburg California. The heart of wine country. I was with good friends, and my awesome cousins so that was cool. But the absence of the rest of my family was quite noticeable. I didn't get to join in family in some of my favorite family traditions. My favorite being, where we go to Flying Pie Pizza in Portland, sit around a big ass table and we break everyones balls like it's a Bond Family Roast. (Note: Comedy Central you need to film us next year. Do this, and thank me later).

My uncle Pat was even there, and he is the king of mean. When I was younger, I use to start writing come backs in October just so I had some return fire on the constant barrage of Gay jokes that would be coming my way (No, I'm not gay. He just didn't understand that a 13 year old could still be a virgin).


I'm so fuckin stoked to be home. I'm so ready to eat my moms lasagna, play basketball, watch Raw, and sleep in a real bed. Holy crap, I might need a cigarette just thinking about it. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I'm half mast just thinking about my Blazer tickets for the 18th. I haven't been gone that long, and I looooved LA, but dammit I missed Washington.


Don't get it twisted, I'm not back for good. I went to Cali on a mission, and that mission is still listed as pending. This is just me coming home for Christmas, and re-hashing out a plan of attack for my future endeavor. You see, I kinda left for California in a haste. I didn't have an effective plan. I didn't think about the fact that I might need things like a car. Yes, I realize I'm fairly retarded. But thats ok, I'm 22 and have no major commitments in my life. I can dick around the country for as long as I want.


So I'm coming home to work, brainstorm, and maybe work on a project or two. Oh and I'm gonna party too. Thats unavoidable. I've missed Portland bars, and getting stupid with my buddies. There wasn't much room for excessive drinking when I was in full fledge money conservation mode. Lets face it, at 22 thats pretty important.


I gotta be honest, I got pretty home sicks down south. Over the six weeks I was gone I slept in six different places. Maybe home sick isn't the right word, I just missed certain aspects of the northwest that I had come accustomed to. Like the Blazers, sleeping on bathroom floors, and the shitty weather (ok, that last one is a lie but for a while I was doing good with that honesty thing).


I miss the hours of xbox, getting pictures taken in suggestive poses, and being able to see Throwback Suburbia as often as I want. I wasn't gone long, but I was gone long enough to miss these things.


Rest assure, I will be enjoying the shit out of all these things when I get back.

Ladies you're all officially invited to the return extravaganza for the Baron of Black-out. And yes, we will be keeping true to my legend and will be participating in some serious Time Traveling. See you there, oh and ladies, one more thing...this is clothing optional.

Friday, December 12, 2008

The Legend of Lamp-Stack/Introduction of The Line


If there are parents of girls reading this, first of all welcome. God dammit, welcome. Second, please do not think of this as a joke. I want you to heed this warning. Beware of Lampstack. He is real, I've seen him. Shit, I party with him often, and I'm honored to call him one of my best friends. But I'm a dude, so it's safe for me. He won't try and shift from 2nd to 3rd on me ( which sadly is the code name we have assigned to the act of inserting your fingers in the wrong hole, intentionally). Parents I can't stress this, Lampstack is a monster. 6' 5" of drunken testosterone. He is clean cut, clean shaven and makes you feel at ease with his frat boy smile. But thats just a front. At night, when alcohol comes into play- Dr. Jekel turns into Mr. Hyde and he runs out to watch the world burn.


It's not just the pretty girls that are at risk when Lampstack comes out. So don't think you're daughter is safe just because she resembles a German shot putter. In fact, the uglier, the more likely they are to be ravaged by the Monster. Like normal males when alcohol comes into play, the need for a quality female is trumped by the desire to have ANYTHING to put it on. Obviously, the Lampstack will opt for the best looking option, but won't hesitate to slum it up. You can find out how much of a risk your daughter is by referring to the "Lamp-line" (see below).

Sure it's Juvenile, but an ounce of preparation is worth more then an ounce of cure.


