Mustaches Tee … ON TOP OF A VOLCANO.

Hell yes.

(My very belated entry to the Spring Break Photo Contest — I didn't get the pics from my dad until now.) I smell

Our Secret Blogs

Tom Day.

Sam Walker.

Max Kuehn.

Kurt Hukriede.

Josh Bundy.

Andrew Kubas.

He Was A Jukebox Hero

Only In Hong Kong...

we can rebuild him, make him better, stronger, faster...

This is my car. A Dodge Neon. Except, it's not mine. (And look at that hood! No scratch!)

I'm sorry, I don't have a current picture of my Neon. At least, not from the front side. Anyway, long ago I dubbed my car "The Scratched Up Lenny." It's quite a beautiful name. It goes 0-60 in 9.76 seconds. "The Scratched Up Lenny" has participated in 2 different drag races. (A story will now follow)

Many of you know I drive a bit...erratically. (Sometimes I get distracted by men with manly mustaches) It was Easter of 2005. Washington Street. Right next to the Dollar Store...going East. To my right: Jacob Folkeringa, in his pimped out Geo Prizm. I looked out my side door. Our eyes met. I pointed my finger straight ahead...and he knew IT WAS ON. The light...turned green. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I had made it to 5th Street (I think that's the name of the road) and was already turning when Jake finally caught up to me. The Neon won in a blowout.

So, well over a year later Jacob decides to show up at our band banquet. (Seriously, who does that?) We were headed to Tim Lange's grad party...but first...we had to pass a stoplight on South 6th Street.

Imagine: same scenario. Except different street. Jake has a different car. (A Saturn something-or-another) This time the Neon is carrying extra weight: Max Kuehn.

I look to my right. Jake and I lock eyes--and begin revvvving our engines. The light...turns green.

10 MPH...20MPH...30MPH...the two cars are neck-in-neck! Suddenly, as if propelled by sheer will, Allah, prayer, gasoline, oil, Italy, and the entire Mustache Nation alone, the Neon jumps to--50 MPH! Jacob became a speck in the distance. To add insult to injury, all Jake had to show for his depressing performance was a trail of black smoke from his exhaust pipe 1/4 mile long.

Jake, I have that awkward band-love for you, but seriously, the Neon just SMOKED you! I don't have any quality rear-end pictures of the Neon, but I can assure you (from Jake's standpoint) he saw something like this.

(Get it? No, really? All he saw...the BACK...of...my car! HAHAHA. Should I explain why that's funny?)

Buckminster Fuller Said, "Let There Be Peace," and there was peace.

In a sign of both friendship and racial tolerance somehow, I have returned all admin privileges (although Max and Kubas recieved theirs a few seconds after everyone else. I'm not that tolerant). I'm working on the Palestine-Israel conflict next.

MEN ONLY...and maybe lesbians

Okay guys, I was just checking out Fayna's great blog, looking for that "fucking coke" video (someone please find it for me. Is it on Sir Alex's or what?), when I came across this picture of the two HOTTEST women I have ever seen in my life - no lie. Sorry Fayna, I need to re-release it. I just can't resist stealing and posting wet, dark-eyed, dark-haired brazilian women with exotic, mysterious looks on their faces.

The Oath Of The Tennis Court

Mr. Bundy, I salute you. In the spirit of brotherhood (and because I need to get this damn treasure hunt together--Mattson, you lazy SOB, let's DO this!), I propose that all mustache contributors take the following pledge. Other, non-mustaches are welcome to join in, but we do need all the contributors. Just put your hand up to the screen and read the text aloud:

I, {state your name}, do hereby pledge that if and when Sam Walker gives back my Admin priviledges I will refrain from removing his or any other person's priveledges. Only after careful consideration (and with consultation with other blog contributors) will any person be removed as a contributor or administrator. While I reserve the right to be an asshole about stupid, petty crap, I promise not to allow that assholeness enter the blogger realm in any way (other than the occasional friendly burn), in particular the revocation of priveledges or editing of other contributor's posts or comments.

Please leave your name in the comments after you take the pledge.


P.S.: Dear Italians,
We have not been very good brothers to you for a time now. We have gotten so caught up in our own fighting (over the dumbest of things) that we have forgotten what an amazing group of Italian fellows we have for readers. We will try to remember you and post for you often. After this Friday (for I will be busy until then organizing an exciting scavenger hunt--watch here for details!), we will surely organize some more videos and parties for your enjoyment. Perhaps soccer can be a common link. Are you excited for the world cup to begin?

Still sorry,
The Mustache Nation

where is the love?

as things have become like world war III up in this bitch lately, i feel the need to mediate. what the hell is going on, guys? we used to be so happy, with our mustaches, italians, bread, and all of that. now some of us (as in kubas, max, kurt and sam) are angry and paranoid. i want two posts down below to start off the healing process- one with each side of the story. and lets use our grown-up voices. no more verbal attacks. physical attacks are fine with me, but if you're going to fight don't tear the blog apart. i would like to see an outcome where everyone has their privileges back, and no one has to worry about them being taken away.

something i know nothing about

everyone knows i'm a big time sports fan. but, similar to every american, i could care less about soccer. i'll admit: i was completely unaware that the world cup will take place in a few days. However, i'm always a pretty big fan of the non-stop soccer action, especially when the rest of the world goes crazy for the most popular sport.

so (being a sports fan) i just had to join yahoo's fantasy world cup challenge. apparently the american team (this year) is one of the best compared to recent years--we're ranked #5 in the world. (perhaps our italian friends can tell us whether or not these rankings are accurate)

so, here's to another year of sport, games, fun, and of course, mustaches! good luck, USA.

