Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Real Life Super Heroes!

This was too good not to post. . .

This guy, and apparently there’s a few of them around the country, are attempting to be Super Heroes. Yeah, seriously. Just check this out first: (you might have to click the photo to see/read the entire thing)

Ha! OK so I have two questions: 1. What the fuck? And 2. Where do I sign up to be in this “Allegiance of Heroes”???

For real, readers, I gotta do this. . .

Could you imagine how cool this blog would become with stories from a Super Hero?

But I’m gonna need your help. . . Thinking of a name, what weapons will I have / super power, and what costume I’ll be running around in. Except one of you will have to volunteer to make it because I have a penis and cojones therefore I suck at sewing. The costume is gonna have to be the most bad ass part of it though... I mean, I gotta look good to at least pull the bitches.

A couple names I was throwing around: The Pusstroyer, Papi X, Dark 12incher, Dr. Youdgetit, The Queifinator, Moon Elf, Chip Robbins, and Rambo. But I think I'm gonna settle on Gel Mibson. Let me know if you got something better... this is still a work in progress.

My Heroism will be: I will protect poor, unsuspecting men from Swamp Donkeys. In case you didn’t know, the definition of a Swamp Donkey is a very ugly, usually fat girl who hangs around in bars and clubs waiting to sexually assault males who are too drunk to defend themselves (definition brought to you by

But I really just wanna fight the Super Heroes of the “Allegiance of Heroes” though . . .

So eventually I’m gonna turn into the evil Villain of this real life comic book like world and beat the shit out of them.

Don’t worry . . . I’ll YouTube it for you guys to see.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Chronicles of Mario Drakes: Part 3

*if you haven't read part 1 or 2 do so before you read part 3

The other short story I have for you will close out this three part series on
Mario Drakes... Don’t be sad, little one, there might be a Part 4 eventually. . . However, this next tale of Mario Drakes will be it for now. So let’s begin:

You remember them laser pointers right? Remember that phase everyone went through where they had to have them for some fuckin’ reason or another? Yeah, so Vin and I had a couple. They were cool, we did what all kids our age did with them (or at least what they should have did anyway)... Like point them through your neighbors windows while they were sitting in their living rooms watching tv, placing the red dot onto their forehead and prank calling them. . . Speaking in a Russian accent and sayin’ shit like “If you don’t hand over the disk your wife’s brain noodles will be splattered on the wall behind her”. Yeah, you know what I mean.

So this one day when we’re with
Mario Drakes we’re cruising in the Lincoln, its night time and we have the laser pointers out. All is good in the world, I think we just left the mall or movies, I forget exactly but we were on a road with multiple red lights and we seemed to be hitting all of them. There was a car behind us which had been following us for some time now and every time we stopped at a red light my brother and I thought it was best to check that fool quick by pointing our laser pointers into the rear view mirror so that it would reflect backwards and into his car. . . Particularly right into his eye balls.

Well I guess about 5 or 6 red lights in this guy decided he had enough. Prompting him to open his car door, step out of the vehicle, and walk towards our car. To which everything around us went into slow motion, Vin muttered the words “oohh shhhhiiitt”, and
Mario Drakes while remaining calm, peeled out and ran the red light... cutting off only a mini-van in the process. Nah, I’m just playin’. Mario Drakes didn’t run the red light. You’re talkin’ about Mario Mutha Fuckin’ Drakes! The same guy who snorts lines before driving the fam an hour to the family picnics. The same guy who uses his son’s shoes as a toilet bowel. Instead, as the guy got out of his car and just as he was approaching our trunk, the light turned green and Mario Drakes slowly and calmly drove away. Leaving the pissed off gentlemen behind us looking like a fool as his now driver-less car backed up traffic. When asked by his children what he woulda done had the guy wanted to “talk”, Mario Drakes replied with a slight smirk on his face, “I woulda said ‘it would be best for you to get back into your vehicle’”.

The end.

Sports: John Madden Retires

I'm sure most of you already know by now that The John Madden retired yesterday, April 16th 2009. Yes, a very sad day for us football lovers. I felt a tribute post was needed.

Retirement is a lot better than what I first thought happened. As soon as I woke yesterday, I turned on the TV with protein shake in hand, and noticed The John Madden on the screen. My eyes immediately fixated to ESPN's bottom line and I read "John Madden, 73..." right then I went into slight shock thinking he died. I don't ever give a shit when a celeb dies or anything like that but when I thought The John Madden took a permanent L I actually said out loud "what?" as if The John Madden was immortal. Anyway, I read further on the bottomline and came across the word "retires". Still sad by the news but grateful that one of the football Gods remain alive.

