#1 Hit on Mike Smith’s Computer (when charles and crab are around).

Degenerate Road Trip: Part 3

Charles and I are still in Flagstaff, and we have no fucking clue why. Anyone who has ever seen “Stand By Me” will recognize the dialogue exchanged between Gordie Lachance and Chris Chambers that perfectly summarizes our unending time in “Flag”:

Chris: I’m never gonna make it outta this town am I, Gordie?
Gordie: You can do anything you want, man.

We’ve repeated this mantra to each other hourly as we struggle to pack up our shit and get back on the road. As I write this, Charles sleeps on Mike Smith’s bed, recovering from a night out with several of Flagstaff’s most reputable citizens. I’m sitting at Mike’s computer trying in vain to compose a post that is intelligible. Clearly, we both possess a single-mindedness that can be stopped by nothing.

For any of you Chuckblog readers who have never been to Flagstaff, Arizona (and I presume that there are many of you), I’ll do my best to accurately describe it:

1. Hippies. Everywhere. Fucking disgusting!
2. Six inches of snow in May. Charles and I woke up and looked out the window, looked at each other, and cowered under the blankets like 7-year old school girls. I would have been less surprised if I woke up on Mars.
3. Mike Smith knows everyone. If anyone you’ve ever known ventures through Flagstaff, tell them to say that they’re tight with Mike Smith. It’ll guarantee free drinks and a cursory blow job from a show-pony.
4. Find Paul at the Pay-N-Take. The Pay-N-Take is a bar/convenient mart that will completely change your opinion on capitalism. Paul is the owner/manager that could have talked Hitler out of the Holocaust. He handed out Pay-N-Take T-shirts like they’d fallen out of the sky. All the while, he whispered to us about the great rivalry between Georgetown and Villanova during the mid-80s. We’ll never know if Paul was using any drugs the night we were there, but for the sake of humanity, I like to think he wasn’t.
5. This town loves idiotic bar video games. If you’re low on friends just drink till you forget your middle name, saddle up to the photo-hunt video game in the Monte Vista Hotel and make sure you have at least $40 in singles. It’ll surely be a night to remember.

Chuckblog would like to thank 7000 feet of altitude for making us disgustingly sick.

Degenerate Road Trip: Part 1

Yesterday was the official start of my degenerate road trip with Crab. I’m already dry-heaving, which is probably not the best sign, although I’m still optimistic about what’s to come. We’re in San Clemente, CA, where the sun is shining bright in what seems like the Promised Land. Although most people might be out on the beach, we’ve holed ourselves up in a hotel room with the blinds closed, much more interested in watching Jerry Springer, Saved By The Bell, and other such televised masterpieces while nursing our hangovers.

We’ve made a pact to maintain a sense of moral integrity during the trip, so we kick off each morning with a confessional and Bible reading. The confessional consists of Tom instructing me to “Tell me your sins my son”, to which I admit all the bad things that I’ve done in the recent past. After my laundry list of offenses is verbalized and Tom states “your sins are forgiven”, he picks up the Bible, turns to a random page, and points to a passage in a similarly meaningless fashion. He reads the passage and we draw from its wisdom.

This morning his finger landed on a section from the book of Proverbs, Chapter 24, Verses 3-4, which reads:

Through wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; By knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.

Indeed, this trip is a journey to attain wisdom and understanding. And if I’ve learned anything so far on our voyage, it’s that I want all the rooms in my house to be filled with riches. Like, a shit load of riches. Furthermore, my riches must be only of the precious and pleasant variety. So, we’re off to a good start with the Lord.

Life on the road can be pretty taxing, and the last thing we need is a deficiency of essential nutrients like vitamin C. In an effort to raise awareness concerning the ongoing scurvey epidimic sweeping the nation, we’ve made it our personal cause to consume at least one vodka and cranberry juice each morning after confessional and Bible reading. This particular cause enables us combat the horrifying effects of scurvey while simultaneously allowing us to conquer another illness that inflicts millions of Americans: sobriety.

Then we turn on the television and watch shirtless rednecks compete in a spelling bee to win the heart of a grotesque, scantilly clad woman on the Jerry Springer Show.