(Cory Gibbs)

(Clint Dempsey)

(Pablo Mastroeni)

Kim Jong Il? No, Worse.

In an earlier comment Max had noticed a striking simularity between Sam Walker and Kim Jong Il. I recently stumbled upon this picture of Sam that reveals an even more hideous side.

All Things To Everyone

So here's how saturated with liberal guilt I am: I was hosting at LLL tonight and I seated a couple with child. The guy was black. I sat them in the worse room, and when they asked if they could move to a better table, I told them that it was going to be used by a larger party, which I honestly thought was true. As it turned out, the larger party didn't need it, and 30 minutes later I was seating a different couple at the nicer table. Now, even though I really did believe the table was in use, and even though I only seated the later couple there because I had to, I still felt guilty. In the eyes of my paranoid, guilty liberal consience, I had denied a black man a better table, and given the table to an old whitey instead. What's worse, his wife was white; maybe I'm subconciously prejudiced against interracial marriage too.

TOTH to:
-WJJY for All fucking Eighties fucking Saturday fucking Night.

WOTF to:
-Hannah Burchill for not coming to work, so I had to cover her ass. WTF, Hannah. WTF.

If I were a mutant, I would either want to be:
A) Electro-Seismic Shock, with the power to create electric earthquakes. Electric earthquakes are like regular earthquakes, but with fucking lighting bolts all over the place. I would specialize in ground-pound attacks.

B) Chloroplast, with the ability to create my own food through photosynthesis. I'm not sure how I would use this to fight evil, but I think it would be pretty neat.

Brinksmanship Of Fools

Three things:

1. Sam Walker, you lack tact, diplomacy, and a sense of proportion. You have needlesly escalated this conflict from some friendly (at least from Kubas' end) screwing around to a full-scale anti-mustache barrage. To couch this in terms of Cold War nuclear strategy (an EXTREMELY appropriate metaphor), you've gone from fighting a proxy war in the Middle East to carpeting the globe in mushroom clouds. Rather than healing your divide (or at least continuing your small feud) privately, you have pissed off and alienated the entire mustache nation. This is no way to make friends.

2. After seeing X-Men 3 twice in 9 hours (midnight thursday, 9 pm friday), I have the following Tip of the Hat/Wag of the Finger (Note: Tip of the Hat/Wag of the Finger, or TOTH/WOTF, is a convenient tool with which to dispense your opinion, in a faux-assholesque, this-is-how-it-is manner, of the good and bad points of anything. It is a regular feature on Stephen Colbert's Colbert Report, and was converted to blog form by my cousin Amelia.).

TOTH to Wolverine, for delivering. Delivering what, you ask? Everything, I answer; Hack n' slash action, plenty of one-liners, and a passable rallying speech. Also, TOTH for the very nice ending scene, and the TOP SECRET BONUS scene after the credits. I don't want to ruin anything...

WOTF to Wolverine, for crying...twice!

3. A word on my workplace, the Lost Lake Lodge restaurant. I write here not to disparage it in any way (who knows who might be reading this...), but to point out how nice my job transition has been so far. I moved from dishwasher to host, and I'm already loving my new place in the "front of the house" (the dining room) far more than I ever enjoyed the "back of the house" (the kitchen). The dining room is cool, quiet, and pleasant. The kitchen is about 15 degrees warmer and way more damp, with the Power Loon blaring in the background. It's like everyone in the kitchen is engaging in mortal combat for the length of their shift. The cooks fight the stream of orders and the dishwashers battle the mounting piles of dishes. I would end each shift with new cuts and burns on my hands, a sweat soaked shirt, and a thick layer of grease on my glasses. If a knife fight were to break out in the kitchen, no one would bat an eye. Everyone would just heave a sigh of exhaustion, grab a towel and join the fray. Now, if a knife fight started in the dining room it would be a different story. I would have to walk up to the combatants and say "Excuse me, gentlemen, but would it be possible for you to continue your altercation in another location? We do have a combat arena, fully stocked with a wide array of destructive implements. Right this way, please."

Those Were the Good Old Days

Remember this.

The Manly Mustaches will be hosting another China Buffet extravaganza again this year. The last day of school we'll be heading over to China Buffet immediatly after school. Also, the last day of school we're encouraging everyone to wear their Mustache shirts.


Sam Walker is a Nazi.

what about the bread party?

Suckas

Sorry Kurt, but it was neccesary.

Knocks Me Off My Feet

I wasn't sure about this Taylor Hicks character for a while there. His initial audition was, eerily enough, the only one I saw (I'm not a real big American Idol fan, I swear), so I felt some sort of connection there. But he seemed old and odd looking; how could I trust such a funny looking mo-fo?

But then I saw the performance that will forever guarantee him a place in my heart, even as I ignore everything else he does and he gradually fades into obscurity. While fast-forwarding through a tape, looking for the "House" season finale (No, I don't TiVo. Asshole.), I came across an old American Idol performance. Curious, I decided to see what my old buddy Taylor was up to.

Sporting a hideous purple blazer, he started in the crowd and awkwardly danced his way up to the stage, herking and jerking this way and that, up and down steps, over to a wildly bouncing Paula, then back to the stage for the closer. I forgave all this because of his song choice: Living For the City by Stevie Wonder. Everybody go listen to that song, then picture a puffy, thirtysomething white-boy with silver hair wailing away on it: Aw, yeah.

Mr. Kubas: Assuming you are still alive and typing, I believe you requested to know what Stevie Wonder I have so we can compare, and hopefully complete, our collections. I own Innervisions, Songs in the Key of Life (disks 1 & 2), and Talking Book; 41 songs in all.