What is the Lamp-line? Well the Lamp-line is a sophisticated scale to determine the drunken sex appeal of certain females. It was inspired by the 'Eddy Curry Line', which in Fantasy sports is the term for the worst possible player statistically you could be. Just like the players who statistically hang around this level (or the player that it's named after), a dude doesn't want to be flirting with hooking up a chick who is near the Lamp-Line. If a girl is riding the Lamp-line, it means she is the worst looking girl you can conceivably bang. It's origin came because The Monster Lampstack is currently on a ruthian tear of hooking up with skeezers.


At a party the other night, we whitnessed the Stack putting mad drunken charm on a female (?) that would be classified as a Creature from the Black Lagoon Division (more on that later). He saw an easy target, what we saw was a six foot two monster of a chick. She probably could've dead lifted a whale, and had a jaw line that would make Greggory Peck jealous. I was quite shit housed myself, but I'm pretty sure she had an Adams apple (thankfully the girl I was hitting on was labeled as pretty cute. In hindsight, too bad nothing happened. But I guess you can't expect much when she's sober, and you're too drunk to speak English).


The Lamp-Line shouldn't be associated with negative connotations. First of all it gives you an understanding on how drunk you got. Simply put, it's an indicator. You ever have those mornings where you try and qualify how shit housed you were the night before?


"Oh man, I had (insert drinks, and quantity here). I was sooo wasted!" Were you? Were you really? Or are you just saying that because you wanted to justify making an ass out of yourself? This is where the Lamp-Line comes into play. You can prove that you weren't in control just by looking at what lady occupied your attention the previous evening. If you were trolling down near the lamp-line, your buddies will know that what ever you did, wasn't your fault.

With out further ado, the Lamp-Line Scale, version 1.0:


The Jessica Alba division- Fucking perfect. Not only will you wake up an beg for more, but you'll be popping holes in your own condoms to get her pregnant so you can keep her around longer. Pulling a girl like this during a night of drinking would be like pitching a perfect game. You have to be either one charming bastard, or slimy enough to be slipping her doubles while you are sipping on "wat-ka" (water that you claim is vodka).


The Megan Fox division (formerly the Lindesy Lohan division)- I'll be the first to admit I'm not the utmost authority of Megan Fox's party habbits, or her morals, so I'm going to speculate just by staring at her skanky half naked pictures on my MacBook desk top. She just has that look that she'll go down on you in a taxi, even though you weren't the guy she thought you were (or the guy she came with). I have a feeling she's not against sodomy with strangers. Probably not the best decision on your part, and she'll probably leave you a keep sake (like herpies). But in most cases, she's too hot for common logic to even compete. It's unfortunate, I know. But come on, as guys, we live our lives governed by Testosterone and our Dicks.


The Elisha Cuthbert in Old School Division- Yeah she's smokin hot. She's got an ass that could crack a walnut, and your pretty sure you could get her to do stuff illegal in thirty two states. Sounds like a good time right? Except for the fact that you're pretty sure she just mentioned something about completing a senior project for her home room. Oh well, another Jack and Coke and she could tell you she's married to OJ and it wouldn't matter.


The Sarah Palin Division- She's not that cute, and she annoys the shit out of you normally. But fuck it, you're hammered and there is some quality you seem to be un-naturally fixated on. I say un-natural because it's not of the usual keys to the female luster. It's not her tities, ass, eyes, mouth, hips or whatever. It's something stupid like, she hunts. Or she knows who Lebron James is. Or maybe she told you that earlier she was watching the Blazer game, and couldn't believe how many times Brandon Roy got to the free throw line (sound like I'm speaking from experience?).


The Bong Division- This girl doesn't have a physical quality assigned to her. She could be Jessica Alba, she could be that girl who used to have a jack up grill. Typically she's cute enough for even your rigid sober standards. So what gives these qualities it's own division-well it's the fact that she's been passed around by all your buddies like a bong during a late night smoke session. There something unappealing about girls that you personally know a few of the dudes who have spelunked her mysterious lady cavern. However as you get more and more drunk, it transforms from a deterrent to a way to become closer to your buddies.