Eventhough a lot of people will remember The John Madden for his football video games, I'll always remember him for being the voice and face of football. When I was a boy and first fell in love with the sport (and the Dallas Cowboys) it was The John Madden and Pat Summerall doing the Cowboys-49ers rivalary games. More recently it has been The Madden and Al Michaels commenting the best football on TV. So this is a big loss in every football lovers world right now. Hopefully he pulls a Brett Favre and comes back so we're not stuck with Chris Collinsworth's annoying ass. If not then... Thanks be to The John Madden, one of the two greatest contributors to the sport (the other being The Jerry Jones).

Monday, April 13, 2009

Chronicles of Mario Drakes, Part 2

OK OK so in the first part of this three part series I introduced you to the man that is Mario Drakes, and shared one of our many stories together with him. Now, in the second part, I’m going to share another story with you because well lets face it, one story of Mario Drakes just wasn’t enough. It should be noted that you have to read the first part of this to truly understand Part 2. So before you go any further, scroll down below to the next blog post and look for Part 1 . . . or simply click this link.

Now that that is out of the way and you have read Part 1 we can get you started on Part 2. In Part 2 I’m going to share a story with you that I get reminded of every time I hear that song with the lyrics “pissing the night away” and let me tell you why:

My brother and I shared a room in his house, bunk beds and all. (Where my bunk bed gangsters at... stand up!) I slept on the top bunk while Vin (my twin brother), who was terrified of heights as a child (nah I’m kiddin’, he actually lost the rights to the top bunk in an intense game of Go Fish to me), slept on the bottom.

Anyway, one night while I’m sleepin’ in my bed minding my own fuckin’ business. . . I’m awoken by a bright ass light that is directly above me. So I’m laying there trying to figure out if Jesus wants a word with me or some shit. . . Looking directly into the center of the light noticing that there ain’t no music playing like you see in the movies and thinking to myself that this better be good since this mother fucker is waking me up in the middle of my sleep. Turns out I was wrong about it being the light from the heavens and since there was no music playing, my ears eventually fixated on a sound coming from my room. Now at this point I wasn’t quite sure what it was because it sounded like someone was pouring out a water bottle onto the carpet but when my eyes caught up to my ears and regained their sight I was able to look into the direction of the sound. . . And low and behold guess who it was? That’s right, mother fuckin’
Mario Drakes!

See at first all my eyes saw was his head poppin’ up beyond my foot board, then as all my vision returned to me I was able to see that he was standing between our bunk beds and the dresser which was against the far wall. After thinking to myself, “what the fuck is going on” I realized what actually was going on. . . This Budweiser drinkin’- Sambuca mixin’ MFer was pissing onto the carpet! Now, you’re probably thinking “Papi, come on, how do you know that? What if he was just spilling out his beer for the homies while rummaging through the dresser?”.... Because the next day my shoes, which I kept between the dresser and bunk beds, smelt of urine.... I repeat, URM-IN-ATION! That’s how the hell I know what went down. Luckily for me we were leaving soon so I only had to wear my piss infested shoes a couple more days longer. The End.

Stay tuned for Part 3.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

An Easter Conversation

First off, let me wish everyone a Happy Easter.... Happy Easter, readers. It was a quadrillion years ago that Jesus, on this day, resurrected himself from his grave to prove just how much of a bad ass he actually is.

For today's blog post, I was thinking about sharing a story with you about a nightmare I had as a child involving the Easter Bunny... Or actually it was a guy dressed up as the Easter Bunny and he was trying to break into my house. BUT. . . I'm just gonna keep it simple and share an Easter conversation that my twin bro and I had via text messaging:

A.N.T. : Happy Easter [cuss word] get your ass up if it aint already.
Vin : lol I was just texting you. I won't make it by 3. I have to go to the store to get eggs and milk. Tell mom for me. Happy Easter Bitch!
A.N.T. : OK
Vin : Thats what I thought.
A.N.T. : I guess the ham got burnt. We're gonna be having cereal instead for Easter dinner.
Vin : lol did the ham really get burnt?
A.N.T. : Na but I'm charging a quarter a slice.
Vin : lol well I got a whole bag of quarters reserve me the entire ham.
A.N.T. : First come, first serve. Your late... probably ain't gonna be shit left by the time you guys get here. Looks like your stopping at Sheetz [a mini mart] on the way back.
Vin : lol
A.N.T. : Mom said don't worry about making the cake.
Vin : Too late.
A.N.T. : OK
Vin : I'll bring the icing and do that at the house.
A.N.T. : Do whatever you want. I ain't eating that shit.
Vin : Fuck you aint.
A.N.T. : Matter of fact. I'm going to the cell block[dance club in williamsport]... so I'll be dancing by the time you get here.
Vin : lol you dance machine.
A.N.T. : Yea, scratch that.... I can't find my glow sticks and whistle.
Vin : lol use mine.
A.N.T. : I traded yours for Easter candy.
Vin : lol did you have to find your Easter basket?
A.N.T. : lol I'm grown. I don't do that shit anymore.
Vin : I had Miranda [his gf] looking for her's this morning.
A.N.T. : That's gay.
Vin : lol not really but I should have.
A.N.T. : I'm gonna wear all white today.
Vin : Really, what are you wearing?
A.N.T. : Polo with a sweater tied around my neck and some khakis.
Vin : lol no your not but that would be freaking funny.
A.N.T. : lol na I dont know what I'm wearing... prolly just a beater, some shorts, and my dodger hat.
Vin : lol For real bitch?
A.N.T. : Actually I really don't know. When in doubt go with Romo [football jersey] so yea...
Vin : lol your gay.
A.N.T. : Na I don't think anyone is dressing up. At least I know Moms isn't... she's walking around with a 40oz in her pajamas and bath robe.
Vin : lol ok cool
A.N.T. : Seriously though.
Vin : She's got a 40?
A.N.T. : No but she's wearing a big puffy dress drinking strawberry daiquiri's
Vin : So am I.... thats so weird.
A.N.T. : lol you leave yet?
Vin : Maybe... maybe not.... closer to maybe not.
A.N.T. : Well get here fast before Mom gets trashed. I'm not trying to have to sit through eating while she's being all emotional.
Vin : lol ok I'm hurrying.
A.N.T. : OK drive safe though.
Vin : I'll try.
~Ten mintues later~
A.N.T. : Just a heads up... I look sexy. So if you want to beat me your gonna have to bring your A game.
Vin : lol I'm just wearing a sweater and jeans. That should do it.
A.N.T. : I made a man bikini out of plastic Easter egg shells... got a couple of them huge ones and stuffed my junk in 'em.
Vin : lol

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Chronicles of Mario Drakes, Part 1

Since this is a new blog, I wanted to share some past history with ya because I think it will do you(the reader) some good and maybe be able to understand me a little bit better. This story is going to be Part 1 in a 3 part series. So gather around children, its story time.. . .

Once upon a time when my brother and I would travel to New Jersey to visit our father, who at the time gave a shit about us... yes, you guessed it friend, during the child support days. During these times of court ordered visitation my brother and I would experience some of the funniest moments with our father, more so at his expense than anything else. Oh by the way, for the sake of this story and protecting identities we’re gonna go ahead and refer to my father as “Mario Drakes”. Why “Mario Drakes”? I’m not sure but it was in my head when deciding on a name so we’re going with it... Now, I want you to close your eyes, use your imagination, and follow what I have typed for you . . .

During one of our many two week at a time visits in the summer months I was confronted with a very demoralizing fact. . . and that fact was if genetics had anything to do with it I was going to be a very bad drunk driver when I grew up. Here’s how:

Whenever we left the house everything was usually the same, Mario Drakes’ wife would take care of the dog to make sure it had its treats and so forth to stay occupied while Mario Drakes would round up my brother and I so we would be ready to go on time. Mario Drakes would usually be the last out of the house making sure to lock the door behind him before we all walked out to the car, got in and put our seat belts on before starting the journey to our desired destination. Not this day though, shit was different on this day. Mario Drakes, instead of visually and physically making sure we were ready to go like normal, was yelling from the upstairs spare bedroom - door closed. Then he came down in a hurry, looked at us and told us its time to hit the road. Two things stuck out: 1. He was pretty hyper for a usually laid back guy, and 2. He had a serious case of the sniffles.

See that day we had family picnic to go to and everything seemed normal at first. After contemplating whether or not we even wanted to go
Mario Drakes decided it was best. So we went and like I said, everything seemed pretty fuckin’ normal at first but that was before we took it to the road. So we’re cruising on the highway, going pretty fast. . . I dunno like 70ish. Mario Drakes seems pretty happy, making more jokes than usual. We’re in the back seat laughing while Mario Drakes’ wife is ridding shotgun with a worried look on her face. The car starts swerving a little bit, we’re still laughing because Mario Drakes is... so at this point we think he’s just messing around with us. Still, Mario Drakes’ wife’s worry is growing to a now more concerned/scared look. As time goes by the swerves are becoming a lot like mini-whiplashes and the “joke” is getting old. Next thing we know the door ajar sound goes off and our attention is focused forward to see what’s going on . . . It was then that we noticed the driver door open and Mario Drakes attempting a tuck and roll.... with the seat belt on. We’re thinking “what the fuck” (but we were kids so it was probably more like “holy shit”) while staring in disbelief as the wife is trying to pull Evil Knievel’s ass back into the car while also trying to straighten out the vehicle. Fortunately for the New Jersey State Turnpike’s clean up crew, Mario Drakes’s wife was able to get him back into the vehicle before disengagement of the restraints were successful. She gets us pulled off to the side, takes control of the driver seat, leaving us to sit in the back with Giggles (aka Mario Drakes) sprawled out in the middle of this usually wide but now crammed Lincoln Town Car. Mario Drakes' wife then calls an audible, does a u-turn, and takes us home. . . The end.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Biggie: What's Beef? Me: Being in the wrong area on Blogger?