Quick, name the Stevie Wonder song that should be class song for the class of '07! I'm thinking "Black Man."

another year, another mustache

yesterday was a DAY OF CELEBRATION for the mustache community.

while some of you were celebrating the fact that i was sick, and thus not at school, others were celebrating the birthday of jeff kubas! (my dad)

i, however, had much difficulty choosing an appropriate present. what do you get for the man who has it "all"? like any genius 17-year-old, i asked many friends for their advice. the following are some unique responses.

Josh Bundy: "Buy him a whole shitload of porn. Seriously."
Sam Walker: "Buy him a slave."
Sam Walker 2 seconds later: "Ok, buy him some jelly."
Jeff Smith: "Buy him some porn."

While all of these were "thoughtful" ideas, none of them really worked. Then, as though God looked directly upon Andrew Kubas, the heavens parted, it began to rain, and Jesus himself declared, "You really suck at this!"

I went into Best Buy. Less than 2 minutes later, I was out. I'm such a great son!

Happy birthday!

Out of NOWHERE

ok, sorry fellas, it's been a while since i've contributed, but i feel the need to tell you all something about max kuehn. it would be impossible to capture the mood and atmosphere of the situation in mere writing, but i'll make an attempt because i owe it to the world. first, a little background info. We were all at the Holbrooks' estate, for a nice, final evening we call the tennis get-together. there was food, some awards, volleyball....and DEATH. reader disrection is advised as you'll see a side of max you've NEVER seen before. as you may have read, i've appointed him as enforcer of the tennis team next year, because of this sole act of wanton punishment (in a good way, of course) -

"AAAEEEIGHEIEIHG," out of the hot, soggy afternoon breeze comes a bone-chilling plea for help. a little freshmen rolls serenely off the Holbrooks' dock into the brisk water with a plump. a group of tennis players rejoice not far away on the beach.

"SSSTTTOOOOPPPPP!!!!" out of the hotter, soggier evening breeze comes a frantic, dare i say girlish squeal for assistance. a larger freshmen rolls off the dock in the considerably cooler water with a splash. a larger group of tennis players rejoice.

"...silence." Not a soul dares breathe, in the suspense of the third lake-dropping of the evening. In the aftermath, a weary, depressed freshmen stands up from the lake, dripping with water - nay, dripping with fear. AND THEN THERE WAS MAX. A ballistic missile of pain and anguish sporting glasses careens off the shore into the water. we could all smell the fear of the freshmen. we could TASTE the fear of the freshmen. and then it was all over. A picture-perfect tackling job worthy of ray lewis sends this poor, pathetic freshmen back into the water for another dip. the kamakazi stands up from the water slowly, dramatically(rambo eat your heart out), with what could only be nc-17 rated satisfaction playing across his person; his arms raising the roof, a battle cry sputtering from his hungry lips. only one man could be so cold, so utterly DEVIOUS.

AND THEN THERE WAS THE ENFORCER. my choice as enforcer for the next tennis season is obvious. i had never seen such heart, such DESIRE in a man's eyes. and believe me, this freshmen was PISSED. but max, hold your head up high, you did the right thing, and he'll forget about it. we all took our shots as freshmen. so, with no further ado, Max, i must give you congrats on your new position. i trust you will treat it with the care and respect the enforcer must. i also must ask that you apoint kubas to second enforcer. it makes me sick to think of you two in action next year; it makes me sick in the way i've never been sick before. it makes me even more sick to think of what terror you guys will instill in the hearts of underclassmen everywhere when we bust out "Uncle Bundy's Jungle Juice" for the both of you ('roids, obviously). good luck, and good night.

holy poop (HAHAHA....get it?)

well, i am tragically afflicted with food poisoning.

my license describes me as "5' 2", 130 lbs."

keep in mind--that license--2 years old. i scaled in today at 118. so if i die in the next day or so, all my possessions should be sold...and the cash given directly to the mustache charity of the month.

I've Reached The Sneaking Point

God closing the door: Five band officers were announced today, and I wasn't any of them. Weaksauce, man, friggin weaksauce. Andrew Kubas as president is fine by me, though; I'm going to learn to play "Hail To The Chief" and f0llow him around with a valve trombone. Also, every day before band I'll walk into the band room and say "Mr. Melby, the President of the Symphonic Band!"

God opening the window: as the tennis banquet drew to a close, I assisted in snagging three freshmen for a ceremonial lake dunking. When one squirmed away and hopped into the shallows to make his getaway, I heroically (if I do say so myself) leapt from the dock, wrapped him up, and took him down with me into the water. Afterwards, new tennis captain Bundy appointed me enforcer for next year. Oh man, I'm going to go so Solid Snake on those little freshmen. My motto: Watch your back!

In video game news: Right now, I'm thinking Metal Gear Solid has overtaken Halo as my favorite virtual reality franchise. This is probably mostly due to the fact that I have yet to thoroughly play the living hell out of Metal Gear (something I cannot say for Halo), but I think there are more subtle factors influencing this change of hands. As badass as Master Chief is, he's sort of distant and untouchable; his constant frontal assaults are fine for a super-soldier, but tend to be a little harder on mere humans during reenactments. Solid Snake, on the other hand, manages to be utterly hardcore while also remaining within human bounds. Master Chief needs an energy shield and an array of weaponary to fight his war; Snake just needs a light touch and good timing. In conclusion, Solid Snake is my new hero. I'm going to be wearing a lot more black stocking caps and peeking around every corner I come to. Halo 3 might turn me around, but for now (as mentioned earlier): Watch your back!

