I <3 SKULLS.

Skulls.
I love skulls. What punk rock kid from the eighties didn't? Fuckin' rebel yell!!!....Skulls say it all. You want to be Billy Bad ass on your bike? Skull helmet. Damn right. It don't matter that your tooling around on some beat ass, pink, girls Huffy ten speed that's missing spokes and has no front dérailleur. You got a skull helmet and a leather jacket. Fucking street cred. Skulls are meant to say POISON and STAY AWAY....oohhh scary. That just entices people like me. Skulls are what tough guys get tattooed on them when they go to prison and become a tougher guys little bitch. Thats tough. Then when they get out of the joint, they have this fucked up prison ink, saying “ Don't mess with me,I have a skull tattoo, and I took it up the poop hole.” A guy over forty wearing a skull shirt with a goatee screams out “ I was a D & D nerd in high school, but I drink whiskey now, Back off.” You go dude. Fuck the man, your a rebel.
I like the phrase “Give me Skull.” or “I'm gonna' Skull fuck you, bitch.” so romantic. You know, in a crude Neanderthal way. I mean if my female friend and I are sitting on the couch, enjoying a nice quiet night of Netflix and hot cocoa. What better way to ask for some sweet oral fellatio then, “Oh babe, It's time for your Skullfucking.” Works every time. Ok, it worked once.
Pirates liked skulls. I don't like Pirates. I am a ninja type of guy. Ninjas are clean and kill with precision and style. Pirates are unkempt drunken, disease ridden, scum. I guess this is why skulls got a bad image. The fucking pirates. Cool flags though. Once again that forty plus dude, with the goatee, you know he has a pirate flag on his mini-van's antenna, tailgating at the Raider game. Fucking non conformist rebel. 100% fucking rebel.
Skulls in music... Of course the first song that comes to mind is The Misfits classic “I want your Skull.” I'm sure that there are many other songs written about skulls but this is the only one that really matters. Motorhead, they really matter. Skull logo. Guns and fuckin' Roses. (you always have to say Guns and FUCKIN' roses. That makes you a rebel.) Skull logo. Dave Matthews band. No skull songs, no skull logo, thusly the Dave Matthews band will always suck the ass wind from a bloated dead cow.
Cow skulls. The epitome of cowboy bad assness. Yep. I'm a cowboy. Got a cowskull sticker on my 4x4. Rebel. I'm sure REAL cowboys don't like cowskulls. A cow is a cowboys buddy. Not like a Brokeback type of buddy, more like a child. A true cowboy is sad to see a cows skull.
Clown skulls. Back to prison tattoo's.
As I was writing this a young man bought some red vines from me. He was sporting a grinning clown skull tattoo with a smoking gun, along with some other high Quality county hotel work. Real tough guy. Red vines. Ha Ha.
What is a Skull? It is the only thing that separates us from the apes. Our skull got bigger to accommodate a bigger a brain and we became smarterer. This is of course up for debate, but thats what science tells us. Science and Honor! That was for my neighbors, the Phenomenats. Good guys. Not sure if they like skulls. They are from the future.
What is the future of the Skull? It seems kind of played out nowadays.Then again it will always be in style. Will we have cyberskulls in the future? Will the youth of tomorrow be into skull piercings?
Skull implants? I am going outta' my skull....

next week: Fat people.

My Ghetto America.

My Ghetto America.

Here's where I start to sound old.

A twenty nothing, kid with a weak mustache just called me sir. I returned the favor by calling him Sparky and Junior. Sheeesh. Sir?

A lot of has changed in the last twelve years.

I used twelve years because its a good even number, just over a decade, but not forever. I moved to Oakland from the city of Oz, twelve years ago. If you know where the city of Oz is, then you might know of the great Herb Caen. The illogically logical musings of Herb Caen, along with Hunter S, Burroughs, and Henry Miller, are the reason I write. Having been force fed by English teacher parents, a steady diet of reading, and writing a book report, every week during summer vacation, will lead a kid on one of two paths.

I chose the spiritual one.

The columns of Herb Caen, and me having have had the great privilege of growing up reading Herb, has lead me on the romantically, doomed path of the writer. In short I fucking BLOG, dude. It is a catharsis for anger and joy. An outlet for frustration and celebration. Writing is good stuff. Try it. Write your parents. Tell them you love them, or tell them your really pissed off about that thing that happened in third grade. Whatever you do take the time and think your words out. Verse your words of prose with eloquence and charm. Blow their socks off. In their dying days they will remember your letter and at least “think” they raised a good kid.

