Deep within my heart I can feel a poison begin to grip my mind. Vegetarianism has defined me in the way an unwaivering faith defines a theist; and so I am privy to both its ethic and regulation. The poison I speak of is a conflict in which in order to survive and grow as an individual I must retain my employment at olive garden. To achieve, to merely float with my head above the deep blue sea of our society, I find myself serving a corpse on a plate. I am part of the system which I so vehemently despise; I am the lowest cog, the distributer. It is becoming harder and harder to justify my behavior.
I can understand why people wholeheartedly believe in deities. The inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality. We all posses vivid imaginations through some type of evolved psychological process but not many of us possess a rooted thought process to define the line between what is real and what is not. The boundary of rationality becomes permeable.
Boi Draft 09
I know with Freedom Fest V coming up there might be a lot of questions about games that will be played. Beer pong, flip cup, boxing, jew ball, etc. You’re probably thinking…hmmm….who do I want to be my partner? Or who can I trust when the games on the line? So in order to help everyone out I had my good friend over at ESPN, Mel Kiper Jr. (draft and recruiting expert), to give us his expert analysis. Or as he likes to put it, his Mock Draft. So here is his draft listed from last to first.
21. Anthony “Lil D” Deangelis. Here’s the reason why he’s not in the 1st round (top 20). Because I don’t trust these kids that come straight out of high school. Is he gifted? No doubt. He might revolutionize the game for all we know. But its a huge risk. How well can he manage his life with all these distractions around him? Too many question marks for me.
20. Jeff “DJ HIV” Dye. This kid really has not impressed me over the course of the last five months. He had a horrible day at senior day and when I talked to him after the game he just gave me all the wrong impressions. He had a flacid handshake, wandering eyes, and a lot of “ummm i don’t know” answers. He’s likely to go undrafted if he doesn’t get his act together.
19. Sein “Ron Sheeds” Reid. Remember back in 2005 what everyone was saying. Oh this kids gonna be the next Reggie White. He has hall of fame written all over him. Not so fast…He’s still a great athlete with potential but my personal feeling is that he has already peaked physically. He can be a starter for any team but the question is, how bad does he want it?
18. Sean “Smoothboots, Fa$e” Borelli. Nobody knows how to break through to this kid. I understand he had a rough upbringing but we’re talking about becoming a professional here. He understands that this is the biggest moment in his life and then what’s he do? Fails his drug test right before the draft. It blows my mind. I wouldn’t take him.
17. Kyle “?” Sparkman. Some questions have arisen over this kid’s enthusiasm for the game. However no one questions his intelligence. If he’s not playing on the field within five years then he’ll be making moves in the front office, that’s a guarantee. Side note - The fact that Sparkman doesn’t have a nickname kind of disturbs me. Makes you wonder….why?
16. Mike “Mikey Stumbles” Busacca. Good heart, great smile, never late. I’ll put this kid on my team anyday. He’s got all the tools for the real world. However, like his nickname suggests, he has two left feet.
15. John “JR” Underwood. A real wild card here. He’s great in the clubhouse. Players love him. His college coach actually shipped his daughter off to boarding school in order to make room for JR to move in when JR could no longer afford rent. However, there is a downside. Underwood gives new meaning to the word, “Personal Foul.” Its like buying a new dog…..Do your research before you buy so you are prepared for what you’re getting.
14. Joe “2slo” Gavish. People always asking me, “Yo Mel, How come you got a guy named 2slo as high up as 14th overall?” I tell the guy, “Look. I know he’s put on some weight and lost a step or two in speed. But his style and approach to the game will be a great fit for somebody.”
13. Chris “Korbusso” Corbus. This guy has seen it all. Raised by a poor immigrant family, diagnosed with asthma at an early age, never given the oppurtunities that most kids have. But somehow he made it through all of that. He just got back from traveling overseas. You talk to him for five minutes and see the level of maturity that this kid possesses. He’s got future coach written all over him.
12. Dan “Dan Smith” Smith. This year’s Chris Weinke. A little old however he can really help out a young team. He’s a natural leader with a knack for big plays. A solid starter for any team. His knees are a question mark though.
11. Nicholas “Lazer” Casario. His physical tools are top 10 if not top 5 draft status, his mental tools are not. All I hear about this kid is how he got in a fight with five people at once, how he narrowly escaped a DUI, how that loaded gun really isn’t his. I think if he can get his act straight he’s got All-Star potential no doubt. But his violent, party lifestyle will keep him out of the pros.
10. Ben “Benji” Moneyhan. This is my draft sleeper. An 18-25 pick on most peoples’ lists. On mine he’s top ten and let me tell you why. This kid is someone who know’s how to play the game. I don’t care if he’s not as strong or as fast as some of the other players. He knows how to play the game. You draft Ben Moneyhan you’re drafting a drinker.
9. Adam “Monkey” Webster. Just an overall solid pick. Class Act. Here’s a guy who is settled down, married with kids, knows what he wants in life, has earned a real paycheck before, and wants to make a better life for him and his family. You won’t have off the field problems with Webster. This is a conservative pick who will fit in with anybody’s team. You won’t see anybody trading up to pick him though.
8. Sawyer “Leffy” Leftwich. Repulsive person. Not the face of the franchise at all. But, and thats a powerful but, nobody steps up to the bar like Sawyer Leftwich. He gives 110% everytime the bottle touches his lips and you can’t ask for more out of a guy than that. He loves the game.