Yesterday, we did actually make it to the beach where we lasted at least 5 minutes before we wandered across the street to purchase several cans of Sparks. Then, we settled down on the sand with our malted energy drinks and discussed a wide range of important topics:

• Interplanetary Alien/Human Relations
• Similarities Between Women’s Bathing Suits and Women’s Underwear
• The Undeniable Importance of Both Women’s Bathing Suits and Women’s Underwear 
• How Come That Asshole Gets to Drive on the Beach?
• Should I Go Jump Off the Pier?

Although neither of us did jump off the pier, I think it’s safe to assume that Scottbrundage.com would. After leaving the beach, we continued consuming alcohol for the next 13 hours at various establishments, namely a bar called Goody’s. As in, Goody-Goody Gumdrops. Soon enough, we mysteriously teleported to the bar next door without realizing it, where we met up with Heather. I met Heather on myspace via my pal Gerry No Game, and she was super cool - simply for tolerating our rambling jibberish. Thanks Heather! I’d say it was a successful start to the trip.

Top 8 Most Inaccurate Car Names

Until recently, I hadn’t owned a car since I was in high school. As such, I hadn’t devoted much attention to the various names and models that we all see on the road, daily. But lately, as I’ve sort of inherited a vehicle that makes other drivers gawk and laugh at me, I’ve become acutely aware that most model names are completely misleading, if not total lies.

1) The Buick Regal- There’s absolutely nothing regal about driving a fucking Buick. In fact, if you’ve purchased a Buick in the hopes of seeming regal, I’m pretty sure that you’ve already resigned yourself to a life of unregalness.  Though, to be fair, perhaps Buick had a different genre of car buyer in mind when they finally decided on Regal. You know, the kind of guy that shows up at the dealership wearing a Burger King crown and a t-shirt that reads: The King of Crappy Car Owners! 

2) The Dodge Dart- Seems like a misnomer on two counts. I’ve never driven a Dart, but the machine seems a bit clunky, like it couldn’t dodge or dart a large building if it had to. It certainly didn’t dodge or dart away from a stupid, repetitious name.

3) The Chevrolet El Camino- El Camino translates from spanish to “the road.” If you want your “road” to translate into “only one passenger and shitty gas mileage,” then this is the car for you. Enjoy riding with your only friend while you both consume the rest of the Earth’s oil resources!

4) The Volkswagen Golf- Who knows what the fuck these crazy Germans were thinking! If you want to sell golf carts to lazy Americans, you have to label them “Golf Cart.” I don’t speak German, but I can pretty much guarantee that Volkswagen Golf doesn’t directly translate into Golf Cart. Which is shamefully misleading. They look like golf carts. And everyone who drives one looks like they play golf.

5) The AMC Gremlin- I swear to God I saw a Gremlin on the road the other day. As a child of the eighties, I instinctually threw water on it to see if was a true Gremlin. Unfortunately, this Gremlin didn’t transform into a tiny, evil monster that reproduces at will and terrorizes small towns during Christmas. Dissapointingly, the car retained it’s same bizzare shape and ridiculous color scheme.

6) The Ford Focus- The irony is that anybody who has any fucking focus at all doesn’t buy a Ford Focus. Are there car buyers who can’t think outside the box and imagine a scenario where they’re still alive three years down the road? Because that’s about the time that your shitty Ford Focus is going to stop running and you’ll be hitching rides to work.

7) The GMC Yukon- The Yukon is a Canadian Territory that lies between the Northwest Territory and Alaska. From my experience, no one who owns or drives a Yukon has ever driven to or been in either Canada or Alaska. The GMC Yukon was designed specifically for trips to Hardee’s and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Who knew?! The brilliant minds at GMC, that’s who. Sometimes driving through the tree-lined, spacious streets of an American suburb requires a car bigger than your house!

8 ) The Pontiac Firebird- The Firebird might have once been a respectable car in the sixties, during it’s first run. However, for those of us who grew up during it’s 80s and 90s reincarnation period, it was laughable at best.  Slapping a large illustrated bird on the hood of your muscle car made it neither fiery or capable of flight. On the other hand, the car was particularly adept at conjuring mullets, stone-washed jeans, and Bachman-Turner Overdrive cassette tapes.

Chuckblog wonders if www.scottbrundage.com would rather drive a Batmobile or a solid gold Waverunner?