The Snaggle-Tooth Division- This girl may have a nice body. She may have tities that hold the cure for cancer. But she's got a physical trait that is so unsettling that you can't get over it with out the help of booze. Maybe she's got a little more pronounced pooch ( the little gut that spills over because her belt and pants are so tight), or maybe she's got a lazy eye. Usually, it's the girl with shrapnel for teeth. Some teeth are horizontal, others are vertical. Some look like vampire teeth, others look like she stole it from a shark. One thing is for sure, you don't want to put your member anywhere near it, let alone your tounge. But the night is winding down and you haven't been Mr. Lothario tonight, so your options are limited. What do you do? Do you find the cutest girl, and force a hurry up offense? Maybe, but it's a crap shoot with that. Or you can choose the more taken, less desirable route. Horny drunk dude let me introduce you to this half full bottle of cheap Whiskey.

Booze: helping the ugly get laid since the 1890's.


The Fat Chick Division- Self explanatory. They are like dragons, and sometimes there powers are too much for us to handle. Especially if there is an empty bottle of Monarch Vodka near you, and it's former contents are located in your system.


The Creature from the Black Lagoon Division (aka, the Lamp Line)- You know who she is. This girl is usually so foul you are not braggin that you banged her, you are impressed that your dick even worked. You are upset that you let yourself stoop that low. Chances are if you got this drunk, you are also ashamed by a number of other activities from the night before. These could range from (and are not limited to) pissing in your buddy's bed, punching a girl, breaking random shit, or ordering a burrito from that sketchy roach coach (Roach Coach: those little trailers that are usually parked outside of bars, that typically look too unsanitary for consumption). It could also be something regretful that took place like drunk dialing your grandma, or picking a fight with your ex girlfriend.


There you have it, the complete division of hook-up abillity. Now men can accurately interpret how drunk they were the night before, as well as understand how gross that girl was that performed a makeshift tonsillectomy on you after beerpong. Whether you charmed a card carrying member of the J.A. Division, or you finished off that bottle of Evan Williams and went trolling in the Black Lagoon. You're level of drunkenness has a face. For better or worse.




On the other hand, the fact that we are even discussing this means that ugly girls are getting satisfied by guys that normally wouldn't even be looking at them. Thus making them a lot happier with life. And life is too short not to be happy. Right?


Also, chew on this: Residents of the Black Lagoon division are in fact human. I know, I know, I often forget myself. But These girls are knowingly putting themselves in situations that often result drunken intimate relations. Someone is bound to accidently finish that bottle. And they will be the ones who end up slumming. But since we have The Stack doing it (and doing it at a rate that makes Barry Bonds HR/At-bat ratio look minimal, mind you), then that means some guys are not getting put in uncomfortable inebriated situations. They won't be asked to slay some wilder beasts. If The Stack is taking care of them, then that means I'm not. And that right there readers, is the definition of friendship.


Upon further review: Parents I retract my previous warning about The Stack. I spoke without thinking. My bad. You would be HONORED to have your daughter experience the 2nd to 3rd. The Stack is an inspiration. His dedication to the happiness of drunken females of all divisions is a true act of heroism.


Combine that with The Stacks relentless assault on his liver, and now we have justification for the creation of something as brilliant as The Lamp Line. Lampstack, you are on par with Mother Teresa and Santa Claus. You sir, one hell of an American and I am ecstatic to call you my drinking buddy.


(mainly because it means I'm not hooking up with something disgusting)

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Belvin Does Bellingham

Belvin does Bellingham had it's third installment this weekend. Nothing new to report, just that it ended the same way my trips north always end. With me well past hammered, and making an ass of myself.