7. Trever “TMac” McDonald. Great physical tools. Can be a utility player. Put him in any spot, in any game, and in any situation and he’s going to shine. However health concerns are someting worring alot of GM’s out there. They call Trever “Sleezy T” in the locker room. How will gonorrhea affect his ability to perform 3, 5, 10 years down the road? Is this something that McDonald should come out and publicaly address?
6. Matt “Gay Troy” Padgett. One of the most gifted athletes we’ve ever seen enter the draft. His physical tools are off the charts and he can sniff out plays like a bloodhound. However, his character is a question. He is currently on trial for three felony gun charges. Even if he is found innocent, his marketability is already tarnished. What team wants a “thug” as the face of their franchise? This guy might go anywhere in the top 5 but i’ve dropped him down to 6 on my board.
5. Robbie “BAMF” Jernigan. Last years heisman is an impressive speciman. His strength and game-time mentality is more like a Spartan than a boi. However he won the heisman on big plays, raw talent, and luck. In order to succeed at the next level he will need some fine tuning on his fundamentals. His college coach tells me that during the few hours before gametime Jernigan must be kept in a calm, safe, and friendly environment to make sure that he doen’t hurt any of his teammates.
4. Conan “Conan” Obrien. A quality young man. People always ask me, “Yo Mel what about….” I cut him off and start talking, “He’s a behemoth in the weightroom, a behemoth in the bedroom, and a behemoth at the bar.” Thats what i always say. He was the Defensive player of the year last year and I really like this pick. Good pick.
3. Charley “Big Time Ca$h” Combs. This guy is a horse. Tons of upside. Its hard to decifer the truth from legend about this guy. The story of him drinking a fifth in 30 minutes…thats fact. Saw with my own two eyes. But the throwing up and creating the Mississippi River out of his own vomit, pretty sure thats just myth. Either way the kids franchise all the way. There is a possibility of him holding out for more money though. If a team can’t come to terms quickly with Combs, then he might miss training camp and cause a whole mess of problems.
2. Clay “Maverick” Thomson. Boy do I like this guy. Strong work ethic, great technique, Southpaw, and he has a certian swagger about himself during the game. On top of that he has the pedigree to back it up. Thompson is a world class drinker who could easily be the number one pick.
1. Matthew “Top Gun” Suters. I don’t need to descibe his abilities. I think we’re all aware of what this man can do. He excels at more than just drinking. Gambling, golf, women, drifting, acting, style, stock markets…need i go on? He has the potential to be the face of the bois over the next twenty years. But, he’s a thrill seeker. Last weekend he almost died in a Formula 1 race on amateur driver day. His adventurous / thrill seeking attitude could create future problems with his contract, however he is just too talented to pass up in my book.
BROS CREEDShades on, collar popped, Walking out the door,
Gonna get some strange, Hope she’s not a whore.
God I smell so nice, It must be the Tommy,
Riding in my Beemer, Trying to impress the mommies.
I pull up to the players club, blaring my techno beat,
I know they’re all staring, They all know I look sweet.
I stroll up to the door, Me and all my swagger,
But suddenly I’m stopped, By a superhuman nagger.
This beast is gigantic, He says I’m not their type,
So I argued with the man, Until he hit me with a pipe.
Its midnight on a Saturday, And you know what that means bro,
I’m GONNA get some strange, No nagger will tell me no.
I love to drink and drive, It’s kind of what I do,
Trying to find a club, Hopefully someplace new.
I see the flashing lights, WOW there’s lots of honeys,
Once they see my hair, they’ll think I’m made of money.
Failure is not an option, Strange is what I need,
So I take out my jokers, And roll me up some weed.
I walk up to this honey, A shitty grin is on my face,
She doesn’t like my game, My eyes now torched with mace.
I’ll give it one more shot, That’s a bro’s creed,
This time I’ll get some strange, But no more smoking weed.
Cruising in my beemer, My muscles looking hot,
I really need to hurry, It’s almost one o’clock.
I pull up to the castle, God I’m so damn cool,
I can’t wait to find this broad, And screw her in the pool.
There’s not a lot of girls, In fact it’s overwhelming dick,
But that’s okay with me bro, Because my polo’s fucking sick.
I’m extremely disappointed, As I get back in my car,
How can I find some strange, If I’m at a gay bar?
I’ve never felt more worthless, I feel completely ashamed,
It’s like if you traded Michael Jordan, for a player-to-be-named.
How is this night possible, I’ve let down all my bros,
I know they’re with some hotties, licking on their toes.
I’ll try again tomorrow, That’s a bro’s creed,
I really need some strange, A bro’s in desperate need.Official Police Report for September 1, 1995.
Ca$h, Big Time. AKA: Big Time Ca$h 5’ 6” 180 lbs. African American with a stout, muscular build. Several tattoos including “BANK” written on his neck and a Benjamin Franklin portrait on his left pectoral. Mr. Ca$h resides in Oakland, California with his girlfriend and seven illegitimate children. Notorious gangster, pimp, rapper, money launderer, and money lover. Ca$h also sells underground hit albums throuhout California. Forbes magazine ranks him among the ten richest African Americans in the world today. His exact worth is unknown but Big Time Ca$h insists that it is truly “Big Time.” He has been arrested 47 times before for all kinds of charges however Mr. Ca$h has only spent a total of 13 days in jail. This man has no formal education. Mr. Ca$h can not be trusted.