Alright so I’m new to this Blogger world right. . . I’m still trying to figure stuff out as far as editing my own blog, traveling to other blogs, and somehow getting traffic to my site.

But I got beef with Blogger.

See my beef is . . . I think they put me in the Russian corridor of their online world. Like for real because every time I click the “Next Blog” link at the top of the page I get forwarded to a Russian looking ass language blog. And this isn’t just once, I’m talking every time I click that link.

I mean damn, I think Blogger has something against me. If it was because of the rap blog I just came out with then sorry, I was just fuckin’ around. Or maybe it was because of my old blog about Amy Winehouse. . . is it possible one of the head honchos for Blogger was a huge Winehouse fan and now I’m feeling his/her’s wrath?

Or like maybe you have to earn your way up when you’re first starting out. First you’re in the Russian section, then you go to Japanese, then to like Arabic or some shit. I dunno.

Yo, and then one time I clicked that next blog link I get this content advisor shit right. So I click on agree thinking okay maybe this person’s blog is like mine with cuss words and shit. Nope, man was I wrong. This shithead has porn all over that shit. And not just any porn. I’m talking straight Russian old school lookin’ porn. Chicks had bushes that looked like Diana Ross’ hair. Shit made me go into panic mode and ctrl alt delete the fuck outta my keyboard.

Anyway, Blogger . . . get me back with my Americano friends. I ain’t Russian, mother fucker!

Friday, April 3, 2009

I've chosen a new career path

OK so I’ve been deliberating with my buddies for the past couple of days about this but I just now decided to make it official. I’m going to start a rap career. I know what you’re thinking, “Ant, shut the fuck up you can’t rap”. While you may be right, to that I say two words.... “Soulja. Boy”. That’s right because if this mother fucker can be called a rapper then so can I so don’t fuck with me on this one!

I’ve come up with a rap name, the name will be (brace yourself). . . . “Nig Uphony”. Hot right? Well chill cuz I already know what you’re thinking, like I’m racist or some shit. Don’t even try that shit MFer, cuz I’ll punch you in the liver and sit you in a school chair. Everyone who knows me knows my hate don’t discriminate (ok I’m just showing off). But on a serious note real quick, I’m not racist... I voted for Obama so suck mi cawk.

Anyway, this is what I figure. . . Vin (my twin brother) is gonna be my manager like Suge Knight was for Tupac. He’s responsible for beating on ppl and stuff. The mixtape I do that introduces me to the hip hop nation is gonna be a remake cd where I just rap on a bunch of old hit songs and shit, ie: “tell me what you want, what u really really want" and “take these broken wings”. Then I’ll drop the album. . . First single, “I’m blacker than you” (this is the song I throw a subliminal at Lil Wayne). The second single will be my R&B joint for the ladies titled, “Baby, this will only take a minute” ft. Ray J. The third will be a song a lot like Kayne’s “Big Brother” dedicated towards Jay-Z, except mine will be titled “Not exactly Ice Cream” dedicated towards the legendary Vanilla Ice. It doesn’t stop there, I’m already thinking tour... coast to coast and internationally. The tour itself is gonna be called.. . . “Wish You Would”. Bam!

As of right now I’m hiring for all positions that a rapper would need. . . like groupies mainly.

The Intro Blog: READ FIRST


OK so I just opened this blog, April 3rd I made history. Na but I’ve been meaning to make one for the loooongest time now so I finally just said fuck it and done did it. What I did was, in case you were confused, I took my previous blogs from MySpace and placed them over here for archival purposes. They’re older but still good reads so go ahead and take a look at them. I marked them all with “BB” in the title which stands for “Before Blogger” so it will help with the confusion. This is actually my first blog since signing up and the rest from here on out will be fresh and new. Alright, lets see here I guess the reader (you) will need some kind of intro blog from me. . .

The Name:
My name is Anthony ‘cept nobody really calls me that... “Ant” mainly, “Papi” during intercourse or sometimes at work, “Antonio Salderas” by my mexican employees, “Ant Kong” on the field or court (virtual or real life), and uhh... thats it, I think. No wait, “Asshole” in grocery stores. . . What can I say? The milfs love my charm.