Obama Tacos.

What the fuck is an Obama Taco?? On the shuttle to the train this morning we passed by a taco stand with a big banner advertising, Obama Tacos. What the Fuck is an Obama Taco? I know what a Bush taco is. I have ate many Bush tacos, and the Bush was always happy I ate the taco. But a fucking Obama Taco??? Does it have pineapple in it? Does it like basketball? This Got me pondering. Never has a political figure become such a marketable consumer product, as Barrack Obama. I wasn't alive for J.F.K. So maybe he was. I remember Billy Beer, but that was Jimmy's brother. Perhaps some lesser known President of yesteryear was also a huge marketing gimmick of their time. Get your Millard Fillmore toothbrush. I don't know. To me its just plan weird, that people want to go around wearing a shirt with the fucking smiling grin of the commander in Chief. I guess I still have that punk rock bad taste for government in my head. I just haven't figured it out, and until I do, I blame the ghetto.

Having pretty much lived in the ghetto for almost twenty years,

( twelve in West Oakland, seven in the Lower Haight, before it was hip.) I can tell you that the denizens of the ghetto, are far and above the BEST consumers EVER. The Ghetto people will buy anything. If you make a liquor and get a rapper to put it in his song, your booze will be a gold mine. If you want your fashion to sell, don't go to Paris or Milan, give that shit away in Compton and the Bronx. Trust me people are watching the ghetto these days. The ghetto is responsible for some pretty amazing things of late. Giant chrome rims that cost four times the piece of crap 1992 Pontiac or Lexus they are on. Ghetto fabulous. Plain white t shirts. Ghetto frivolous.

The sagging pants thing. DID NOT start in the ghetto. It started in San Quentin, and it meant you were another mans personal property.

Why the ghetto kids took that one from prison to street fashion, will remain one of the great mysteries of a generation. Perhaps all those tough looking thugs on the corner are all really gay for each other. Wow.

The ghetto is where all the welfare money is spent on things that are wanted, but not needed. It is where one month you are the coolest kid for having those fresh BAPE shoes, and the next laughed at for having those weak as 08' BAPE's Get with 09' kid and rock some Keds. One week its Nike the next Adidas. (I will always be a three stripes man.) whatever The currant ghetto trend is, it is being bought and not just by the ghetto hip, oh HELL no. Grandma ma has gots to get it too. And if it can be worn by a fourteen ear old. Better make that baby sized as well. Lots of babies in the ghetto. This year they are all wearing Obama onesies.

I will be screening some I HATE MAYONAISE t-shirts very soon. They will be available at every corner licka' sto' in the hood. This time next year, I be a ghetto millionaire. Or at the least a thousandaire. Until next week, Write your parents.

P.S. I think I really fuckin' hate white people.

Wake me up.....

FUCKIN' SEPTEMBER?!?!?!

Holy shit, this year is flying by faster than a flying monkey. I love the first week of September all the narcissistic art fucks are burning their asses off on the playa. The town is quiet. The gym was empty. I sold a bike to a first time burner and made a cool hundred off of it. I am starting to think of a new part time job. Bike shop. I am starting to think seriously about this. I wanted to have a part time job as a rock star, but might have to settle for bike shop guy, first. I love bikes. On a complete side note, in the time I have started writing this I have witnessed, not one, but two, TWO, old guys jaywalk across grand ave. I'm not talking kinda' old. Old and very slow.... WTF? Note to self, when I am that old I will opt for the three wheeler pedel power. with a big orange flag.... fuck being a slow old pedestrian. Any way bike to Bicycles.... I always knew I had a love for bikes. Lately its been an obsession. Fuck,.I have four frames not set up, two i want to powder coat. someone is offering me $500 for just the frame of the orange Masi, I paid $300 and I love it, but fuck make two bills that fast. snap... done and done. material possesions come and go but the LOVE. the fuckin' LOVE is always there..... The bike is like a girlfriend. I fall in love, I lube her up, I ride her hard, she treats me good. Then breaks my heart, and leaves me for someone else... Life is good. So perhaps the shop should be called Oakland Bike Pimps. Pimpin' bikes since 04' I dunno. free association. I am sitting in my favorite spot in Oakland. The window of farleys on Grand. It is like a greenhouse, and sweat is dripping down my forehead as I write. fuck I already went to the gym today... Gotta' go, get on my bike.. Wake me up when September ends.... rubber side down. I fucking love Portishead.....