Troy III, Gaylord Richard. AKA: Gay Troy 6’ 5” 235 lbs. African American. Tall, strong, and well proportioned. Several tattoos including “Alpah Nigger” written across his upper back and two Colt 45 pistols on his lower abdomen. Mr. Troy lives on a vast estate in Atlanta with several pitbulls. He has no living family or childhood friends that we know of. Mr. Troy has his MBA from Georgia Tech University. It has been believed for some time now that Mr. Troy has been involved in gang activity. He is also a possible homicidal psychopath. Mr. Troy takes part in homosexual activities. Mr. Troy does not take part in community activites. He is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous.
Detmer, Ty. 6’0” 185 lbs. Caucasian. Morman. 1990 Heisman Trophy Winner at Brigham Young University. After deciding that professional football was not in his best interests, Detmer decided that professional crime was. He quickly became a demolition expert. Using small amounts of TNT and C4 stuck to footballs, Detmer could use his heisman arm to throw these deadly grenades up to 50 yards. He rose to the top ranks of American assassins and working out of Salt Lake City, Utah, Detmer made connections throughout California and the west coast. This man is very smart and an exceptional athlete. He has six wives, all of who are deadly killers as well. Ty Detmer and his wives are considered to be highly dangerous but severly wounded.
Official Overall Report:
It is believed that Ty Detmer was hired as a professional assassin by Big Time Ca$h. The hit was suppose to be made on Gaylord Richard Troy III, better known as Gay Troy, on July 30, 1994. Ty Detmer was also suppose to steal a Dinette Set that Gay Troy won on “The Price Is Right” on July 26, 1994. Detmer did not kill Gay Troy but he did steal the dinette set and start a gang war that would last more than a month. In the end no one ended up with the dinette set, as the dinette set was burned in a furnace and Ty Detmer lost his leg. The where-abouts of all three men are unknown. Several civilians lost there lives.
7 / 26 /94 “The Price Is Right” tape. Cut out of Gaylord Richard Troy III winning the Dinette Set.
GAY TROY COME ON DOWN!!! YOUR THE NEXT CONTESTANT ON THE PRICE IS RIGHT!!!
Drew Carey: Come on down Gay Troy
Gay Troy: Oh my god! Oh my baby jesus Oh my god!!! Oh God Oh God Oh God!!!
Drew: Whats our next item up for bid?
A BEAUTIFUL DINETTE SET MADE FROM RARE OAK ONLY FOUND IN TAILAND. ACCOMPANIED BY FOUR CHAIRS.
Drew: A rare oak dinette set. Alright let’s start the bidding with Gay Troy.
Troy: $300,000 Drew.
Drew: hahaha Wow. A bold guess by Gay Troy.
Troy: Watch your tone Drew I’d hate to ruin a good time.
Contestant 1: $40,000
Contestant 2: $30,000
Contestant 3: $41,000
Drew: Ohhhhhh everyone went over we’re going to have to guess again.
Troy: Let me get that $21,000 piece Drew.
Contestant 1: $8,000
Contestant 2: $10,000
Contestant 3: $32,000 Drew.
Drew: 32,000? Thats your final guess? We did go over last time remember?
Contestant 3: $32,000 Drew. That’s final. Wooooh Dallas!!!! Woooh! Go Dallas!!!
Drew: Actual Retail Price….$21,500 come on up here Gay Troy!!!
Troy: What? WHAT?!? Oh shit oh shit oh my god oh shit.
Chronological History of the crimes believed related to this case:
7/30 - Negro found bruised and battered. Said his dinette set was stolen by a quaterback. Police search the negro for drugs. When the search comes up negative, they plant some on him.
8/1 - Detmer Palace in Salt Lake City Utah attacked. Only the Dinette Set, underwear, and highlight tapes were stolen.
8/4 - Traffic Backed up for six hours on the interstate due to a high speed chase between two men which involved heavy gunfire and three casualties. Two of the
casualties are two of Ty Detmer’s wives. Both were carrying explosives on them. The third casualty was Timmy Tonnebaker, a local third grader who didn’t make it to see his 9th birthday. Timmy was shot 39 times.
8/9 - Fight breaks out at Dunkin Donuts. All donuts all stolen. No money is stolen. One elder man claims his soul was taken from him that morning.
8/10 - Bombing of Atlanta night club goes off around 1:30 am. Police find scraps of footballs laying around the club. They also find customized condoms in the VIP section. GT*ATL is written on the resevoir tips.
8/15 - Dinette Set found stolen again from the Detmer palace. Two more of Ty Detmer’s wives and Ty’s personal servant are dead. Ty’s personal servant shows signs of rape but interestingly enough, the wives do not.
8/20 - Gun battle breaks out at Bojangles Chicken in Atlanta, Georgia. Blood everywhere. “Thai Oak” is written in blood on the walls.
