An Elk’s Run Plug and Trumpin’
I usually do my plugs last but, since I wrote this little Behind the Scenes thing for Elk’s Run myself, it comes first this time. I showed the link to my buddy Jon Wye (buy his belt buckles, pant-wad, they’re dope…now that’s a plug) and the following conversation ensued, a perfect lead-in for my story.
When we were kids it was all about the trump. To some extent the trump is still an integral part of our lives but a least now we understand the concept of giving in and occasionally walking away. As kids, however, the majority of our statements started with, “Oh yeah? Well…” We always had to have the last word and it always had to be more fantastic than what came before it. We trumped and trumped and trumped until one of us hesitated on a trump or came back with the trump killer: “Oh yeah? Well, you’re stupid.”
Game over, you fucking lose, you unoriginal bastard.
That’s usually the way trump ceremonies end. One time, in the sixth grade, a trumpin’ went horribly wrong for me, however. Madeline; the girl that made me think twice about trumpin’ and taught me to never question a girl’s choice of shoes.
She came into school one day with these steel-toed combat boots, pink laces. I’ll never forget those fucking things. She was parading around class, showing off her boots. She came to me and, paraphrasing here, said, “I stole your momma’s combat boots.” Now, I think this was universal, but the whole momma wearing combat boots was a pretty substantial dis back in elementary school. Madeline was unprovoked in her momma dissin’ so I had to trump, it was the rules.
“Oh yeah? Well you look like a construction worker.”
This smile. This evil fucking smile flashes at me. Life slows down, everything happens in slow motion. I see Madeline pull her foot back, the smile etched across her face. The foot comes forward, I see the boot coming at me in all of its black-polished glory but I can’t move. Maybe it’s the smile? Like Mona Lisa’s smile it was captivating, inviting…what did it mean? Why was she fucking smiling?
What’s that pain?
Oh. It’s a steel toed boot planted squarely in my crotch. I grab my nuts and double over, fall to the ground crying and apologizing, confessing that my momma did, indeed, wear combat boots and Madeline did, indeed, steal them. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone you evil, smiling bitch.
Game over. I fucking lost.
read a book, fanboy: Lady Chatterley's Lover - Lady Chatterley probably kicked many a men in the nuts as well.
turn off the metallica, fanboy: First Come, First Served
When we were kids it was all about the trump. To some extent the trump is still an integral part of our lives but a least now we understand the concept of giving in and occasionally walking away. As kids, however, the majority of our statements started with, “Oh yeah? Well…” We always had to have the last word and it always had to be more fantastic than what came before it. We trumped and trumped and trumped until one of us hesitated on a trump or came back with the trump killer: “Oh yeah? Well, you’re stupid.”
Game over, you fucking lose, you unoriginal bastard.
That’s usually the way trump ceremonies end. One time, in the sixth grade, a trumpin’ went horribly wrong for me, however. Madeline; the girl that made me think twice about trumpin’ and taught me to never question a girl’s choice of shoes.
She came into school one day with these steel-toed combat boots, pink laces. I’ll never forget those fucking things. She was parading around class, showing off her boots. She came to me and, paraphrasing here, said, “I stole your momma’s combat boots.” Now, I think this was universal, but the whole momma wearing combat boots was a pretty substantial dis back in elementary school. Madeline was unprovoked in her momma dissin’ so I had to trump, it was the rules.
“Oh yeah? Well you look like a construction worker.”
This smile. This evil fucking smile flashes at me. Life slows down, everything happens in slow motion. I see Madeline pull her foot back, the smile etched across her face. The foot comes forward, I see the boot coming at me in all of its black-polished glory but I can’t move. Maybe it’s the smile? Like Mona Lisa’s smile it was captivating, inviting…what did it mean? Why was she fucking smiling?
What’s that pain?
Oh. It’s a steel toed boot planted squarely in my crotch. I grab my nuts and double over, fall to the ground crying and apologizing, confessing that my momma did, indeed, wear combat boots and Madeline did, indeed, steal them. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone you evil, smiling bitch.