P.S.:I'm thinking we need a copy of this Onion article framed at Lost Lake Lodge (my workplace). Best line: "I understand they're only human, and humans, especially women, make mistakes."

Power To Burn

Nuclear Balloon Era

I was walking my dogs today, listening to my iPod on shuffle when a very interesting song came up on the shuffle: Emu In The Morning, with very young Kurt Hukriede on vocals. My thoughts immediately turned to those magical few years in which I was a member of a promising new rap/spoken word band:the Nuclear Balloon Arrows.

In sixth grade at Mississippi Horizons, Kurt, Josh Johnson, and myself decided to start a band. I suggested "Nuclear Balloon Era," inspired by a recent Popular Mechanics article (shut up), but Johnson decided to pretend to mishear me and instead christened the band "Nuclear Balloon Arrows." As we prepared material for our first album, Johnson decided to leave the band, citing creative differences. So, the first album, Nuclear Balloon Era, consists of kurt and I sqeaking through 20 minutes worth of freestyle rap and some priceless skits.

Johnson, impressed at our first effort, decided to rejoin the band. He promptly quit again just in time for the production of the second album, Power To Burn. Once again, Kurt and I went solo through a half-hour of solid audio gold.

With contributions from Johnson, Josh Ellens, Jeff Shutey, and Sam Walker, Kurt and I eventually went on to record Return of the Cronson (Johnson's comeback record), Twilight Tacos (our Taco John's themed Halloween special), Granted (our oddly inspired tribute to Chet Stevenson's life lessons) and finally our Greatest Hits album. Our interests gradually meandered from emus and Kurt's dog Hank to a major obsession with our teachers at Missy Ho. Kurt and I even made a spin-off album of the Cafe Coranaries, our imaginary band consisting of Chet on lead vocals, Bob Brakke on keyboards, Eddinger on drums, and Glen Belgum on guitar. Yeah, we had a problem; but that was possibly our best album.

A lot of it was crap, but I'm proud of the fact that we made four albums, over 50 songs, and probably about 25 minutes worth of entertaining audio, all with zero musical talent.

Oh, and we're planning a sweet treasure hunt for Friday, June 2nd. Ask Mattson or Pammy or me about it tommorow.

yeah tennis

well, today i transformed my life and became "mini houle." i felt so freaking smart having the name "houle" on the back of my t-shirt.

despite a heavy battle against food poisoning, bundy and i won our "exhibition match" and then i called it quits.

brainerd beat bemidji 1st round 5-2 (for those interested)

2nd round we lost to alexandria (big surprise) 6-1.

good luck to all at individuals!

-----------------------------

on a different note, did anyone go to the debate banquet? i was wondering what went down...

Deep Subject

In today's strip, Beetle Bailey goes a long way towards cementing its reputation as the finest comic in the newspaper. You may need to open it in a seperate window to see it properly.

So for starters, we have 5, count em' 5, straight one-liners from that ever-hilarious idiot, Zero. In a typical strip, any one of those could have been the punch line. The fourth panel is my favorite; as if the "bend over" command weren't blunt enough, the doctor is actually pulling on a big rubber glove over his stubby, poorly-drawn hand.

But the final panel is the real reason Greg and Mort are still the champs (Wait, it takes two people to draw this strip? And they have the same last name? What are they, gay?). Not only does Zero deliver his unintentionally ironic but zanily hilarious final comment ("I think he needs to see a doctor." And he's a doctor! Get it?), but the good doctor himself can be seen in his office, GUZZLING DOWN AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF WHISKEY.

I seriously did a double take the first time I saw that. I thought "Wow, what a HILARIOUS joke about alcoholism!" But then I realized: maybe the doctor is not a habitual drinker. Perhaps it was just the gnawing, maddeningly persistent stupidity of our man Zero that drove the doctor to the bottle. Rather than banging his head against a table or burying his head in his hands (both classic cartoon character signs of exasperation), he has decided to DROWN HIS FRUSTRATION IN THE DEMON-RUM.

I guess this could be worse. The doctor could be shooting up heroin, or popping some self-prescribed pain pills, or cutting himself. Hell, that probably would have been a more realistic depiction of how the doctor would deal with his problems. But the whiskey bottle is the first place Greg and Mort go. Perhaps there is a deeper meaning to be found here.

Maybe the doctor represents Greg and Mort, and they are examining their own intractably stupid creation, the Beetle Bailey comic strip, appropriately represented here by Zero. At the end of their evaluation, they find it (and by extension themselves), fatally lacking. Rather than confronting and mercifully destroying their creation, they decide to keep fooling themselves and settle back for a long evening of drinking alone in the office.

You think that was reading too much into a Beetle Bailey strip? Wait until I get to Dennis the Menace.

i so just won $16

Say hello to Bernardini. (is that italian?)

My friends and I always bet on the triple crown...we're horseracing fanatics. (Yet we know nothing about horseracing) I saw the name--and knew it was destiny. I think I need to take the entire Monstars team out for dinner.

i can't count that high

Crack open the champagne!

This is kind of what it looked like.

Man, we've had way too many posts for one day.

Thank You (Falletinmi Be Mice Elf Agin)

I found a random C.D. on my desk, so I put it in the computer and started listening to it. I immediately regretted it. The speed and power of the songs overwhelmed me. It was just one instant classic after another; I never got a chance to catch my breath. It was like hearing God speak for 1.1 hours. What is the name, you ask, of this unstoppable disk of divine light? Why, the Manly Mixtape of course.

