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[We Made it nukkaz]
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But on a lighter note...
Even South
African gold
mining slaves
can afford it!
www.L it t er I tc h e r .com
I want to welcome you all; pacifists, infidels,
terrorists, lazy white Americans and lazier other
colored Americans alike to Dirt Fondler’s “WAR” issue.
This publication is free. For you. I had to pay out of the fucking pocket for the web hosting,
the promotional cards and stickers and the slikkk computer I created this shit on. Therefore, you
can’t accuse me of trying to sell magazines by writing “WAR” really big on the cover. It’s not
like a cover will sell this thing anyway, because you have to download it before the cover is even
visible. I know, you’re thinking “War? What a cliche headline to desperately try to get attention
like an ADD-ridden school child juggling switchblades in one hand and stroking is cock in the
other while you’re trying to take a math quiz”. Well, to your credit, that metaphor was rather
clever, but it just ain’t like that. It was actually a fucking typo. I’m kind of pissed about it. More
pissed than I was about the typo on the cover of the last issue. I even fired our proofreader,
which made me feel guilty because the poor guy is blind. But back to the typo; see, this issue
was supposed to be a tribute issue to your favorite band, Warrant. But space simply wouldn’t
allow us to go that route. God, you’re such a fag. Not you, I was talking to God directly. Read it
again. Told ya. But you’re a fag, too, because you like Warrant. You probably still play guitar, too.
Find any good Warrant tabs online lately? How are those scales coming? Any hot new licks?
Oh, and you can expect a lot more hatin’ on the 80’s from me because that decade brought us
nothing good. Except for me. 83’, biach. Now tease your hair up all nice like and read on, you
cock rocker, and please, please, for fuck’s sake, stop wearing your leather pants in public.
Warrant. God, You suck.
No, not you, dipshit.
God.
- Johnny McIFuckedTha80s
Special Christmas Gift
>
My
What did you do for Christmas? I got laid. I mean I know this guy,
and he got laid. Have you ever done something that is so wrong, such
as destroying a hotel room because you didn’t give a fuck about your
credit and you were down with lying to the retarded detective, that you
had to pretend it wasn’t in fact yourself, but someone else, when telling
the story? You don’t want jail time, do you? Well this story is about this
guy I know and his Christmas adventures. Oh, and X
I, I mean my friend,
took pictures of said adventures. Don’t try this at home kids. Ah, what
the fuck, tis’ tha season. Try this at home. But just this once.
SoX
I my friend found this girl sitting, or rather slumping, on the curb
while taking the trash out. It was the night of December 26th and
XI my friend hadn’t gotten any decent presents for X-mas. So like any
normal person, the assumption was made that this girl, sporting a
Santa hat, who had vodka in one hand, egg nog in the other and a
basket of half full of strawberries sitting by her side, was a belated
holiday gift from Jesus. Because he loves me. This I know. For the
bible tells me so. I mean, it tells my friend so.
Girls can’t go sitting around on curbs piss drunk where my friend
lives because people will probably help them out and be all icky
and concerned. Well,X
I my friend was having none of that. He took
this girl inside where she immediately asked for the location
of the nearest bathroom. He didn’t even know her name and this
wacky bitch was hurling up burst after gagging burst of strawberry
colored nog and vodka into his toilet. Haha, her head was were
my balls rest when I poop. I mean when my friend poops.
Please don’t ask me how I know that. Please.
I heard my friend felt kind of bad and I think he mentioned
making her toast. Wait, yup, there’s the picture. He did. He definitely did make her toast. In retrospect, my friend probably should
have smothered the toast with strawberry jelly. She would have
puked at the mere scent of it, andX
I he could have played it off all
like “Oh, I thought you liked strawberries judging from your vomit”
between fits of poorly concealed laughter. Maybe next time.
I love when the drunk girls come equipped with a
scrunchee. It keeps the hair away from the vomit while
they’re makin’ with the puking and sucking. Word up.
Remember back when you had to have six kids and
swindle food stamps to get clearance to wear hoop
earrings? White girls fuck everything up these days.
After about 20 minutes, the puking ceased to amuse me. I mean
my friend. He does have a short attention span, after all. He told
this girl that she owed him for being such a kind stranger, and she
should put out. She looked at him, silently, through those drunken,
squinty eyes for a while. Shit, maybe she was Chinese. Which
excited my friend. He had never had an oriental. Not yet at least.
She finally said one word. “Fine”. So my friend helped her into the
bedroom. With drunken, opposable thumbs she pulled her pants
and thong down in the sloppiest, least sexy way humanly possible
and laid down on her side. She spoke again. “Do whatever you
want to me, I’m going to sleep.” X
I My buddy now believes in Jesus.