Saved By the Bell: A Character Study

As an adult, when I catch a rerun of Saved By the Bell, I’m astounded by the poor acting, the simplistic plot lines, and the rudimentary production value. But, after all, it was just a teen sitcom that aired on NBC every Saturday morning. And, when I viewed these episodes the first time around, I guess I was too young to pick apart how absurd and cliched the characterization was, or how transparent the storylines were. Nonetheless, when I was ten, it all made sense to me. You know; dorks, jocks, brains, cheerleaders. Everyone in their place, right?

And, I suppose I like to think that I’ve become more refined socially since I graduated from middle school. Sadly, it’s readily apparent how true the “Saved By the Bell” universe was, and how brutally it reflects so many aspects of my life. I’m guessing that the creative geniuses that came up with the idea for this show never could’ve suspected that it’s memory would be forever etched in the brain of every child who grew up in the mid 80s to mid 90s. Because if they had, they wouldn’t have written such ridiculous caricatures of teenagers that we would all use to categorize everyone we met for the rest of our lives.

The Ten Greatest Films Ever…

…that I have seen, that were made during my lifetime.

In a follow-up to all the attention “Big Trouble in Little China” has received on Chuckblog over the past few days, we here at the blog have decided to indulge you faithful readers with more material devoted to brilliant cinema along the vein of “BTILC”. A category I like to call “Guilty Pleasure Films”. Which, coincidentally, would make an excellent name for a porn production company. But, that’s another post for another day.

I’m talking about awful movies that I enjoy too much. I’m talking movies that I could never admit to having ever viewed publicly, but that, behind closed doors, are among the first to go in the DVD player when I’m drunk. I’m talking about movies that my brain tells me to stop watching, but that my heart(and, too often, my penis) forces me to persevere through.

Kate, Kate and the Amazing Adventures of Babygirl Purpleshirt

This past weekend, Charles and I learned a few interesting rules regarding social networking. First off, and this one is most surprising, not everyone drinks vodka all day, every day.

Who knew?

Secondly, as a general rule, females don’t find it “funny” to be given obnoxious nicknames and slapped on the ass.

Another shocker!

But, first allow me to set the scene. Charles and I were in Raleigh, NC, my hometown, to attend the Raleigh Relays, an annual track meet held on the campus of North Carolina State University. Charles had driven down from DC with his “girlfriend”, Ellie. Ellie, in addition to being a wonderful person who doesn’t deserve Charles’ antics, is also a recent graduate of NCSU. As such, she has many friends that still reside in the greater Raleigh area.

I met Charles and Ellie at the track on Friday afternoon. Shortly thereafter, a very nice friend of Ellie’s named Kate joined us at the meet. Kate has blonde hair and stands around 5′6. On the surface this seems like completely irrelevant information. But wait! There’ll be more about Kate. And Kate. And the fantastic Babygirl Purpleshirt! More chuckblog!

Charles and I left the meet shortly after the the conclusion of the 4×1500 so that we might meet my parents for dinner and enjoy some Italian cuisine at Amedeos. Amedeos serves plenty of alcohol, but apparently, not enough for me and Charles. Which is why, after eating, we headed straight for Player’s Retreat, the seediest, and best bar in all of Raleigh.

It’s the kind of place where you can vomit in the ladies room(Charles’ fault), stalk other patrons(”we’re following you to whatever bar you’re headed to!”), and drink out of a flask(Lil’ Gibraltar).

Not that we would know.

Anyway, many drinks and many hours later I woke up in our hotel room and was introduced to “kate”. I was confused on many levels. This new “kate” was a brunette and looked to be at least 5′10. Thoughts raced through my mind:

• Did “kate” dye her hair?
• How did “kate” grow 4 inches since I saw her last?
• Why are “kate” and Ellie not wearing any pants?
• Will www.scottbrunadge.com make love to me?

Even after it was explained to me that this “kate” was another friend of Ellie’s that happened to be named Kate, in my semi-drunken state, I was unable to wrap my mind around the existence of two Kates in one city. So I did what any rational person would do: I changed her name. First it was Katie. Then Kate 2. And finally, having exhausted all other possible alternatives, and because she chose to wear a purple shirt out that night, she became Babygirl Purpleshirt. I wish I could tell you that Babygirl Purpleshirt’s night got better.