What you’ll find on this here blog :
I’m not sure, actually. I just wanna write shit. Know what I’m sayin’? Like there’s days I just feel like going nutso on the keyboard either with a bullshit story or something that’s going on in my life or the world. I guess I enjoy writing in a very non nerdy way. Something to remember though, I don’t do proper english grammar and shit. You want that material then open a fuckin’ english book. I got my style, and I like it... it works for me. I have written a few blogs in my time before... ya know, on the MySpace and other sites to which I can’t access anymore . My stories were kinda funny or at least people thought they were funny so I brought the ones that I had saved through MySpace over here as I explained way up there. Anyway, I wanted to be more than just funny, aside from the fact that that’s a lot of fuckin’ pressure to write a story with some funny in it every time, I just have more to say than that... some serious, some crazy, some straight bullshit. I just wanna be able to post up whatever I want unlike my previous job writing sports for Playboy magazine. Naw sayin’? Hmm... what else should you expect from me? I swear... a lot. Like curse words swearing. Oh and some of the shit I say is really fucked up. Like vulgar, borderline straight nasty... I have been known to encourage thoughts in one’s mind of “Holy shit why the hell is he even thinking of some shit like that”. But I think I’m gonna keep it somewhat clean until I find out how many readers I get, if any at all. Besides, I don’t need some honky coming along, reading some wild ass shit about me waking up to a wet dream after a night full of dreaming about flying elephants preying on mermaids, then submitting my blog to a Dear Dr. Phil email. Get me? Ending up on Dr. Phil for that shit is not a good look. Your just gonna have to trust me on that.

Anyway, read this thing from time to time. Thanks suckas!

BB: A lot weirds me out . . .

Originally Posted: Tuesday, January 29, 2008


A lot weirds me out . . .

Overly obese people making out in public, gay people, bondage porn, the Amish, fat chicks wearing little to no clothing, fetishes of the feet or you know just fetishes in general, all those creatures in the movie The Hills Have Eyes, old ladies that try to act young, the Olson twins, any picture of Brittney Spears showing off her vag. You know that picture of Amy Winehouse running down the street with BBQ sauce packets? That shit weirds me the fuck out! I mean what the hell is wrong with this girl. The bitch just stole some BBQ sauce from Burger King and she's running down the street trying to find a nice secluded place (possibly a dark alley, I dunno...) so that she could ravage the tasty sauce out of them little plastic containers for a few satisfying seconds. Etiquette is out the window. This bitch wants/needs her sauce! Frustrated that the not-so-fun-to-open packets aren't cooperating with her. . . she's losing her cool, about to go postal before she gets a corner that is willing to let her reach the ultimate high that is her air castle. . . BBQ-Topia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Whoa, got a little carried away there. Leave it alone, I got lost in the moment. Moooving on. . . . I'm also weirded out by a stripper looking directly in my eyes while dancing for me as if we're having a staring competition (bitch knows I'll win), midgets, dildos and even flesh lights, etc. Did I mention redneck hillbilly mother fuckers(literally) that look like they only come down off the mountain once, maybe twice, a year? Yeah, they're pretty fuckin' weird too.

Anyway, all of the aforementioned (big word, sound her out) have a draw to someone or something, I'm sure, but really don't belong in this world and just literally weirds me the fuck out.

And the pics. . .

BB: A.N.T.'s Addicted To What . . .

Originally Posted: Thursday, July 26, 2007

A.N.T.'s Addicted To What. . .

Hello. My name is A.N.T. . . . and I think I'm addicted to McDonalds food.

Okay well not like literally addicted . . not yet anyway. But I think there is some potential here... you know enough to have me a little concerned thus the reason why I'm writing a fuckin' blog about it. I first realized it when me and Vin were in the truck working, I think it was like Monday of this past week. That radio commercial came on, the one about "pick the quarter pounder or big mac" and the guy is like "I can't choose" or some such shit like that. I dunno but fuck, I could choose . . . I pick both. So anyway later that day I'm working with my Dad and we stopped real quick at the local golden arches to grab something on the go. Yours truly orders a Big Mac (got some fries and a root beer with it in case you were wondering). I swear to friggin' Allah . . . possibly the best Big Mac and fries I've ever had. Pause. But seriously it was pretty fuckin' good. Fast forward a couple of days... Its Wednesday. Me and Vin are on our Lock Haven route. We're hungry. We have some time to kill. What do we do? That's right, got lunch at McDonatellos (Italian for McDonalds). What do I order... you ask? A fuckin' Big Mac! Some fries and a beer of root to go along with it! Oh yeah I should mention that both times I ordered I really wanted to go with the Quarter Pounder w/ cheese along with the Big Mac . . . but I didn't have the balls to do it. I mean having the McShits while you gotta work is not fun. Repeat. Not. Fun.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .*25 minutes later* . . . . . Whoa, so you wanna hear a freaky story real quick? Good cuz I'm gonna tell you one. As I was writing that last line before all of those annoying periods with spaces in between. . . I had a shit attack (possibly a .7 on the shitector scale). It was a rough one with no warning signs. After attempting to swallow the duke I realized that I couldn't and had to break out my room and make a dash to the bathroom. Thankfully, I made it. Dropped the kids off at the pool and now I'm back. Pretty freaky story though, right? I mean, as I write about getting the shits I end up getting one of the worse shit attacks of the decade so far . . nearly making me Benoit everyone in my path to the sacred throne of man. . . . Anyway back to what I was saying . . . . alright so I forget what I was saying and I'm feelin' too lazy to scroll up and read where I left off before that story. So I'll end it here.