My friend had sex with her. Twice. It was fun, so I hear. After the
love making was through, my friend thought long and hard back
to the young lady’s exact quote. “Do whatever you want with me,
I’m going to sleep.” He went into the bathroom and shaved off
some of his leg hair and glued it onto her left cheek. Then he
went to bed. After having sex with her once more. Don’t worry,
she was face down. My friend doesn’t dig bearded bitches,
he just has a sick sense of humor.
I think she was crying at this point. I don’t
know why, because I’m almost positive “The
Notebook” wasn’t playing in my bathroom.
My friend asked me not to tell you what happened the next
morning, because when they have the wedding, they don’t
want their families to know how they really met. If anyone asks,
they met at church. Oh, and that scar on her left cheek was
from a freak boating accident. True story. So write in and tell
me what you did for X-mas, and maybe I’ll put it in this shit-rag.
I think it’d be perfect for a “X-mas in July” issue, because I know
first hand that irritates the fucking hell out of people. After all,
Jesus wasn’t born in July. His gay brother was.
Everyone knows that.
Well at least I, I mean my friend, didn’t
have to pay for this. Oh, and he got a free
Santa hat out of the encounter. Bling.
.
Shamefully Written By Johnny McQaedaVitch
War sells. The majority of Americans did, or at the very least know someone who did indeed view the video of an
American hostage get his epidermis, dermis, subcutaneous fat, esophagus, vertebral column, sternocleidomastoid
and finally another three layers of skin round’ the backside of his pasty white neck brutally penetrated by a metal
object held in the white-knuckled tight fist of some “terrorist”. Most of you downloaded it for free on the internet.
Shit, it wasn’t free. You get a monthly bill for that handy little murder viewer, don’t you? Oh, maybe you don’t,
maybe you downloaded it at work if you were lucky enough. It still wasn’t free; I’m sure if the boss man at
[insert your employer here] needed to cut corners as bad as he really says he does, he’d hire a decent IT cop to
monitor you like a prisoner and cut your ass loose for watching Al-Qaeda-esqe escapades on company hardware.
You probably would have paid for it. Not the internet, you fucking idiot, the beheading. Well, if it was convenient
enough. If you were curious enough to search it out, wouldn’t you pay a dollar to view it? It’s just a dollar, why
the hell not? After all, Five crispy pieces of by-product packed chicken nuggets from Weeeeendees [that’s how the
blaques pronounce it] won’t even fill you up. So give that dolla here and get to watching the violence ensue.
I’m stating the information in the previous paragraphs as factual because I really want to believe it’s true. If you
are gullible enough, and the first two paragraphs bored you enough to stop reading prior to this sentence, I’m
hoping you’ll buy into it as well. This is all because I need to pay my bills, and I’m banking on this new business of
mine. I will decapitate a family member of your choice and charge you a dollar to view it. Look, I’m not pulling that
much overhead here, so please, provide the saw. Or knife. Or spoon, if your patience and my endurance are up
for the challenge. Oh, and I’m not cleaning up. While we’re at it, we can shoot an infomercial for stain resistant
carpets. You do have those, don’t you? Well bust out the handycam, bitch, and get to filmin’. I’m sure the manufacturers
of the stain resistant carpet would die for footage of 5 or 6 pints of blood saturating their fiber-laced masterpiece.
Oh, and if the shit does stain, we’ll just do a before shot and move the camera to another part of the room for the
after shot. Lighting can work wonders. How dope would that be? You’re watching “Desperate Housewives” or what
ever mo’s like you watch, and they leave you hangin’ and cut to a commercial. Black screen. Fade to YOUR living room
with me, draped in a black hoodie (you DO have a black hoodie I can borrow, DON’T YOU?) clutching some random
death tool. With out saying a word, I’ll walk over to tha victim, who is bound in a chair with scrunchees and uncooked
animal fat strips (that’s all I could find in your house, cause pansies like you don’t keep a good rope on hand...)
and begin the process. And by process, I mean cutting. Of the head. Off. All the way off. Right about the time that
you, the viewer, realize your mouth is hanging open in disbelief at the sight of a severed head rolling around a suburban
living room floor. But not just any floor, a floor protected by the ultimate dirt defender. Than SMACK, the Stainmaster®
carpet logo will pop up on the screen. Cut to the before and after shot, and BAM. That’s a wrap. Cut, print and
pay me. You owe me a dollar. And those Stainmaster® fucks owe me millions for all the carpets I’ll sell. Peace.