Seriously, how bitchin' is this album? I know Showstopper whiners will complain about how they had a mixtape first, but the manly mixtape is waaay better (although it doesn't have White Houses). Highlights include:
-The Final Countdown (I'm a little worried about the graduation performance. Pelkey will be solid, but who will man the synth?)
-Everybody Get Up (by the unreal boy band/ rap group Five)
-Di Oh Nay! (the japanses rap classic heard on the menus of I Shall Avenge My Uncle)
-Sweet Georgia Brown (Globetrotters special edition)

P.S.: I have a plan for next year's Lip-Synch. Picture this: I'm sitting at my piano (a synth, set up on a low stand so the crowd can see me), someone on the trap set, and a third on the cello. Dark stage. Suddenly, a single spot comes in on me. A few wisps of fog across the stage. I start into Vanessa Carleton's "White Houses" and don't stop until the crowd is on it's feet.

P.P.S.: When should we present Lade with his painting? I'm thinking this Friday. Should 5th hour be included, or screw them? I'm feeling screw them right now, but we'll see.

P.P.P.S.:Today I became a National Merit semi-finalist. I guess a 232 PSAT was enough...

a tennis story to last for generations

if you haven't been blown away by the latest trend sweeping BHS...i'll keep you up-to-date.

josiah collins wants to make a pro-war float for the 4th of july parade. he's trying to get as many students involved as possible.

josiah made a schedule/list of items that he needs. his ultimate goal goes something like this: (remember, as founders of The Bread Party we neither support nor oppose his decisions...this is not for political controversy)

He wants to "rent" an army tank...have it driving down the street...while towing "enemies of freedom" in a cage...and freeing "soldiers" at the same time.

So first item on the agenda: find a tank.

I used bundy's cell phone...dialed 411...and tried to get the number for camp ripley. it seriously took 10 minutes...the automated system didn't work and they had to hook me up to a live operator. even he had trouble finding the telephone number for the base. BUT, after precious minutes had wasted away, we received the number at last!

Finally, it was up to Josiah to call up the base and ask for the use of a tank. The conversation went something like this:

Josiah: "Hello?"
(Camp Ripley Secretary babbling...)
Josiah: "Yes, I'm having a float in the 4th of July parade, and I was wondering if I could borrow a tank."
(Camp Ripley Secretary talking...)
Josiah: "Uh huh. Well, what if you have someone drive the tank for us?"
Camp Ripley Secretary: "I'm sorry. That sort of thing just doesn't happen."
[End of conversation]

so much culture down there

yesterday...boys tennis had a game at st. cloud tech. upon touring the school, we came across the most fascinating poster. (too bad i can't find it on google images!)

the poster went something like this:

[Top] "The Definition of Fairness"

[In a smaller box] "Fairness is getting what you deserve."

[Below the definition...a picture]

A young boy...we'll say anywhere from 10-12 years old was standing upright. Whilst standing, he was being struck by lightning.

[End of poster]

Looks Like The Streets Of Miami Just Got A Whole Lot More Dangerous

I've put this off long enough:

There are many people who claim that 24 (or any other show for that matter) is the most rocking show on TV, and that Jack Bauer (stupid name) is their hero. These people are at best willfully ignorant, at worst mean-spirited and deceptive. Anyone who knows anything knows the best show and character on TV are found only on NBC, Mondays at 9 p.m.: CSI: Miami, and Horatio Caine.

For more about the show, click here for friendly (if thouroughly outdated) Canadian information.

Now, on to the important part: Horatio Caine, played by the transcendental David Caruso. He is the no-nonsense, straight-talking, indefatigable chief of the Miami crime scene investigation dept, and the most hardcore manly man on the small screen.

Seriously, this guy is the biggest bad-ass since Slim Pickens shot a baby in its crib. He may be a mere crime scene investigator, called to the scene only after the crime has been committed, but that doesn't stop him from shooting, on average, at least one crook every week. I don't care if they've got a sniper rifle, an AK-47, or an Uzi, Horatio (or "H," as his faithful CSIs call him) is coming at them, armed with only his sidearm and sense of justice.

As exciting as his action scenes are, it is Horatio's dramatic mannerisms and one-liners that make this show what it is. Every show opens with a murder (usually in a thumping Miami nightclub), then cuts to Horatio investigating the scene, talking with an assistant. Just before the credits kick in, H puts on his sunglasses and says something like "Looks like the streets of Miami just got a whole lot more dangerous" or (in the case of an assasination attempt on a popular rapper) "Looks like he's going to be number 1...with a bullet." Donning and removing of sunglasses is vital to Caruso's delivery, as are his constant akimbo (hands on hips) stances and habit of showing up just when the crook least expects it; for example: appearing in their rear-view mirror just as they close the car door.

I'll leave you with a final slice of Horatio: an armed member of a hispanic gang Horatio recently challenged tells H "You're dead, man!" and moves to raise his gun. H blows him away point blank and says "Join the club."

Goddamn.

have you ever seen a gopher go fer another gopher's gopher hole?

here's the manly mustache challenge of the day:

try saying the word "toyboat" out loud ten times fast.

seriously. it's impossible.

can you see him in the day? how 'bout the night?

Tra La La! Behold! A birthday cake! Not just any birthday cake! A cake fit for a mustache king!

Let's celebrate, folks! Today, we're participating in a festival...our three month anniversary! That's right, our baby blog can now hold up it's own head...drool...poop...and that's pretty much it.

I call mustache.