It did not.

Actually, my night didn’t get any better either. Because, after Charles pounced on Babygirl Purpleshirt and slapped her semi-nude ass, we suddenly found ourselves standing in the hallway at 3 am discussing alternate lodging plans. Some people can be so cranky when it comes to letting strangers spank their unclothed buttocks!

We found our way back to my parent’s place and crashed for the night.

We woke up late and headed back to the track to watch the 1500s. And before we knew it, we were back at Player’s Retreat. It was like we had been casted as extras in Groundhog Day. Only, our film would have been called Drunkhog Day and would have been a drama instead of a comedy. But alas, Ellie and Babygirl Purpleshirt arrived at Player’s to pick us up and take us to a party hosted by one of their friends.

On the way to the party, Charles and I discovered that the lyrics of practically any hip-hop song can be changed to “BABY-GIRL PURPLE-SHIRT!, BABY-GIRL PURPLE-SHIRT!” The actual Babygirl Purpleshirt, who was driving the car, was not impressed with our attempt at improvisation. And once we arrived at the party, we also discovered that the hip twenty-somethings in Raleigh, NC aren’t ready for our revolutionary take on songwriting. In fact, I believe one partygoer’s review was something like, “Shut the fuck up.” Not to be discouraged, we decided to move on to other material. Namely, an impromptu cover of Eddie Murphy and Rick James’ “My Girl Wants to Party All the Time.” Inexplicably, it also recieved an icy reception.

Soon after, we left the party. And by left, I mean, we were told to, “get the fuck out of here.”

You know, whatever. Stop singing. Please leave. Get the fuck out of my house!

On the way to the car, before Charles pushed me down a steep, grassy, wet embankment that ruined my pants forever, we ruminated on whether or not we would ever see Babygirl Purpleshirt again.

And I said, “Of course we will. In fact, we can see her again right now, if you want. All we need is a pint of Aristocrat and an unsuspecting female wearing purple clothing. BABY-GIRL PURPLE-SHIRT!”

Chuckblog would like to apologize to Ellie, Kate, Kate 2, Katie, Babygirl Purpleshirt, my parents, Ellie’s parents, Cynthia, Sunni, Milton, and the city of Raleigh.

Top Ten Search Engine Inquiries Recieved By 2:36 AM on Sunday, March 30th 2008 (the year of our lord)

1. vampire maroon 5.
When the worst band in the world meets Blade 2, we get vampire maroon 5

2. DC boys Adams sweatshirt
Somebody’s looking for an all-boy’s sweatshop in Adams Morgan. holy fuck, who’s looking for an all-gay cheap labor manufacturer in our nation’s capital?

3. + blog “low life” permanent sleep.
Cocaine is a hell of a drug.

4. how does my girlfriend turn me into a va
How does anyone’s girlfriend turn them into the state of virginia?….or a vagina?

5. my black lips are too big
We have no clue how to respond to this inquiry without offending an entire race.

6. public chuck o’ game
When the Parker Brothers meet crack.

7. reasons why jesus was a black
Take your pick; the giant penis, the afro, the multi-million dollar contract. Motherfucker could turn water into wine. nuff said.

8. hasselhoff friend
Admiting to alcoholism can be a difficult endeavor. David Hasselhof makes the transition to sobriety much easier.

9. vampire penguin
Was somebody looking for vampires or penguins? or both all at once? in any case, this is wacky as shit.

10. totally baked potato 18th St.
This could be song lyrics for Bob Dylan. Or Wierd Al Yankovich. Either way, we’re still confused and scared.

Gibraltar: A Crabby Follow-Up

For those of you faithful chuckblog readers who are expecting more of Charles’ (and he will be referred to as Charles)* vast wisdom and zany reflections on life, I’d just like to get this warning out of the way:

 Though chuckblog officially ushers in a new era today by introducing it’s first guest blogger, me: Crab, I can assure those of you worried about adapting to new content or different rhetoric that you will essentially be getting the same old Charles-esque material. You know what I’m talking about. That same bizzare fixation with urine and nudity. Yea, we’ve crossed a few streams in our day. The same compulsion to drink staggering amounts of malted energy drinks. Somebody has to keep Sparks in business. And of course, I’m always willing to to speak freely regarding Charles’ innate ability to repulse the ladies.