Actually compared to the other two excursions, I was pretty tame. Atleast this time I didn't throw up. Which I am chalking up as a moral victory, especially if you take in account my previous Bellingham trips.

Lets take a stroll down memory lane:

Belvin Does Bellingham- I was the ripe full age of 20. I was making my first visit to Rob and Ali. Rob during his tenure at Western Washington had become a legendary partier. I was in no way prepared for the kind of drinking that was going to happen the first night. Nothing I had ever experienced before was near that nights league. All I remember through the blur of migrating through three parties, is having this exchange with Rob when he had decided it was time for us to leave:

"dude, we're walkin home." He tells me. I'm ok with that. I'm really drunk and I had a girlfriend at the time. I didn't want to do anything stupid.
"Do you know where we're at?"
"No. But I'm sure if we walk through this forrest it'll get us some where." Drunk me says, 'ok'. Sober me would've said 'uh, fuck you?'

After what felt like eternity Robs roommate found us chillin by a lamp post. According to him, Rob was posted up like a fearless captain who just endured a wild storm and I was laying on the concrete, probably because I was afraid it was going to blow away. Yup, thats gotta be it.

I threw up the next day. But that didn't stop me from meeting up with more friends later. The details on this one are fuzzy as well. I can tell you for sure that my cocktails that evening started off modest in amount, then by the magic of escalation turned into me just polishing off the Vodka.

I woke up the next day, thinking to myself 'shit it's cold'. It took a minute for me to realize that I was balls deep into cuddling with a Spiderman doll, and I was on a couch outside in Bellingham. IN FUCKING OCTOBER! And yes, that day was officially the worst hangover I had ever had up until the Fourth of July this year).

Blvin Does Bellingham #2- This took place in June so it's still very fresh in my mind (atleast the stories that were told to me). I'll give you a recap:

We went to a kegger for this dudes graduation party out in the middle of Buttfucknowhere. After successfully stretching that five dollar cup into like a full case of beer, we head over to another party. I don't remember much at this place. This might have had been caused by the double shots of vodka I was taking with my friend Katie( the very same Katie from the last post).

I woke up the next day at my buddy Daniel's house, with Rob standing over me.

"You will NEVER believe what you did last night."
"Huh?" I was confused. I had a funny taste in my mouth though. "Did I throw up?"
"Oh yeah. I have video. It's fucking awesome." Rob was enjoying this. But I didn't get the feeling that the video was the cause of his excitment. "But thats not all...you made out with a MONSTER"

He continued with the story of how I was just swaying like a tree in the wind, and some monster of a girl came over, whispered something in my ear then devoured my face. I have no recollection of the time in question. But Rob loves that story.

Back to the present. Nothing to eventful took place. We went to the Horse Shoe the first night, and a kegger the next. I had a solid hangover on Sunday, and my ass was on fire. I think I took like three shits that day.

On the positive side, I didn't get arrested, I didn't throw up and I didn't wake up next to Spiderman. There were no stories of monsters eating my face, and I didn't get naked (huge plus).

It was just me, some friends and some high quanity social drinking. I mean sure, I dropped some personal knoweledge on people. We discussed things like shitting and how often I jerk it.

I gotta to say if thats the worst of it, I guess I can count that as a win.

Belvin 1-Bellingham 2.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Dirty Jokes might not be for old Folks

Some people call me crude. Ok, I can dig it. I have offended many with my brand of 'humor' and because of that have been given the nickname of 'N.S' or ' No Shame'. I am not here to dispute those claims. In fact, I often welcome them.

That being said, sometimes I can be a bit over the top (ok, this might be an understatement).

The fact is I enjoy making people laugh, and people like dick and fart jokes. The partnership between the two parties is an absolute no brainer. However, I often get chastised for my vulgarity (8 letters! Who wants to fuck with me in scrabble?).

I don't even know what the big deal is...I mean yeah, sometimes I like to describe recent Hayden Panettiere sex dreams. Or maybe I break up silences with a series of masturbation themed jokes. When did that become a crime? If you answered that question with 'never,' then you'd be right.

