Posts Tagged ‘Mormons’

2012-4: The 99% Avoidance Weekend

Wednesday, January 11th, 2012

Remember when I recently told you I was going to Utah? The trip went off, as was expected. The snow cover was thin and snowsharks were feeding. One of the crewmembers had his base bitten, but for the most part we made it out unscathed. But enough of the overview, lets get into the facts.

Friday:

  • Arrive at the the aeropuerto at 6am, check-in and stand in the security line for 55 minutes. Explain to security why I am carrying two microphones, a grip of wires and an envelope that read “Dossier: SLC—99% Avoidance Weekend”.
  • Immediately miss my flight.
  • Get on a flight to Baltimore, which is a route I have never considered whenst traveling to Utah.
  • Miss planned layover meet-up with Sister Figure #2.
  • Arrive in Salt Lake City. Stand outside waiting for Mofaniel for 45 minutes. Assuming that every person who walks by is LDS, I hold tight to my wallet.
  • Go to In and Out Burger. Animal Style the fuck out of everything.
  • Decide Animal Style isn’t my bag.
  • Moefaniel gets us lost.
  • Arrive at the Park City HQ after dark and have drinks.
  • Take three runs at PCMR and call it a successful day.
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  • Mofaniel claims he has some magical spell to turn people into living room furniture.
  • Go to a bar that is hosting an 80s party, Assume this is what skiers are like at all times.
  • Go to another bar and misidentify a Mother Love Bone song as a Mad Season song. Talk about what a great bassist Chris Cornell was before his
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  • Walk home and go to sleep on a couch. Proper vacation style.

Saturday:

  • Wake up convinced there is dynamite in my brain.
  • Check my wallet to be sure the LDSers hadn’t gotten a hold of it.
  • Stretch for like 5 seconds and get dressed to ride snowboards.
  • Travel to The Canyons and ride snowboards.
  • Do a jump.
  • Think about what hurts worse, my head or my right hip/ass region, which I jacked up a few weeks ago.
  • Throw a handful of pills down my throat
  • Drink whisky.
  • Head to Banditos and met A Love aka The End Zed. He does not speak as oddly as I had hoped. Go home.
  • Consider going to strip club but figure the garments would ruin everything.
  • Achieve a respectable amount of sleep in a bed with a short, bald man.

Sunday:

  • Arise walk to the coffee shop, where I buy coffee only for myself, neglecting the other 6 people staying in the condo.
  • Head back to The Canyons and meet up with End Zed and his dude Jason who can rips some shits and has a thing for needles.
  • Ride park all damn day with this dude:

  • Had a very tasty bowl of chili for lunch before going back out and regretting the tasty bowl of chili.
  • Ran a suitcase method train at the end of the day.
  • Ride home in this car:

  • Which seems to have a tendency to run over cones in parking lots and pumping some Meredith Brooks. You know the track.

Sunday night:

  • Head to Baja Cantina where Rachel is our server. Order like 25-30 sugar-loaded margaritas. At some point over the hour we were there, we found out that Rachel was Park City born and raised and had never once seen a poor person. She tried to defend herself by claiming that her family had lived in Park City for like 150 years. This had me convinced she was the scion of a fringe LDS family and only after my wallet. I openly accuse her of this.
  • Run out of the bar to vomit out some sugar. I do this in front of a women with like 8 kids. She seemed really unimpressed. I could tell by the way she looked at me so disapprovingly and thanked me. I only assume the children were all hers and she hadn’t yet read the chapter in the book of LDS Fortunes that foretold the coming of the “sloth-like man who would vomit over a rail into a car park, before vomiting every 15 feet as he strolled through the surface lot, then again in the street in front of his rented condo and finally to more time off the balcony and on to Mofaniel’s rental car.”

Monday:

  • Wake up, stretch, ride Park City.
  • Rip groomers hoping the haze finally comes off my brain.
  • Stop at Cobra Dogs, where fellow Yobeater, Tom from Maine, put together the greatest breakfast ever*:

  • Jump back to the condo and then to the airport and back to my own bed at 2am. Finally able to relax the death grip I’ve had to keep on my wallet all weekend.

Not a bad weekend

THE FOOTNOTE

* If you are visiting Park City and opt not to go to Cobra Dogs, you’re blowing it. I know I have done absolutely zero things in the past three years to gain your trust or respect, but believe this: Cobra Dogs is the legitimist. I’m not a big fan of Dogs, and I know it’s street food usually reserved for the common man, but this is so much more. The wiener is good, the toppings are super tasty, the bun even adds to the eats. If this wasn’t the best hot dog I’ve ever tossed down my hallway I wouldn’t be going on about it. But fear not and eat up, they’ve got a really great thing going on there. When I go back to PC, I suspect I may eat there every day.

Shay’s Rumorator’s honesty box: I was comped my Cobra Dog, but did pay for my beer.

Regarding the beer: It’s was 3.2% PBR, so please don’t comment on my choice to have it at 11 in the morning. it’s essentially like drinking orange juice, but taste better when you use it to brush your teeth.

So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish.

Friday, May 20th, 2011

Well it’s rapture day weekend folks. Or so says some lunatic who decoded the bible. Frankly, I’m not buying it until we see a mass exodus of Dolphins.

What? You think that’s ridiculous?

Consider it, dear reader, you may choose to follow the bible. I choose to follow The Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy.

Who are you going to trust:

It seems to me that James is onto something.

Anyway, it’s just different books.

As for the Book of Mormon; well there are some reasons fan fiction is not always recognized by Lucasfilms LTD.

Moving On

Saw this in the hood the other day.

That shit street legal.

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T-tops. Blacked out rims. Full-sized 80s antenna. Sheeeeeit. STREET LEGAL. I sent this pic to Prof. Diehl and here was his reply

Dear Rumorator,
That aint no ’77. That aint no 6.6l, modded, bored and floored to put out 235bhp. You aint bringing back the banquet beer with that thing. You’d be better off putting a KITT steering wheel in it and hoping for some shine from the germans. Take your ass home.

Yours in christ,
Prof. Diehl

ps. You left your mattress here when you moved out, asshole.

So apparently that whip isn’t so rad.

Part trace: Art Critique

I also found this while slinking around the neighborhood.

This is the basis of a really great piece here. But what it’s lacking is the force, aggression, or ominous feeling of a true graffito. First off, I would drop the “too.” It softensit and makes it seem like the artist is pleading with the oppressors. We are not pleading because they are not listening. At this point we need to be threatening. The next thing I would do is change “it’s” to This is.” Beef up the language a bit. Get some cajones. Look ‘em in the eye and say “So this is it? We’re gonna pull ‘em out and measure ‘em now?” And be ready to flop it out. But it’s a great start by the artist

Sidenote: Start saving your bottles and bricks.

Quads: Must not sleep. Must warn others.

Tonight I’m going to see Aesop Rock In Madison. I’ve been waiting for ten long years to see this show. Since the original Who Killed the Robots tour in ought one. Get with it.

I’ll catch you bitches on the flip side of rapture, when the only ladies left will be the sleazies. There will be fornicating in streets! I also have full intentions of looting up a new dirt jumper.