Sike. I almost ended this blog like David Chase ended the Sopranos... Leaving everyone all like "What the heck? That's it?". But I'll finish . . . So I have McDonald's food two times this week and coupled with my cravings for another Big Mac w/ fries and a root beer, I'm a little worried that I'm becoming addicted. Okay so maybe I'm pushing the panic button a little too soon being that two times in one week isn't that bad compared to some fat fucks... err I mean "people" out there. But remember this is a guy that barely, if ever, ate that kind of food, barely ever hits up the goodie/snack cupboard, rarely drinks soda or eats fast food, etc. So while two times a week might be a drastic improvement for some heifers out there, for me its a drastic deprovement (yeah, I'm making up words and shit now cuz I can - hell, its my blog... get off my back about it).

OK time to end it.

Real quick here's some other addictions I had/have:

~Excedrin -- It was kinda serious. Lasted a month or five. I was poppin' "X" as we called it on the skreets like they were skittles. All "yo, I think I gots a headache... hold on, let me check right quick... yeah I gots one. Let me get two of dem 'Xses'." Notice the ghetto talk - my addiction to "X" went to my head a little bit so yeah . . I briefly went hood.

~Grain Alcohol -- Semi serious. It only lasted one night. Thats about all I needed with that shit.

~Strip Clubs -- Very serious. Still in progress. Been an addict since turning 18 years of age 4 years ago. Strip Clubs are my sanctuary. I love them bitches. Ladies and gents . . . don't knock it 'til you try it. That's all I'm gonna say about that.

~Lost (the show on TV) -- I don't know why. I mean, sometimes its not even that good but other times its like damn, I'm not trying to wait a whole other week to see what happens. You know? Shit got me hooked though.

~Me -- Do you blame me? This shit is 4 life like Hollywood Hogan in NWO. YA KNOW?


BB: I'm Cold

Originally Posted: Wednesday, July 11, 2007


I'm Cold

I'm cold. No, I'm not about to tell you the story of the scuba diving accident I had and the ice pump that was placed in the center of my chest because of it. I'm literally cold, and it feels so fuckin' good! Its been hot as hell + humid - rain = Ant is now hot in more ways than two (Jim Jones: "ladies!"). The central air got fixed in the house today, now its working properly, so we've been acting like a fat kid who just got done slapping his ham ... and we're chilling ourselves the fuck out on some negative degree shit with all the fans in the house on top speed causing a mean ass wind chill in this mother. But like I said, it feels pretty good so I'm not complainin'. Man, I feel bad for all you people with no A/C . . . NOT. Eat it bitches!


BB: My second survey for MySpace

Originally Posted: Saturday, January 06, 2007


Shitcicle. Noun. Definition: A tapering spike of shit flavored ice formed by the freezing of dripping or falling shit. Used in a sentence: "Vin, don't even tell me that's a fuckin' shitcicle hanging from the toilet seat."


Matt P.'s Moms.


5. DO YOU STILL REMEMBER THE FIRST PERSON YOU KISSED? Yeah. Right. But I'll say Pamela Anderson for the hell of it.

People who wear flip-flops other than at the beach are either hippies, dirtballs, or gay. You decide.

How about neither.

Rocky 6 (not really I'm just a little embarrassed that the last movie I watched was Bikini Gang 4. The plot totally sucked)

9. DO ANY OF YOUR FRIENDS HAVE CHILDREN? Yeah, maybe I should get one. You know, to fit in and shit.

I have a theory. It goes something like this: If you're young and you don't hear "you're fuckin' lazy" on a regular basis then you're trying entirely way too hard and just making the rest of us look bad. Its not because you wear big ass glasses, play number munchers & war craft on the 'puter all day, stink like low fat popcorn & donkey dick, watch re-runs of Star Trek, and/or read books that cause you not to "fit in" and have zero friends other than your tickle-me Elmo doll you cuddle with every night. Its because you're trying way too damn hard and ruining it for the rest of us. So what I'm saying is this . . Be lazy and you'll have more friends. That simple.

Go with me on this . . .

No but for those interested in this kinda shit I recommend drinking some grain alcohol. That shit makes you pass out fast (assuming you drink enough of it), or atleast you'll think you're sleeping but really you're awake doing some crazy dumb shit... and its like "damn, where the fuck was I?" Then you'll wake up in the hospital to some male nurse trying to stick a needle in your arm. But don't worry . . you'll fall asleep again in like a couple minutes.