Game over. I fucking lost.
read a book, fanboy: Lady Chatterley's Lover - Lady Chatterley probably kicked many a men in the nuts as well.
turn off the metallica, fanboy: First Come, First Served
posted by Jason at
11:48 PM
15 Comments:
Wow. Damn, kid. That Elk's Run promo piece was probably one of the best promo pieces ever. Seriously. I'm not fucking joking. If this thing sells like the double-rock, Josh sincerely owes you some serious thanks.
Back in the day, we used to use the expression "gassed". It was never cool to be too excited about anything in life, ya know? As kids, me an the crew I hung with, felt like apathy and a general blase atmosphere was the shit. So, if some excited fanboy came up to us and said "Oh, man!Did you see that Batman movie? It was great!" we'd just stare at the kid until he walked away feeling like a kid, pass each other a stare, and, almost on cue, all say "Kid was gassed. Pfft." Same thing with girls. If someone liked a girl and mentioned her too often (twice), it was, "Damn, she's got the kid gassed."
Nothing was more shameful then being accused of being "gassed".
But, I gotta tell you, man... that Elk's Run promo... shit... it got me gassed, Jason.
When my shit drops (and when it does it's gonna clog the bowl and leave skidmarks in its wake), I want YOU to write me something like that.
Gassed.
Oh... and that John Wye conversation was hilarious.
Lots of great stuff in this post.
But, don't get gassed up from all the compliments... here let me help you out with that.
The Trump piece wasn't as good as the other two things.
Yeah, I'm a bitch.
Those Belt Buckles are very cool!
I just ordered one so you should ask for yor commission.
saul
www.ssscomics.com
Jorge - Thank you for comments 1 and 2. As far as comment 3, "Oh yeah? Well, you're stupid."
Saul - Thanks for supporting Jon, he's a good guy. I get no commission though, he threw a "Pre-Rolling Stones Ad Party" last week for all of the people that helped him out and I got free food and drink from a dope-ass G-Town restaurant, sort of commission in advance. His new sites going up soon (with an Underpants buckle) and the Rolling Stones ad should be out next month, I think.
By the way, I'm assuming you purchased the comic belt buckle. Now, I have blue belt with the blue and red buckle (Superman style) and I fully plan on wearing it to WWLA. If you have the same buckle we must coordinate, I would simply DIE if we showed up with the same belt...especially since I also plan on wearing an "SSS Comics" mechanic shirt that says "Saul".
By the way, I'm assuming you purchased the comic belt buckle. Now, I have blue belt with the blue and red buckle (Superman style) and I fully plan on wearing it to WWLA. If you have the same buckle we must coordinate, I would simply DIE if we showed up with the same belt...especially since I also plan on wearing an "SSS Comics" mechanic shirt that says "Saul".
I did get the comic buckle. i went with black belt and red buckle. They are all very cool. If I get mine in time I will bring it to WWLA.
I didn't know you were coming out to LA. I guess I can't go around telling ladies that I am Jason Rodriguez while I am out there.
See you next month!
saul
You can go around telling ladies your Jason Rodriguez. I'll tell ladies I'm Saul Colt.
"Jason Rodriguez" always gets laid, it's high time "Saul Colt" does as well.
You can go around telling ladies your Jason Rodriguez. I'll tell ladies I'm Saul Colt.
"Jason Rodriguez" always gets laid, it's high time "Saul Colt" does as well.
That is cool with me. I think if I laid some of your life experiences on some lovley LA ladies I could easily get some.
And if that doesn't work I will just tell them I am a film producer.
saul
I'm just an ordinary man telling ordinary stories in an extraordinary way.
This post has been removed by a blog administrator.
This post has been removed by a blog administrator.
Wow. Damn, kid. That Elk's Run promo piece was probably one of the best promo pieces ever. Seriously. I'm not fucking joking. If this thing sells like the double-rock, Josh sincerely owes you some serious thanks.I already give him more hand jobs per hour, than any publisher gives it's editors.
What more do you want?
Perfect. Too goo to pass up:
"I already give him more hand jobs per hour, than any publisher gives it's editors."
No comma before "than" and if you want possessive, it's just i-t-s, if you want "it is" it's i-t-apostrophe-s.
Fuck. I wrote "goo".
"Fuck. I wrote 'goo'."
Yeah, I noticed that.
Perfect Freudian Slip from Josh's handjob comment, in a perverted, Benny-Hill-chasing-after-scantily-clad nurses kind of way.
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