8/30 - Dinette set found burnt in a furnace of an office building in downtown Oakland, California. Chained to the burnt dinette set is a man’s leg. DNA tests reveal that it is the leg of Ty Detmer. Big Time Ca$h, Gay Troy, and Ty Detmer are still at large
Gay Troy and His Quest for Boyko Radko
It has been more than three years since Gay Troy defeated his archrival Big Time Cash in battle; three years since Gay Troy spoke with God; and three years since Gay Troy walked to Quebec. He arrived a victor and, as God told him, he was greeted as a king. Gay Troy had the time of his life in Quebec. He lived in a French mansion built over 250 years ago, he made major coke deals on a weekly basis, and slept with beautiful men every night. But one night this fantasy world that Gay Troy now called “life” came to an abrupt end.
It was about 3:15 am and Gay Troy was sound asleep in his flannel sheets. Then a bright light with what sounded like trumpets appeared in his room. Gay Troy immediately jumped out of bed, startled but not scared.
"God damn nigga I just pissed my drawers! Who the fuck do you think…" Troy was cut off by the booming voice.
"Silence Negro! For I am Michael, the Archangel of War! I come bearing news of the upmost importance and I expect your undivided attention!
"Wait, wait, aren’t you suppose to be…"
"Yes I know. Gabriel is on two weeks paid vacation and I am filling his place. Now, as for your undivided attention. The Lord your God has chosen you for a certain mission. A mission so serious that if you do not complete it God’s perfect plan will be in jeopardy. Do you understand?"
"Yeah that’s cool and all but why me?"
"Gaylord Richard Troy III you are, short of Lucifer, the worst creature ever to set foot on Earth. Your heart is filled with hate, your mind is full of greed, your guns are full with bullets, and your stomach is filled with sperm. And this is exactly why the Lord has chosen you. A man so ruthless, wicked, and black that you can’t do anything but succeed. Fly to London and meet up with a man named Nigel Wood and his fellow companion King. He will instruct you from there."
Gay Troy, still mad about pissing his pants and hearing his full name said out loud, bought a one way plane ticket to London, England for 6 a.m. the next day.
When Gay Troy stepped off the plane he was met by an odd looking fellow and his beautiful pitbull.
"Let me guess, you’re Nigel Wood and that is King?" Troy said with a slight smile.
"If I’m not Nigel Wood, than you aren’t the darkest nigger I’ve ever seen!" Nigel said with hearty laugh.
Gay Troy reached for his 9 mm but King, always on alert, quickly silenced that thought. They all exited the airport and rode to Nigel’s house to discuss matters. Nigel explained the whole situation to Gay Troy and how his failure would surely doom the universe. He told Gay Troy that his mission is to destroy one man; however, this is no ordinary man, in fact no one even knows if he is a man at all. Nigel told Gay Troy that his name is Boyko Radko, which means “Battle Happy” in his native language. Nigel described Boyko as a man “so mean, so vicious, so uncontrollably brutal that not even hell would accept his soul.” Gay Troy laughed and touched his cock. For Gay Troy loves a good challenge.
Two days later Gay Troy, Nigel, and King all set out for Sofia, Bulgaria. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Sofia it is the capital of Bulgaria and lies next to the Balkan Mountains. To best describe Sofia best would be to set a bag of dog shit on fire and then set it next to mountains. Anyways, almost as soon as they stepped foot off of the plane they started looking for Boyko. With Nigel researching in the libraries, King using his excellent nose for tracking, and Gay Troy forcing information out of people at gunpoint, the trio made significant progress in the search for Boyko Radko. One old lady, while begging for her life, told Gay Troy of a hidden temple where Boyko is suppose to reside. Gay Troy thanked her and then disposed of her cold, dead body. King frowned upon this but decided to turn his furry shoulder.
After four hours of horseback riding, yes King can ride a horse, they found the temple. The temple was old, beat up, and it smelled like moldy banana pudding. First they heard footsteps, then voices, then moans, then they smelled the stink of the undead. For none of them could have expected what came next, Zombies. The zombies, six of them in all, stumbled out to meat our fearless trio at the entrance of the temple. Gay Troy’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe it! It couldn’t be! It can’t be! It was. It was Big Time Cash, back from the dead. His fade was gone along with his cash. And his skin was a little more green than it was black but nonetheless Gay Troy instantly recognized his old nemesis. Nigel instantly called for the smallest, weakest zombie. King barked four times, which obviously means that he will take on four zombies. And as for Gay Troy…well he had unfinished business with his old enemy. King made the charge and tore through the zombies like a fat man at an all-you-can-eat steak and shrimp buffet. Nigel faced off with his weak enemy and struggled to win but after ten solid minutes of maybe the pussiest fighting the modern world has ever seen he stood victorious. Gay Troy instantly pulled out his two 9’s and emptied the clips. It had no effect on BTC’s zombie corpse. As Big Time inched closer Gay Troy pulled out his razors, still no effect. Big Time wrestled Gay Troy to the ground and had a firm grip around his throat. His grip was ten times stronger than that of his former self. As Gay Troy’s life was fading he knew that he had to think of something and do it quick. Suddenly he remembered BTC’s ultimate weakness…Cash. Gay Troy whipped out a $50 bill out of his pocket and waved it in his face. BTC’s grip loosened. He moaned like a whore and reached out for the $50. Gay Troy threw BTC off top of him, took out a lighter, and burned the $50 bill right in front of his face. The zombie Big Time Cash was so outraged that he snagged the lighter from Gay Troy’s black hands and set himself ablaze. The trio had won, no one was injured, and Gay Troy had defeated Big Time Cash in life and in death. It was his greatest accomplishment. The trio now went into the temple to search for clues on the whereabouts of Boyko Radko. They found zombie BTC’s cellular phone laying in the temple. Nigel picked it up, scrolled down to BOYTOY and pressed the call button. Nigel had the British Secret Service Agency track the call and locate the villains position. The trio rushed downtown to the designated position of Boyko. Much to their surprise it was painfully obvious where Boyko had been the whole time. The only skyscraper in the whole city had BOYKO CO. written across the top of it. Feeling like three peas wrapped in a big douchebag pod, they entered the skyscraper and traveled up ninety stories to get to the roof of the building.