14. HAS ANYONE TOLD YOU A SECRET THIS WEEK? Why? Was somebody supposed to tell me a secret this week?

Fact: Real men don't do Star Bucks.

16. CAN YOU WHISTLE? Only while I work.

Eyes. Feel me on this one for a second . . . No, not because of color or any of that corny ass shit (Please, I'm A.N.T.) Eyes as in "are they both looking and directed towards me?" I don't need a woman with one eye on me and the other all wandering around the room and shit checking how fast the ceiling fan is spinning and shit. Feel me? Of course you do. See guys are too worried about all that other shit (boobs, asses, etc.) and not watching them eyes, then they take them home to meet Mom and when you go to introduce her you see the good one looking at Mom and that other thing peeping into the living room directly on the left of her. Then you have that whole awkward "damn, baby. when the fuck did you get one of those?"

Trust me, not cool.

I'm not sure but I know a lot of them dream about me . . if that counts.

You mean the babysitter?

Weapons of Ass Destruction.

This question should be "Do you live in a trailer park?"

These questions suck ass.

I don't own dishes. Mom does. So therefore she can do her own dishes.

Cry? Laugh. Whatever.

28. ARE YOU ON A DESKTOP COMPUTER OR A LAP TOP? My profile song is the shit.

Yep, trying to save up enough money to get the scrotum pierced. Figure one more wave of birthday money from the fam and I should easily have it.

I don't know but some weird shit is happening because its been warm as hell and its January. I have a theory but I'm still working on it...

Why? So I could end up in a trailer park, getting abused by my spouse, working at a strip club, fixing lawnmowers in my spare time, and dying a heroin addict? I don't think so . . .

Wondered about what kind of shit they have Al Gore on.

Who the hell sleeps on a floor and owns a computer? Better yet . . . Who the hell sleeps on a floor and has a Myspace?

The amount of hours it takes for me to wake up by myself.

Eat breakfast or sleep? Hmm... This ain't rocket science people.

Of shit? Yeah, literally.

No, and those people that do are a joke... and fat. I'm just sayin' . . .

No but I do like to keep it in my pocket . . Right next to my cassive mock.

40. ARE YOU PICKY ABOUT SPELLING AND GRAMMAR? Yeah, including typing errors. For example whoever wrote these questions in all caps needs to jump on the fuckin' short bus and take that shit back to middle school.

Almost... Cuz like yea Dad, I totally want to feed these fuckin' flamingos over hitting up the fuckin' Batman roller coaster. Asshole.

Sex. Is the opposite of sex really a friggin' option?

I don't know but I just got this gross image in my head of retards drooling. You got that too? Weird....

Hers . . . for all of them.

ESPN, not so much anymore but yeah. ESPN.

Eating pussy.

Question #41 brought back some bad memories so yeah . . . my Dad.

A lap dance? But I don't really remember that night so . . .

BB: People around the world love A.N.T.

Originally Posted: Monday, March 06, 2006


People around the world love A.N.T.