I'm Addicted To Ragahol

For the next couple of weeks, I'm going to be caught in a sort of limbo between school and work, where A.P. tests are done, but work hours have yet to get crazy. So I'm not just killing time; I'm engaging in wholesale, wanton time slaughter. I hope my supplies last the fortnight. I have a fun new book about probability (Yeah, it's nerdy. Screw off.) called "Chances Are...", an incredibly difficult video game (Metal Gear), and, of course, this blog. So you can expect all sorts of fun posts, on subjects like this:

So I was shoe shopping the other day when I noticed that a certain shoe company has given names to all of its shoes. Not just like "A5443SP" or "Maverick" or "Triple Play;" no, these were proper male first names. The names seemed tailored to match each shoe's individual personality. My favorites included Will the easygoing deck shoe, Todd the practical, down-to-earth boot, Sheldon the scholarly loafer, and Gabriel the defiantly unorthodox cross-over sneaker. Too bad they didn't have a Maxwell or I would have been forced to buy it. I'm not sure what sort of shoe a Maxwell would be. Probably a forest green felt slipper with a rubber tread bottom. What sort of shoe would (your name here) be? Girls can participate too, if they HAVE to.

Newspaper highlights today:

1. A Vox Pop letter reproduced here for your enjoyment--

Sudoku
Sudoku rules.

I think I'm going to write in "Metallica Rules!!!" and see if that makes it.

2. This rather exciting panel in the otherwise incurably dull comic strip "One Big Happy." Are the birds laying eggs or pooping? And what kind of zombie says "I AM ALL-POWERFUL"?

Dear Mothers

Happy Mother's Day.

We love you for not having a mustache.

hey! check out the fish i caught

Front View

Side View--Just look at that sideburn!

Man, this guy is clearly manly. I can't wait to eat him. I call mustache! Yum.

he who stands on toilet, high on pot

ok.

max kind of hinted that our blog needs to be a bit more "manly." i thought i was on the right track whilst sipping my tea, writing poetry, and taking heartfelt advice from oprah...but i guess my "wheels fell off" (dear hewitt: aren't you proud?) Anyway, max and tay have been exchanging verbal altercations during 6th hour for a few weeks now...so,

HYPOTHETICALLY speaking,

if max and tay got into an all out brawl, who would win?

if it takes jim 3 hours to paint a house, and bill 80 minutes to paint the same house, is tay still wearing dartmouth pants?

ok, here's an andrew kubas adventure. google images. "dartmouth mustache."


I think we need to start a kid c caption contest for this one. winner gets +15 points.

Speling Maens Evrything

Well, as I sat in the media center, doing nothing of course, I decided to link to the greatest blog in the world. I have been trying to practice speed typing, because that is what everyone does, and I ended up spelling blogspot without the "s." This is where one simple deletion leads you.

I Know This Much Is True

It's about time we got some more manly content on this blog. Especially TRUE manly content.

Good Sam Walker story:
So Sam Walker is this weird guy with fancy watches in my grade who likes this girl Tara, right? Except he won't admit it, except kind of, and we give him endless crap about it. Sam's in German, and so is Tara, and so am I. My class (3rd year) had to write "Dear Abby" style letters to the AP class, taking on a persona and asking for advice on an imaginary problem, all in German. I forgot to do mine, so when I realized that I had to write something, I channled Sam Walker and wrote a letter detailing my love for a hypothetical maiden (called "Tara" in the letter), and her persistent snubbing of my advances in spite of my technically superior watches. Pure divine inspiration hit me like a beam of light from an allegorical crack in the casing of God's tanning booth. It is He, not me, that is lyrical. I'm just a heaven sent instrument. And yes, those past two sentences were Kanye West lyrics.

Sam Walker has found me out. Now the fun begins.

Max

We need to have a talk. About our friend Joachim.

Hey Art History Suckas

That cup is surrealist not dada.

hahhaha.

Let's Pretend We're Bunny Rabbits

Today’s Brainerd Daily Dispatch highlight:


I wish I could get involved with this “meth business.” It sounds like the hot new thing.


Big win at tennis today. I beat a Fergus Falls otter 6-2. He got more and more frustrated and worse and worse as the match progressed. I think he almost had a Mighty Ducks turn-around moment in the last game when he removed and disdainfully threw away his baseball cap. He's mad as hell and he's not going to take it anymore! Except then he hit four straight balls out of bounds to seal the match.

mustache poem

there once was a boy named kubas,
who wanted to know what "baffi" was.

so he searched and searched,
and googled all day,
until he discovered
blogging was the only way.

so he met up with 5 friends,
and they talked and talked.
they created a mustache palace,
where millions go in and walk.

then one day,
an italian dropped by.
after declaring max as "magic,"
they often typed a "hi."

a friendship was born
and continues to last,
spanning lakes, mountains,
ocean and grass.

----------------

soon after,
as the story goes,
a baffi was born,
right under his nose.

9000 hits later,
and 164 posts,
only mustaches
keep offering the most.

who would have known?
6 men could give birth-
to quite easily,
the greatest show on earth.

OH MAN! MAX! INSIDE JOKE!

this afternoon i was talking with robbinho and fayna, and we suggested having an american-italian-mustache party.

they said "iceland would be a middle way."

HOLY POOP! HAHAHAHAHAHFADHFHADSHADSFLHAHAHAHAHADSHAHAHAHAH

The Time Is Now

Three things:

1. What happened to the link to Pizza and Mandolins? I can't find it anywhere. None of the Italians seem to link to it either. Has it been, like Casa Siry once was, lost into the blogging void?

2. Anyone who wants a copy of "The Temptation Of Saint Anthony" just needs to buy a canvas from Downtown Art And Frame (check the phonebook, I'm lazy) and give it to me. I still have lots of paint and tape left (thank you cameron), so all you need is a canvas (the original is 24 X 36, but yours can be any size you want) and a splash of my visionary talent to have a masterwork of your very own. Canvas only, please; I'm not wasting this stuff on lesser materials. If some of you deadbeats want to pool to get me a canvas, I'll consider all debts repaid. I'm getting used to having this thing around...