I'm not sure how my crudeness came to be. Who really knows how Mama and Papa Belvin's mild mannered good boy grew to be the champion of the potty mouth that you are reading about today? It may never be known how I went from Sunday school regular, to having my friends laugh on a family vacation whenever they'd see a hot girl, speculating about what dirty things I would say about her.

I might be exaggerating my offensiveness a bit. I mean it's not like talking to me ALWAYS involves a constant flow of 'cock' 'balls' and 'pussy farts'. Sometimes I can be deep. I can be sensitive. I just often choose not to be, but it's there. I promise.


Sometimes I feel the urge to rope it in a bit. The mouth ( my choice of language) sometimes gets out of hand. Take today for example-I was out running around with my aunt (who has a sense of humor that would make even Howard Stern speechless), with no supervision, in public. In other words, we were about to ruin the afternoons of the innocent.

Which is exactly what we did: We were in a Vons (like a Safeway in Ventura) balls deep into gross out mode. Somehow, I got stuck on the subject of Sodomy ( hands down winner of the Favorite Word Tournament of Death for October and November). Normal people understand that this is not appropriate conversation for your local supermarket. My aunt and I do not subscribe to this theory.

So there I was continuing a story where sodomy is the subject. I came to a part where the hero of the story (and a buddy of mine who will remain nameless) made the statement, " butt sex is the greatest thing God ever created." Now, what I failed to realize (and what makes this an actual story worth telling) was that an old lady was a couple yards a head of us in the aisle. As soon as I finished the quote, her head snapped around and gave me the fiercest, most laser burning glare you could ever imagine.

It was so intense that for the first time that I can recall I stopped, realized the subject matter was inappropriate for public, and for a second regretted telling it in the store. However, regret soon turned into unadulterated enjoyment. I turned around walked away. I lost control. I laughed so hard that it was silent. I couldn't stop. Before today that story was awesome. I loved to tell it. Now, thanks to the old lady that I pissed off, it is FREAKING LEGENDARY!

In retrospect, I probably should've saved a story with that juicy of a punch line for the car, or back at home. Jokes about sodomy are not for everyone. I know that. Especially most of the elderly. She was just a poor old lady who looked like she might've been old enough to own slaves. What I'm trying to say is: it's a good thing she probably won't be stumbling across the things that are soon to be written here.


So go ahead, call me crude. Tell me my jokes are tasteless. It doesn't really bother me. It's part of what makes me, me. That and my boyish good looks and relentless charm, of course.

Thankfully, some people understand where I'm coming from. Today I took my lap top into the can so I could watch Heroes while building a castle. Obviously I changed my facebook status to "Andrew is pooping". Surprisingly it didn't get the typical responses to that type of status update I was use to. In fact I only got one, coming courtesy of an old friend named Katie. Only one, but damn it was a goodie.

Katie said,"Andy Belvin I find your facebook status honesty extremely refreshing. Just imagine how many people would have the very same status if everyone stopped trying to look cooler than they are. Facebook would be littered with poop, napping, masturbation and eating statuses instead of Dane Cook jokes and Emo lyrics. You are my hero."

You see, there are SOME people who get me.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Finally, your inconsiderate ass will be judged for it's sins.