BB: My first survey for MySpace

Originally Posted: Saturday, December 31, 2005


1. What color is most reflective of you?

2. How did you get the idea for your profile name?
Its the name . . .

3. What time were you born?

3. What song are you playing now, or wish you were playing?
Mi Casa - Biggie

4. Has the death of a celebrity ever made you cry?
Apollo Creed -- Rocky 4

5. What color underwear are you wearing?

6. Do you want a baby?
3 is enough.

7. What did you do this morning?
talked with the Antimals

8. What does your dad do for a living?
Hide from his kids

9. Where do you work?
The studio

10. What ended your last relationship(s)?
The devil

11. What are the last 2 digits of your phone number?

12. What was the last concert you attended?
Billy Ray Cyrus

13. Who were you with?
My church group

14. What was the last movie you watched?
Exorcism of Emily Rose . . . Scurry.

15. Who do you dislike at the moment?
John Ruiz

16. What food do you crave right now?
Doritos (nacho cheesier) and home made chocolate chip cookies

17. Did you dream last night?
Yeah . . . I had a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

18. What was the last TV show you watched?
uh . . . I don't remember

19. What is your favorite piece of jewelry?
Do clit piercings count?

20. What is to the left of you?
Some hottie . . . She totatly wants my pen-is.

21. What was the last thing you ate?
A little vitamin C tablet thing

22. Who is your best friend of the opposite sex?
yeah. right.

23. Write a song lyric that's in your head?
"Mami make me some oatmeal
the mailman outside he bringin mo bills"

24. Who last IMd you?
Who? Matt P . . .

25. What don't you like to do?
Trim my finger nails . . .

26. Are you on any meds?
Whats that supposed to mean?

27. What side of the bed do you sleep on?
The side close to the wall . . . I have a phobia of falling out of bed.

28. What shirt are you wearing?
Not wearing one.

29. What color is your razor?

30. What is your favorite frozen treat?
Ice cream sanmiches

31. How many tattoos/piercings do you have?

32. What's your favorite store?

33. Are you thirsty right now?
I don't know

34. Can you imagine yourself ever getting married?

35. Who's someone you haven't seen in a while and miss?
I miss no one

36. What did you do last night?
Went to the titty bar with the fellas

37. Do you care what people think about you?
What you think?

38. Have you ever done something to instigate trouble?
Ya . . .

39. What song(s) do you think ex's listen to when they think of you?
I should've cheated -- by Keyshia Cole

40. What song(s) do you listen to when you think of ex's?
Fashion Statement -- by Papoose

41. Are you an undercover cop?
Hey officer i'm just trying to feed my family, they got me hummin' like a slave . . .

42. What do you do in your spare time?

43. Who makes you smile?
Brittney Spears

44. What is today?
Only the last day of the friggin' year

45. Do you get along with your parents?
When she's not drunk . . . yeah.

46. Are you fighting with some one right now?

47. If so, Who
Mini Ant . . . He's not cooperating today

48. What is one thing you wish you were better at?
Twister . . . and snapping my fingers

49. Do you like the person who posted this last?
Don't really know her, but she sounds like she needs A.N.T. to cheer her up . . . a little depressed.

50. what are you going to do now?
Post this shit.

BB: About Me for MySpace

I originally wrote this when I first signed up for MySpace back in the day... Oh I don't know, maybe when I was 20ish? Read it anyways:


The name is Anthony. I'm 28 yrs old and I still live at home . . . with my moms. I'm on the 15 yr plan, meaning I plan on staying at home (with my moms) until 15 years outta HS. I don't care what my friends say about my pad, living in the basement is cool shit. Unless my mom calls me to come eat dinner or to take the dog out while people are over . . . thats embarrassing shit. For the most part she doesn't bother "The Pad" as my friends like to call it. My friends are pretty cool, it doesn't bother me that people say they "can't see them". Doc says they're just being ignorant and that he can see them perfectly fine. Except I think the Doc has a bad memory, he always forgets that Alvin wears red, Theodore wears green, Simon wears blue, and David is not their biological father. I get tired of telling him those things . . . I mean hello? just look at them, its obvious to see which is which. Alvin's big yellow "A" on his red t-shirt might give it away. Not to mention they're frickin' chipmunkmans (human sized chipmunks) . . . My buddies don't mind that Doc can't tell them apart yet though, they're pretty cool guys like that. You're probably wondering if I get a lot of puss at "The Pad". The answer is, kinda but not really. There was this one time I almost got a girl to come over at 8:30 in the morning. I know what you're thinking, "what kind of player can get ass that early in the AM?" right? Well I almost got this bitty to come over, I was that close to becoming the master player of Wmspt. Just so happened I called at the end of her shift, so she couldn't come. Doesn't matter though, it would've cost too much anyway. I was planning on borrowing the 300 from moms, and I hate having to pay that woman back. You know how it is, borrowing cash from the parents. They all hold it against you and shit like, "I don't think so Anthony Michael. You're not allowed to drive my car until I get at least half of what you owe me". . . Feel me? Of course you do, 'rents are all the same . . . What else can I brag about myself? Hmm . . . I've been working for the newspaper company for 17 years now. The job is alright, the pay is good and I've been working my boss to get a dental plan for us Newspaper Delivery Technicians. NDTs as we like to call ourselves. The average age of the group of NDTs, not including myself, is 10. So you can say I'm the leader because of my years of experience on the job. But I like to think of it as me being born for it. That's something, I'm very proud of . . . One thing that really errks me about my job though. Is when people complain that I'm not delivering the newspaper on the front porch of the home every time. Instead I ride by on my bike (Huffy, I don't play no games) and throw the paper into the yard, giving my best heave to make it onto the porch. Here's an idea to those of you who complain . . . Did you ever think of building on an addition to your porch so I could get the newspaper onto it like you want? No, of course you didn't. Thats why I'm head of the NDTs and you're not. Anyway there's more to me than just all that. I know, hard to believe there could be anything more to such a wonderful life. The reality is that that's only a small dose of what you would get if you knew me better. If you would like to get to know me better, and hang out with me and my buddies at "The Pad", then there's only one way to get a hold of me. You have to drive by my house playing your stereo really loud so that I can hear you from inside of my house. In your stereo player you have to play the ice cream man jingle song . . . Its the only way moms lets me outta the house alone. I know, I'm bad. I trick her all the time with that. Nuckin' Futs.