3. People should share their thoughts on this post. It got lost in the unstoppable torrent of posts on this blog, and I think it deserves more discussion.

dear blogosphere

i am blogging illiterate.

is there any possible way we can put music on our blog?

much love.

Midland City Masterpiece

$27 of Max's money later, here it is. I hereby declare it perfect in every way. If anybody disagrees, I'll sick Ariel on you. We still need to figure out how to get the silly title (The Temptation of Saint Anthony) on. Does anyone know where we could get one of those little brass museum label things? And Sam, figure out those quotes already. Hey, who wants to reimburse Max and get some credit for this work?

When commenting, recall that this was a group venture. All the good stuff was me; anything else was probably Sam. If anyone wants to visit it, it'll be in my room, bathing me in its pure art-ness. Remember, this is top secret for Lade; nobody spill the beans, capiche?

I Stood Up, And I Said Yeah

So I was listening to Flaming Lips the other day while mowing the lawn, and my thoughts drifted naturally to Harry Potter. More specifically, to a plan for a Harry Potter personality test. Not the kind of test where you add up points at the end and find if you're a "Harry" or a "Hagrid" or whatever. Just a little introspection game. It has three questions; I'll give a little background for all the awesome Italians/ weirdo Americans who haven't read Harry Potter. Feel free to give explanations, or not.

1.What would your Patronus be?
(A Patronus is an animal made of silvery light, used to ward off evil beings called Dementors. It may be a strong, beautiful, or whatever. A wizerd's Patronus often subtly matches some aspect of his or her personality. Harry's is a stag, Hermione's is an otter, and Cho's is a swan.)

2. If you had a Hocrux, what would it be?
(A Hocrux is an object (or pet) in which you can store a portion of your soul. In the event that your body is destroyed, a section of your soul will survive (this is how Voldemort stayed alive). A Hocrux may be a highly valued, symbolic, easily hidden, or none of the above.)

3. (a) What would a Boggart turn into for you?
(b) How would you make it funny?
(A Boggart is a creature that lives in dark closets and dressers. When it confronts a person, it assumes the form of that person's worst fear. The key to defeating a Boggart is to think of a way to make your fear funny. For example, an intimidating male professor is dressed in silly women's clothing, a huge spider slips on roller skates, or a mummy trips over its own wrappings.)

My results:
1. Probably a big black panther. Panthers rock hardcore.
2. My belt buckle. It's close at hand, and I always wear the same belt.
3. A zombie of someone I knew. Zombies freak me out anyways, and it would be super sad if it was somebody I cared about and they were a zombie, you know? I honestly can't think of a way to make this one funny. Suggestions?

if a man talks in the middle of the woods, and no one is around to hear him, is he still wrong?

deep thoughts.

so, about a month ago max told me to "continue the tradition" of finding a profile on the blogosphere that matched up with mine. at long last (and long overdue) here we go.

His profile is here.

His blog is pretty old, and not really worth reading. +10 bonus points to anyone who can spot what it was that we matched up.
---------------------------------------------------

So tonight, as is tradition with my friends, we watched the Kentucky Derby...and of course bet on it. Being the horseracing GENIUS among the group, I chose the slight underdog Bob and John to become victorious. He finished 17th out of 20.

After the derby, Tom Hennen, Tom "All Day" Day, The Moose, (Corey Hermanson) Nick Anderson and myself all went out to eat at Pizza Hut.

We enjoyed some lovely buffalo wings, canadian bacon and pepperoni pizza. Then, we went bowling. In about the 3rd frame of bowling all 5 of our stomachs were churning...and bubbling...and growling...and exploding. I legitimately lost 5 pounds. At the bowling alley. ew.

All 5 of us left with a sick feeling. Moral of the story: Don't eat at pizza hut.

hey look what i found!

yup. that's ms. stanek's blogspot profile. don't ask how, just bow down and worship me.

how much deeper would the ocean be if there were no sponges?

deep thoughts.

so my parentals and sister are both on vacation. which means empty house. and a root beer kegger.

but seriously, i've been "rough-housing" it for andrew kubas terms. and the reason for this post: the most amazing grilled cheese sandwich God hath created. (yes, king james talk for you)

imagine...the perfect slice of bread. with a perfect...square piece of kraft cheese. now...envision bacon bits. with cajun seasoning. and to top it off? a lightly poured A1 sauce (obviously) in the interior.

man, even blong couldn't create an equation for this! aside from being a professional chef, i'm going to contend (pelkey slang) that in the kitchen, i'm amazing.

Mohammed Superstar

So I was singing with Josiah at tennis today (because that's what we Brainerd Warriors do at tennis meets: we sing), and lil' Will Henningson asked us what we're singing. "Why, Jesus Christ Superstar," we replied. Will gave us a "Whaaaaaaaa?!?" look, and his incredulity only increased as we explained that is was a rock-opera about the last days of Jesus Christ. I sang a few parts (okay, a lot of them), and he had nothing to do but laugh. He asked us if it was a comedy, and I told him "No, it's a tragedy. He DIES in the end."

He honestly thought we were joking. To him, it was absolutely inconcievable that Jesus could ever be anything as accesible and trivial as a subject for a musical. His hard-wired Christian mind was blown by the idea. He couldn't see how anyone would have the gall to play Jesus Christ in any setting other than "The Passion of the Christ," much less a rock-opera.