As soon as they exited the elevator there was Boyko, in all his evil glory. He was built like a linebacker and his skin was nicely tanned. His hair was jet black and spiked. He was dressed with sunglasses, a bright pink polo, very short shorts, and boating shoes. “My God,” Troy muttered to himself, “He is the very thing I despise.” When Boyko opened his mouth and preached his nonsense to the trio, all Gay Troy could think about is how his voice sounds like Madeleine Albright. He also couldn’t help but notice his teeth were razor sharp. So sharp that they could cut through steel or a turtle’s shell. Gay Troy had hoped to get a blowjob from the villain before this whole escapade was over but that thought quickly exited his mind. Boyko was still preaching about his plan to overthrow God and undo the universe, but Gay Troy couldn’t focus. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Boyko’s muscles. “It would be a good lay,” Gay Troy thought to himself, “A strong lay.” But suddenly, breaking Gay Troy’s attention, battle ensued. Boyko struck Nigel first. One crippling blow and Nigel was down for the count. Then King went for the death grip on the throat. No such luck. He too now laid injured on the ground. With Nigel unconscious and King critically wounded, it is now up to Gay Troy and his half chub dick to save the day. Gay Troy and Boyko Radko battled maybe the greatest hand to hand battle of all time. The sounds of their thunderous hits will echo throughout history. It was like two American Bison Bulls squaring off with one another for the right to mate with the female. Or Neo and Agent Smith dueling in another epic cinematic fight. Fist connected with face, foot connected with groin, and teeth met the flesh. They fought for roughly an hour but anyone who witnessed the event would say it lasted a millennia. The fight ended almost as quickly as it began. Gay Troy is 6’5” and 235 lbs. He has been fighting since the age of four. He is powerfully built and can end a full grown man’s life and one fatal blow. His Negrolific strength gives him an unparalleled fighting ability. And when he connected with Boyko’s face, one could hear the bones shatter from beyond the horizon. It was instant death. You couldn’t of hit him harder with a bat. Gay Troy smiled. He was pleased with what he had done. Gay Troy picked up Nigel, picked up King, threw Boyko the shocker, and headed home.
When Gay Troy got back to his hotel room he poured a glass of top shelf rum and rolled a blunt of the finest weed London had to offer. He thought about Nigel and King in the hospital, he thought about his place in history, he thought about the final blow that ended Boyko’s life, and he thought about masturbating but he had not the energy. Then before Gay Troy had even had time to sit back and relax a thunderous noise shook the room and dimmed the lights. A voice rang out, “Brother Troy.” A stoned and drunk Gay Troy started cracking up laughing. “BROTHER TROY!”
"Word?" said the tipsy colored.
"It is the Lord your God, creator of all things good, architect of the universe."
"Oh….word." Even in the presence of the All Mighty all Gay Troy could think about was a double scoop of Rocky Road ice cream.
"Because you have successfully done what I have asked of thee I am awarding you with a vast estate on the northern side of Atlanta. Go there and make your peace. Your obedience will not be overlooked."
The Lord vanished with such haste that it left Gay Troy wondering if that really just happened or if this is just some kick ass sticky icky. When Gay Troy arrived at the estate he instantly knew what he wanted to do with the land. He called up his friend and they went to work immediately. Gay Troy along with the help of his fellow Atlantian, Mike Vick, successfully turned the estate into the world’s premier dog fighting rink. It was truly a thing of beauty. It was certainly a sight to see: blood thirsty pitbulls fighting in a ring and directly in the middle of the action stood Gay Troy and Mike Vick making out. You could say at that very moment, all was good in the universe. Mankind will live to see another day.
This is the true account of Gay Troy and his quest for Boyko Radko.
Gay TROY FactsGay Troy once met God, and was told to travel to Quebec.
Satan lost his soul in a bet to Gay Troy.
Although it cannot be proven, most scientists agree that Gay Troy’s dick is approximately 13.5 inches.
Gay Troy once slapped a 7 year old for incorrectly explaing the rules of 4 square.
Gay Troy once made love to a man until his heart exploded.
Gay Troy once met President Reagan; called him a bitch and slapped him in his bitch ass face.
Gay Troy once killed a litter of kittens just to prove a point.
Gay Troy once traveled to Oakland, CA and shit all over Big Time Cash’s house and parents.
Gay Troy once shot a man in the skull and preceeded to skull-fuck the man.
Gay Troy has a MBA from Georgia Tech University.
Gay Troy once wanted to be something great….but then found his daddy’s gun.
Gay Troy’s dick has never been photographed.