Images and Words by Johnny McRazorCox
I detest the font used in the headline on this page. It’s the most
over-used, played out cliche typeface to sully the typographical world
since local car dealerships got a hold of “IMPACT”. Everyone from
pseudo-upscale day spa owners to every local band ever to suck
at life have used this font on their flyers, cards, web sites, etc.
I understand the wavy, hypnotic lines and frayed edges
subtly hint at a complicated grace
coupled with an edgy,
mysterious aura, but still,
it’s played. Seriously,
stop it.
This font is even on my At The Gates - Slaughter of the Soul
promo CD. Now that’s just funny. I was thinking of making a
parody porno tribute to that album, being it is one of
the best chunks of noise since skiffle. I’m gonna call
the movie “At the Gapes; Slaughter of the Hole”.
Kidney viewing for all. Anyway, back to the font
usage issue. I swore I’d never use this
terrible font unless the world was
completely turned upside-down.
Like, for example, if Hooters
sponsored a concrete
vert bowl contest.
Well they did.
Out of all the things to grab on
Shit.
this page, contest winner David
Campbell chooses a frontside indy.
RIGHT: this
individualsold
soldhis
hissoul
soulto
tothe
thedevil
devil[Rush
[Terrell
Owens]
his individual
Limbaugh]
for the ability to do hellacious 5-0 grinds. Seriously, like 30 foot long
grinds at speeds that made my knickers wet with urine. Oh, and note
the TGM sticker on the helmet. Roots, bitch. Mad roots.
PREVIOUS PAGE: The lovely hooters sponsors. Remember a few years back
when skaters had to get girls intoxicated beyond rational thinking
thining just
justtotoget
getplay?
play?Well,
Well,times
timesthey
theyare
area achangin’.
changin’.Thanks,
Thanks,Bam.
Bam.
Nine years ago to the day, I got my ass kicked at a Magic: The Gathering tournament. If I had only bought that Sengir
Vampire instead of that jawbreaker from the candy store the day before I could have whooped on the guy who destroyed
me with his shitty direct damage deck. So with my head hung low, I walked out to the parking lot and waited for my mom to
pick me up. The cheap little fucker who beat me came outside with his trophy and started walking to his car. I called out,
“Congratulations, you lame whore!”. As he turned to look at me, a utility van turned sharply into the parking lot and struck him.
He didn’t die, but he was paralyzed for life. The excitement that I felt at the exact moment of that accident had never been
surpassed by anything, not for nine long years. But a skate comp in a death bowl with a 12 foot deep end with almost 3 feet of
vert adorned with the busty presence of a multitude of hooters girls? Yeah, this is a new level of excitement. Sorry, WOTC.
Left: The flyer for this competition
specifically stated “formal attire required”
but SOMEONE had to show up in a
flannel and ruin the ambiance for us all.
Below: I’d like to present to you my lastest
photo masterpiece. I call it “Well-paddedWeezer-singer-look-a-like lusted for by an
on-looker”. It makes me want to crack open
a fresh tub of Vasoline, put on some Boyz II
Men and let the imagination run so very wild.
Below: Why can’t Jesus eat M&M’s? Because
he has holes in his fucking hands. That joke was
great, just like the trick homeboy is pulling off
below. Here, while raising his arm over his face
mid-air, he softly said “No photos, please.” Sorry.
TOP LEFT: There was some rap-rock band at the competition,
I’m not quite sure why. They even made a banner out of a bedsheet and some markers - an accurate reflection of their presence.
I’m surprised they even played because I heard they usually don’t
show up to scheduled shows. Anyway, they don’t deserve a cool
border like the rest of the photos, so they just get a white line.
Because, they too, are white. Leave the rappin’ to the blacks,
unless your name is Necro. Oh, and please stay off the
halfpipe, it’s not a fucking stage.
BOTTOM LEFT: You could probably fill that bowl up with Frosted
Mini-Wheats and 2% milk then give spoons to all the starving
children of the world and eradicate the hunger situation, but then,
of course, you couldn’t carve it up with a skateboard. Go, USA.
BOTTOM RIGHT: Russell Crowe’s younger, cooler, bowl skating
brother lets the world know that you don’t have to star in
“Gladiator” to get some puss.
BOTTOM RIGHT: As the gentlemen in the gray shirt locks into a
5-0 grind, contest winner David Campbell throws up gang signs.
He is very territorial. When I ventured over to the West side of the
pool he pulled out a razor blade from under his tongue and cut me.
Left: These four “Hooters” girls in
training took a DNA test to find out
who was the mother this skateboard.
I’m guessing it was the one on the
left; she looks loose, just like the
trucks on that deck. Still, I’d
bring her home to meet mom.