My aunt (a rehersal pianist for the CLC production) had described this "reverse generation gap" to me before, but I had never really seen it in action. Perhaps Will is just an exceptionally devout young man, but I worry that this is a wider trend. Jesus becomes too remote, too untouchable, and pretty soon he's our Mohammed and we're banning political cartoons. Ugh.

So everybody just listen to some JC Superstar and keep an open mind, okay? Okay.

Updated Video

You can view the higher-quality, google video of the Italian Party Here.

My Dissenting opinion

"I now give you my word of honor," he went on, "that the picture your city owns shows everything about life which truly matters, with nothing left out. It is a picture of the awareness of every animal. It is the immaterial core of every animal—the 'I am' to which all messages are sent.. It is all that is alive in any of us—in a mouse, in a deer, in a cocktail waitress. It is unwavering and pure, no matter what preposterous adventure may befall us. A sacred picture of Saint Anthony alone is one vertical, unwavering band of light. If a cockroach were ear him, or a cocktail waitress, the picture would show two such bands of light. Our awareness is all that is alive and maybe sacred in any of us. Everything else about us is dead machinery."

This is the passage I said should be included with the art piece for Mr. Lade, alongside the one you posted earlier, Max. There is also another paragraph after it which should maybe be included as well, but this is the important part.

And, Max, I still don't belive that this passage is meant simply to show how modern artists trick people, or whatever you said. I believe it is sincere, as evidenced by the start of the chapter immediately following this speech, which begins with the narrator saying "While my life was being renewed by [the artist] Rabo Karabeikan…"

Also, if you read about his work, it is obvious that Karabeikan is based on real-life minimalist artist Barnett Newman, who is covered in the last chapter of the art history book.

A Quick One While He's Away

I realize this is two posts in a single night, but I have to act on this idea before I lose it.

I've recently come to realize that some people I know are chillingly similar to Harry Potter's father's group of friends: Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs. Each of these real people share irrefuatble similarities with one character, and the full stories of their fictional counterparts suggest what the future may hold for each .

Johnny V=James Potter
Evidence: Eternally unkempt black hair, clever but not too clever, prideful
This suggests: He will father a hero for the next generation.

Josh Mattson=Sirius Black
Evidence: Always hanging around with James (John), real ladies man, has a bit of an edge to him
This suggests: He will be unjustly accused of the murder of 13 people.

Jason Houle=Remus Lupin
Evidence: More responsible than the other two, half-heartedly tries to keep them in line, still a loyal friend
This suggests: He is actually a werewolf.

Sam Walker=Peter Pettigrew
Evidence: Always trailing after James and Sirius (John and Josh), can be accurately described as "a little lump of a boy"
This suggests: He will one day betray us all.

Coincidence? I think not.

I Never Meant To Cause You Any Sorrow

Warning: Self-aggrandizing anecdote to follow.

I know everyone is probably more interested in the Tay story over at capstar, but I have one of my own. It involves a huge burn I had on him in Lit today. This is a big deal; I only get 3 or 4 of them a week.

So the entire class is working quietly on some thesis statements or whatever when Tay loudly announces some unsolicitated opinion. Logan gave a smart-ass reply, prompting Tay say, roughly: Blah blah blahddy blah blah You say po-tay-toe, I say po-tah-toe Blah blah blah.

He quickly turned his aim onto Hewitt, asking a few HILARIOUSLY rhetorical questions, then pausing to laugh at his own cleverness. I chose (if you don't mind me saying) the perfect moment to inject this little comment, in an exasperated tone, just loud enough to be heard clearly.

Me: Tay, here's an idea. I say po-tay-toe, and then you don't say anything at all.

It brought down the house. Laughter and applause from all corners. Seriously, people were clapping. Shouting in the streets, dancing on Goliath's grave. You get the picture. Hewitt actually told me to "stop being so funny." Then, everyone sort of quieted down, even Tay, and we had a peaceful rest of the hour.

And that's why Max deserves BOTH Most Likely to Succeed AND Quickest Wit.

126

yup, i know i'm pretty busy. but today i decided to "reflect" upon how much time i have missed from school. the final tally?

126 hours. on 38 different days.

sure, this isn't as bad as tay. or jen den. but this is KUBAS.

now your life is much better. i spent the majority of my homework last night listening to the italian national anthem (over...and over...) and now it has been stuck in my head all day. it's the greatest anthem God has created!

guess where we are

First off, thanks to our lovely friends at ontherunfromcanada, we have obtained this picture.

So, here's our Mustache 1st Hour Contest of the Month! Who is this?

(BIG CLUE: We're with him right now in 1st hour)

Italian Party

Sing Out For Yourselves

A quick update on the A.P. Art History project plan:

As I first proposed here, this idea consists of a Rothko-esque image inspired by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.'s Breakfast Of Champions. Very simple and easy to make, but still, hopefully, aesthetically pleasing and at least somewhat clever.

I realize that not everyone was involved in the formulation of this plan, but someone needed to start it. The situation called for decisive leadership, okay? You don't change horses in the middle of the stream. But I'm very open to suggestions.

How big should it be? Frame or no frame? Is this for both classes or just 3rd hour? Should it have a quote? Signatures? If so, where? All I'm really set on is that it has to be a rectangle of avacado green with a strip of day-glo orange tape down one edge, and it should be titled The Temptation Of Saint Anthony. Could we get one of those little brass museum label things for it?

Is anybody really excited about actually creating this thing? Because if not, I can just do it this weekend. Not to dis modern art or anything, but even I can handle this painting.

But I don't want to deal with t-shirts. Mattson, Johnny or whoever can do that. Male-dominance with that bad-ass Herakles or whatever.