Gay Troy can not be seen in mirrors. No he is not a vampire.
Gay Troy’s skin is the same color as the night sky.
Gay Troy once thought that gold fronts were for pussys. Instead he gold plated his balls. 24K nigger.
Gay Troy owns Atlanta.
Gay Troy once received head from Chipper Jones, Robert De Niro, and that guy from Reading Rainbow.
Gay Troy has seventeen platinum albums.
Gay Troy has one main man = Maverick
Gay Troy has one arch enemy = Big Time Cash
Gay Troy has one dick to rule them all.
Gay Troy once blew up a bus full of cross country runners, just to prove a point.
Gay Troy once fell in love at first sight, and moments later killed the poor bastard for making him feel warm inside.
Gay Troy’s favorite band of all time is Earth, Wind, and Fire. Closely followed by the OA bois (Gay Troy, Fa$e, and Conezone)
Gay Troy once had sex with a woman. He didn’t like it.
Gay Troy once fucked i guy in the ass, pulled out, covered him in spermies, whipped out his 9mm, shot him 3 times, threw him the shocker, and left.
Gay Troy will have a lunar eclipse in his asshole from time to time.
Gay Troy is wanted in 43 states and 1 Canadian province (all for murder)
A cop has actually said “Who is Gay Troy?” (True Story)
Gay Troy is the alpha nigger, now and forever.
The Rise of Troy
It was muggy Tuesday morning. The air was filled with dew and the morning doves brought the hope and promise of a new day. But there was something in the air. There was a feeling of hostility and rivalry. Ali - Frazier, Rome - Carthage, Hamilton - Burr; these names are echoed throughout history but none would impact the universe as greatly as this battle. The stage is set, the planets are aligned, the animals are silent, and blood is about to be spilt.
A body appears. It seems to grown inch by inch out of the ground. It is a short yet stout man. Unproportional yet well balanced. He was strong and black. He had a pencil thin beard and a well groomed fade. His clothes were fashionable and his shoes were gator skin. He wore a baseball hat and a gold chain that read “Big Time Cash.” He starts to pull out his flask when another man appears. The dewy fog divides and out of the woods walks a man. He is tall, broad, strong, and as black as night. At first appearance he is a man who well experienced, demanding, controlling, and dominant. He is shirtless wearing only jeans and brand new sneakers. Across his back a tattoo reads, “Alpha Nigger.” It is him, it is the Alpha Nigger, it is Gay Troy.
Two great enemies now stare into each others eyes from across the battlefield. The sun has risen, the air is silent, and the invisible eyes of the universe are watching. Each man waiting on the other to make a move. Big Time Cash takes a swig of his flask. Gay Troy touches his cock. A white dove lands in the middle of the field…….and then explodes. The battle has begun. For nine whole days these two men waged war on each other. Guns were fired, swords were drawn, mines were detenated, dicks were sucked, and blood was everywhere. And at the end of the ninth day it was Gay Troy standing. Big Time Cash was finally dead. His body was cold and his limbs seperated from his body. His time had ended.
As Gay Troy started to eat the flesh of his victim, something peculiar happened. The clouds opened and a booming voice rang out of the sky.
"YOU HAVE PASSED YOUR TEST AND YOUR REWARD AWAITS YOU."
"What shall I do Lord?"
"TRAVEL TO QUEBEC. AND YOU SHALL BE GREETED AS A KING."
When Gay Troy and God were done speaking God receded into the heavens and Gay Troy walked back to the woods and headed towards Quebec.The Adventures of ATP and Dirtrow. Vol. I
Year: 1994 Setting: Chicago, Illinois
Everyone knows that the three things that ATP and Dirtrow have in common are their love of women, beer, and hating the french. And when the french started selling drugs to children in their own backyard, ATP and Dirtrow decided to take action.
It was a normal Thursday afternoon when they heard the news. ATP and Dirtrow were at the shipping yards and on break when they read in the paper about a local french gang selling drugs in Chicago schools. They, like the community, were in outrage. Their hearts were filled with vengeance and their minds with killing. And when seeing a news report later that night our heros decided to take matters into their own hands. So they took off work. If they are to become assassins, mercenaries, peacekeepers they cant be working 50 hours a week at the yard. They thought about their plan of attack. Find whose at the top and bring em down. They started with ATP calling a few old friends at the bureau. They informed him with a list of names the led the gang and that the three top leaders are meeting somewhere in the city within the next week. Now that they had names, they needed information.
Its now Saturday night. ATPs doing recon. Gathering information, taking pictures, and watching every movement of these men as he follows them to bars and clubs around downtown. Dirtrows mission: Gather information first hand. He drives to where two small time dealers usually hang out and sell. He walks up slowly with a certain confidence about him. A confidence that has “Im gonna fuck you up” written all over it. Before the first poor bastard even mutters a word Dirtrow knocks his front teeth out. The second man swings and misses. Dirtrow throws him on the ground and tells him to talk. The man curses but the french language only angers Dirtrow even more. He grabs him by the head, tells him to bite the curb, and knocks his teeth out. Realizing that he has two unconscious, unable to talk frenchmen, Dirtrow steals their cell phones, wallets, and drugs. He throws them both in the river, rolls a fat one, and heads home.