And so you might be asking yourself, well, so what? Why read what this asshole, Crab, has to say when I can get nearly identical ideas from trustworthy and comforting Charles? I’ll tell you why. Because, you the readers of chuckblog, while rightly satisfied with the low-brow humor and sophmoric rants that occur here, need a dissenting opinion. If the first amendment to The Constitution was intended to reign in anyone, it was almost certainly dickheads like Charles. And, since I’ve personally been the focal point of much of his slander on this blog, I gladly accept the onus of providing that dissent.

Having gotten that out of the way, I would like to be clear what an avid fan I am of both chuckblog and www.scottbrundage.com.

So, when I was summoned to post here on chuckblog it was a bit like being asked by The Beatles to perform on stage with them at Ed Sullivan. Only substituting The Beatles with a tiny, degenerate, tattooed smartass. And Ed Sullivan Theatre with an asinine blogspot viewed by 15 of Charles’ closest friends, all of whom are also degenerate smartasses.

Naturally, I pounced at the opportunity.

And now for a more honest Gibraltar anecdote.

Having been one of the 3 registered and legal(barely) tenants in the penthouse corner apartment in the building at 2305 18th St. NW Washington, DC, now know as The Gibraltar(and as the namesake for Charles’ flask), I can confirm that Charles’ depiction of the residence is completely spot on. Indeed, I could start my own blog dedicated solely to the startling number of different places where urine was discharged there. One of which, would be in Charles’ mouth. I could also start another blog devoted to deviant, Colonial American, sexual fantasies that were prevalent in one of the rooms. But, I wouldn’t do that using this forum. Because I have too much dignity.

But sadly, perhaps my most vivid and lasting memory of our time at The Gibraltar came on one of our last nights living there. It was late August as I recall, and with no AC, swelteringly hot. We were in the process of moving out of the place. Naturally, Charles was in attendence to provide moral encouragement and comedic relief. Daddy, sometimes known as George, had rented a steam-vac from Safeway, so that we might attempt to recoup at least some of a security deposit for an apartment that we had methodically destroyed over the course of two-plus years. We had moved all furniture into other rooms so as to clean the dirtiest carpet I have ever seen: our living room floor. As the night wore on, we drank, steam-vaced, moved furniture, and competed in a Gibraltar original: Total Muscle Failure.

Total Muscle Failure, henceforth TMF, was an activity whereby the participant lifted two, twenty pound dumbells over their head as many times as they could until they collapsed in exhaustion. And if you think it sounds ridiculous when you read about it, I can assure  you that being a part of it is even more absurd. My memory is hazy when it comes to the origins of TMF, but it was a regular occurence in The Gibraltar, and one that seemed normal while it was taking place. I mean honestly, who doesn’t like to drink and lift weights until they vomit?

With all the movement and the steaming and boozing going on, the apartment got hotter and hotter, and at one point, many of us found ourselves congregated in one of the bedrooms near a window to cool off. As I emerged from the bedroom to get another beer, I walked through the kitchen and peered into the living room. What could I have seen, you ask? Nothing but Charles buck naked except for his ridiculous old-school Reeboks, dripping with sweat, beer in one hand, pushing the steam-vac with the other. I stood silent and stunned. I motioned back through the kitchen for someone, anyone! to come look at this amazing spectacle before he realized we were watching!

No one came. And guess what? They didn’t need to. He went on like that for the rest of the night, completely unabashed and unapolegetic, for everyone to see. With windows wide open and music blaring, so that not just us, but all of Adams Morgan could get a glimpse of the Nude, Sweaty, Carpet-Cleaner of 18th St.

I’d like to thank Chuckblog for the opportunity of a lifetime. No, not getting the chance to post here, but the chance to go out on a date with Tiff. You can still make that happen, right Charles?

*I only surround myself with the classiest of the classy. And though the founder of this site calls himself Chuck, it should be noted that it is not his given name. Not even close. In fact, he has been known by many monikers. Including, but not limited to; Chaz, Charlie, Chuckles, and even Shithead by those who know and love him most. He has and always will be Charles to me. It makes him seem so regal.