Tonight I was sitting around with my cousin, getting my ass beat in some Madden 08, when he ripped ass. He is 13, and it reeked of death. Now, do I find it interesting that this 13 year old boy deemed it appropriate to put the proverbial cherry on top of his victory by damn near shitting his pants in a well concealed room where I was the only other person in there? Hell no. I've executed that move many of times in my day. It was a mean thing to do, but I guess karma really is a bitch.
But there was something interesting that came from his action. It was what he did to announce the releasing of his ass gas that made me step back (ok, thats not entirely true. I was consumed a mushroom cloud of skunkness. Not good business). After he farted, he looked at me with a boyish grin and simply said, "safety." Huh?!?
Quickly, I have to point out a couple things before we continue. 1, he is 13, I am damn near 23. 2, I grew up in a little known town called White Salmon, which is located on the Columbia River in Washington. He is going to school in Ventura California. 
Now back to the importance of the six letters that followed his fart. When I was about his age, my buddies and I played a game where when you farted you were immediately supposed to follow it by saying "safety". If you didn't, and one of your buddies that were with you said "doorknob"  and he was allowed to beat the holy hell out of you until you reached a doorknob. Good times, and fun for the whole family this game was. Well, unless you were the poor bastard who ripped ass on the bus coming home from an away game. There are no door knobs on the freeway.
So when Eddie said safety to acknowledge that he had farted, I immediately had to clarify what he had said. He confirmed that him and his buddies play the game too.

WHAT?!!??! Up until now, I had always thought of that game being a White Salmon inside joke. My world was rocked. I had to get confirmation. I had to find out if this game was actually a universal right of passage. Kind of like a flatulent version of an Indian spirt quest.  They went to find their spirit animal so they could be a man. We fart and punch our way into man hood.
The first person I called was my buddy Robby, who grew up a little bit down the river from me.  That would be a decent control to this experiment. 
"Hey man, if I said 'safety' to you...what would that mean to you?" I asked. I didn't want to give him any ideas. If you played this game, you would know. This game is as memorable as those marathon games of Monopoly.
"Oh dude, that would mean you farted and I don't get to punch you." I was in absolute shock. I even called another buddy of mine from Oregon. He confirmed knowledge of the game and it's rules. Three States! This game was real!
I bet you are asking yourself, 'whats the big deal? Why is this dude so excited over this immature game?' And you know what? I'm glad you ask stupid questions, because I like answering stupid questions (and making this blog longer)! To put it simply, the reason I'm so excited is because this game is super awesome! Thats why!
It's good for hours of excitement. Think about it. It's hot day. Super hot, and you are on a road trip with your buddies. You got the radio cranked, the air conditioning flowing, and you are singing along like you are the second coming of Bradley Nowell or something. Thats when one of your buddies decides to rudely bust ass. It smells bad, like he shit his pants. To make things worse, it has joined forces with the air conditioning and now you have a mouth full of flatulence. 
Uh oh! Your buddy didn't call 'safety'. Being that the major rule of the game is to punish such a over sight, you call 'doorknob' (again,  in order for him to keep from getting his arm bruised up, he has to find a doorknob) but he is in a car. There are no doorknobs. Now you get to beat on him until he finds an acceptable piss stop. So not only do you get revenge for his foul play, but you get to take some good body punches on him. See my point? This is always good for solid 'B+' on the ol' fun scale.
If you don't see the fun in this, chances are you are a chick (and no one values your opinion) or you are fictional male that a chick made up to make an argument against the merits of this game. In English, EVERY ONE (who counts) WILL LOVE THIS GAME! Milton Bradley should've put a copyright on it when they had the chance. Snooze you loose bitch, enjoy coming up with your 90 million'th Monopoly game. 

The next day I couldn't wait to call one of my buddies who I grew up with. Rob ( not to be confused with Robby) was a legend at this game. Always aware of his surroundings to find the closest doorknob, and he had what should be described as a sixth sense for judging where a fart originated. I got my ass pounded on many a times by this all star. 
I had to tell Rob that this game was real.
"Bro, remember the doorknob game?" I asked after a solid 20 minutes of fantasy basketball talk.
"Yeah man," Rob replied. You could hear the obvious fondness for the old game.
"Did you know other people play that game?" I went on to tell him about my findings. About my cousin, and my buddies from other towns. He was obviously ecstatic. I told you, this game is special.
" Oh man. That game was fun. Why did we ever stop playing? We should bring it back." He said. And you know what? I totally agree. "Safety."