Tuesday Night: The large gang meeting is taking place at an excellent local french restaurant. Dirtrow, armed with a Louisville Slugger and a broken Icehouse bottle, can taste the blood on his lips. ATP, equipped with a 6” blade and a Desert Eagle, feels like a small child on christmas. Dirtrow opens the front door and sticks the first guard with the icehouse bottle. He starts taking people out with the bat left and right. When everybody realizes what is happening and try to reach for their guns, ATP drops in from the ceiling. With the precision of a artist bullets go flying. 9 shots, 9 brains on the wall. Theres one man left. The Boss. Crying like a baby he begs for his life. Our heros show no mercy. Dirtrow takes his legs out with a bat and ATP takes his head clean off his shoulders.
"Your cute when your angry," exclaims Dirtrow.
"I know," says ATP.
They grab a cab and head to a bar.
History Of GKG
In recent months it has come to my attention that people are claiming GKG status. However, not only are they not real GKG but they probably don’t even know what GKG stands for, or the two house political system that we built, or the initiation process. So I’m going to explain for everyone and then it will be clear who is GKG.
Now the two House political system started out as two rival gangs. The Confederates and the River Terrace Crew. Each gang consisted of a general and several members. Many battles were fought. I personally went after school to back up a fellow FED in a fight. Turns out he was a pussy and didn’t show so it was me versus four RTC members. I got my ass beat. The war lasted for close to a year, but ended on one glorius night. At the 2004 Homecoming Growl we fought our last battle. The two generals walked up on stage and met. Nick, the RTC general, was sporting their colors and I, the FED general, was wrapped in a confederate flag. All the members then fought on stage and tore down the stage and pissed everyone off. But more importantly that battle ended the war. The next day we were in Mr. Griffiths office. He asked us who is the “grassy knoll gunman?” Whos the hidden man behind the stage. We all thought it was funny that he made a reference to the Kennedy assassination so we started calling ourselves the Grassy Knoll Gunman or GKG. So actually the assistant principle of Hernando High gave us our name. So that is how GKG started and the war ended. There is also a treaty between the gangs. Its not written though. The generals split the price and bought a beautiful yellow bong. “The Treaty.”
Now, for the initiation process. All members of the original two gangs are automatic GKG. We were there from the start, we fought our war, thats just how it goes. But new members can be added. Since GKG was formed, two members have been added and met the requirements. Joe ‘2slo’ Gavish joined the RTC and Anthony ‘8 inches’ Deangelis joined the FEDS. But heres how they did it. First off, you must be a rudeboi. We like to smoke, drink, and laugh, its what we do best. Then they must pledge to a gang. FEDS or RTC. Then one week of hazing is required. aka “Hell Week.” You have to do whatever we say and no questions. For example Lil D was the last one to do it. He did sprints, a lot of pushups, drank whenever we told him, smoked whenever, bit a random kid, wore a little pink girls shirt and served everybody beer, and ate a horrible salt cube thingy. While going through hell week you will see death around the corner but you wont die. You are also required to know all the members of GKG, the history of GKG, and the grandfathers of GKG (ATP, Dirtrow, and Uncle Joe). IF you make it through hell week then you will get your scar. We’ll put out a cigarette or a blunt on you. After that your GKG. Your seen as an equal in the group and we will all die for you. 2slo and lil D have my ultimate respect and love for what they went through. So unless you have our consent to try hell week and then make it through hell week, you cant be GKG.
GKG is a firm organization that is more professional than people think or know. We vote when problems come up within the group. We do such events as GKG thanksgiving and GKG christmas. And it is a democracy. I’m the general of the FEDS because I am of Confederate blood and the heir to ATP. However I can be voted down if it is necessary. In the heat of the war, the RTC was on a hot streak and it looked as if we werent going to make it through the week. The FEDS had a meeting and I volunteered to step down as general. But we voted and everyone thought that I should stay general. Our political system has thrived. And this year GKG has gone National. We now have Ambassadors in Brooksville, Tampa, Tallahassee, Deland, Ellington, and New Mexico.
So there it is. Now you know if your really GKG. All these people that come up to me and say ”dude i put a blunt out on me, im GKG” or “yea im GKG because a member said i was” …now they know the truth and i hope that they read this.
Natural Light has tranformed from a party favor to part of my daily diet. I have atleast one no matter the occasion; cleaning, video games, movies, snacks. So its expected that every night begins with a slew of “Natties.” Today me and a good friend bridged a gap from a recent arguement. The metaphorical peace treaty was in the form of Molly; in laymans terms a form of ectasy. Normally my repetoire of drugs does not include pills or manufactured chemicals but for the sake of peace and friendship I relieved my short list of morals.
The act of overdriving my brain began at around nine thirty. Rivers, Kasey, Brittany, a newcomer Matt, and myself were in attendance. They’re were a total of 8 clear capsules filled a 1/4 of the way with what appeared to be tiny white flakes. Rivers took the captains chair and broke open two of the capsules and evenly distributed the contents into five of the capsules, leaving one extra. He then proposed a toast, as we washed the chemicals down our throats.
"Tonight will be amazing. Close friends finding their minds lost in the eye of our sky. Making amends, taking nothing for granted… savouring our breath."
A peculiar feeling set on me as soon as Molly began her descent into my stomach and subsequently into my blood stream; anxiety. Unlike cannabis or cocaine, these drugs take an inconclusive amount of time to kick in. I have learned that this time period is usually between an hour to hour and a half for myself. This is much longer than anyone else any time I have done a drug that requires ingestion. I have attributed this to having a slower metabolism than most. To kill the time I decided to play a game of pool with the newcomer Matt. Matt was a coworker of Kasey and Brittany and I had never met him before. It seemed logical to get to know him before we dive headfirst into a drug induced euphoria. After an unsually sloppy game of pool the girls and Rivers started acting funny. Their pupils dilated and they began to talk incessantly. I felt nothing peculiar, other than anxiety, and a slight buzz from Natties.
Boredom began to set in and everyone decided to move to the roof. I still had no euphoric feeling associated with Molly but everyone else seemed to be in full swing. “How are you feeling, you feel good?” I assured them I was fine, that I really didnt feel anything. Kasey and Brittany began touching my hands and legs in an attempt to induce euphoria. I felt nothing beyond the normal sensation of being touched gently by women. Rivers jumped up and blew vicks in my eyes; for some reason it was awesome to them, I never quite understood it. Two new voices shouted from the stairs to the roof. The neighbor kids had found thier way over to our house. Travis and Cheeta are the neighbor kids; 17 and 15 respectively. After delibration we allowed them to hang out with us.
Atleast an hour and a half had past before any affect had s
-work in progress im coming back to it.
The last couple of weeks have been different. I took a haitus from the annals of Tampa Bay and found myself in a familiar place; my parents. There is this quote from a movie that I don’t even remember the name, or even exactly how it goes but it was an idea something similar to this - when you leave your home you never really feel at home again, its just a place to put your stuff. It never holds that quaintness or familiarity that you felt as a child in your bedroom. I feel like I have no home, a vagabond. Even when I drift home I find myself in a spare bedroom that I sleep in. Its a strange world I’ve made for myself.
Currently I’m sitting in “my” room in Tampa. Theres a bed in here now, there wasn’t one when I left. There are two beautiful girls dozing beneath a black comforter. (one is little baby girl penny) Last night we had an interesting adventure. We all ate at the very least 13 shrooms and preceded to have our own spiritual journeys. JR came to the assumption that he was on the Truman Show, and I told him I was a paid actor that was hired to become his best friend and expose his innermost character to the world. He really freaked out about that, I felt legitimately bad about. Sydney transformed into a concerned woman, she held her wits with no qualm but she had an unsated urge to assure everyone was fine. Kasey sat on the couch and did not move for five hours, she was sick, and there were a lot of sober people around us, she was freaked out. I left her alone for a long time and then eventually just sat down with her. Nothing was spoken for two hours, we just sat there. I couldn’t tell if I was imposing or wanted, it was a strange feeling. I honestly was horrified because of how miserable she was but I did everything in my power to not purvey that emotion. I hope that I had some type of calming effect, that was the intention.
He was sitting there just stoned out of his mind with blue striped pants and a blue v-neck. The cat was sitting in front of the door undecided in whether or not she wanted to go in. He just sat there and looked at that cat. “healthy as horse” he thought to himself. That particular cat with it’s calicoat fur has been prowling for almost two decades and she doesn’t look a day over eight. His mother was inside, and so was his father and his sister. He just sat there, right on the front porch. High.
Saturday was a ridiculous day. Its a strange paradox, but I believe I’ve come to the general assumption that I do in fact have some sort of problem with drinking. Physically I am completely independent but mentally I’m viced. It isn’t the taste of alcohol, or even necassarily the physical state of being drunk that draws me it is the complete loss of inhibition. I crave the wildness, the loss of concern for worldly matters, the fighting, the yelling; the chaos. Somehow the twisted creek I’ve floated along has brought me here to this very spot.
Last night I asked some people;
"What is a regular night for you?"
Subject 1: “Umm… I do some homework, masturbate, hang out”
Subject 2: “I dont know, I work, or go out to a bar, or watch movies”
Subject 3: “Hang out”
So I’m coming to this assumption that people lead relatively normal lives of some type of work, masturbation (or some form of sex), and “hanging out.” Well if you haven’t read some of my recounts of evenings my nights are rarely like that. Most nights I tightrope a line between a prison sentence and ineffable hilarity. My liquor laden heart beckons me to push the limits of whatever it is that is happening and thus I do. We (as in the bois) create a god damn spectacle; a circus of brutally uncivilized behavior. Saturday night I portrayed myself for a couple of minutes as some kind of (un)motivational speaker and got a group of seven people to metaphorically “throw out thier morals.” When the hell did I get to this point.
My life is a fragile alliance embodied by a glass blowing artisan. I am irrational, I am immature, and most of all I am incredibly irresponsible. Those traits aside I often can make people laugh, but recently that has subsided. I find myself monitoring my breaths to ensure I am still breathing. At the mid point in the day my stomach feels hollow and Im not sure if its because I haven’t ate in twelve hours or if I am really that empty. Other times I am full for days and I wonder if its because my digestive track has given up, or maybe my brain has given up so much that my organs don’t know any better. Aches and spasms riddle through my body as my mind wanders through obscure thoughts and complacent feelings that I am unable to define. Its a sadness, a sick and twisted depression fueled by city borders and fermented yeast. A flame that I suppose will never be extinguished as long as I am monitoring my breath. Give me a fucking purpose.