Left: This guy tried to air out
of the bowl and burst thru
that white door but the young
man sitting in the car seat had
cleverly locked it. When the
unsuspecting skater was
rendered unconscious, the guy
sitting down stole his shoes,
credit cards and helmet. Genius.
TOP LEFT: This guy had a sticker on his helmet that said
“NINJA”. I don’t think he was fucking around, I swear I
recognized him from that game “Ninja Gaiden II”. He’s the guy
in level 4 who tries to decapitate you with a 411VM videotape.
TOP RIGHT: Even the best ninjas can fall. Taking a spill from
the coping of a 12 foot pool is like getting thrown out of a two
story building onto a sidewalk. I’d like to see you try that, pussy.
Oh, make sure you videotape it so you can get your own show
on MTV and an endorsement from Element.
BOTTOM LEFT: This kid didn’t skate in the comp, but
he was at the Hooter’s after party. I think he was from the
Make A Wish foundation. He told the girl next to him that
he was dying of lymphoma and if she didn’t sleep with
him, he would die. He’s still alive, they have three kids now.
TOP LEFT: Have you ever seen someone do something so
unbelievable that for a moment you wished that they were your
father just so you could share a strand or two of DNA with
them? No? Well when homeboy pulled in from this trick, just for
a second, I wanted to call him “Dad” so I could get a bumpersticker that would read “My dad can lipslide better than yours”.
TOP RIGHT: When this kid fell over a dozen feet onto
cold, hard concrete he listening to the song “Long Way Down”
by the Goo Goo Dolls on his iPod. No joke.
BOTTOM RIGHT: They didn’t give the winner of this comp a
trophy, just gift cards to Hooters. I took it upon myself to make a
trophy, but he was too busy chasing ass to make it to the comp.
Interview
Vert Bowl
Competition
Winner
David Campbell
spills all!
DFEd: So what do you skate?
DC: A Coldwar deck, Independent trucks.
DFEd: Do you skate for Coldwar?
DC: Yeah, they’re out of Portland, Oregon. Their boards are
made by skateboarders, for skateboarders. The guy who hand
makes the blanks for cold war specializes in making band
boards; they have models for a few different punk rock bands.
DFEd: You’re a little older than most of the kids out here.
DC: Today’s my birthday, I turned 44 today.
by Johnn
y McIndy
Grab
DFEd: Well happy birthday, and winning the bowl contest is a damn good
way to celebrate. How do you feel about showing the younger
kids how the old schoolers do it up in a session like this one?
DC: Oh, they’re showing me stuff. I’ve been learning from kids since I started.
I always felt like I have learned the most when there were kids around.
DFEd: So you’re 44, how long have you been skating for?
DC: 34, 35 years. I don’t know if I was 9 or 10 when I got my first board,
so I can’t remember which.
DFEd: Close enough. A lot of skaters coming up today are attend schools
where it’s considered “cool” to skate, the girls even think it’s “cool”.
DC: Yeah, it blows my mind.
DFEd: The older skate crowd had to go to school and get their ass kicked by
some jock fuck with Nikes and a football jersey.
DC: Well I have never had my ass kicked by I have definitely had beer
cans thrown out of pickup trucks at me.
DFEd: Oh, I guess it was just my ass that got kicked for skating. Fuck, I need
to work out more. How do you feel about skateboarding being looked
up to and admired by what is considered the “majority” in today’s
younger crowd whereas just a few years ago it was viewed as “uncool”
by peers and a disturbance by adults?
DC: I’m thinking it can’t last. It’s only a matter of time before whole
gang of skateboarders pisses off the whole world, but hopefully not.
I’m down with the legitimacy. I’ve had lengthy discussions with friends
about wether or not it’s a great thing, but in the long run; I’m selfish.
So skateboarding being popular means there are more places for me to
skate, more people for me to skate with, and that makes it better for me.
DFEd: Are you a fan of the free parks?
DC: Oh, yeah, I helped bring one to Lansing, Michigan and in other
parts of Michigan. And I’m in the process of helping bring one to Flint.
Free outdoor. We’re trying to get a huge concrete park with a little bit
of everything and there’s supposed to be some vert, too.
DFEd: I know in some communities it’s kind of a trade off; the authorities will say “We’ll give you a chunk of
designated space to skate and construct ramps, but if we catch you skating anywhere else in the
community we’ll ticket your or take away your board”.
DC: A lot of towns already have the ticket situations going on anyway, so really, the approach we’ve been
using while lobbying for parks is to say “If you’re going to ban it, you then have the obligation to provide
a place for us to go”. One of the things that keeps coming up in these discussions between skateboarders
and cities is this misconception among folks in the city, the planning department or the park and rec
department that skateboarding is an activity for kids. They keep saying “Oh, we’ve got to build this for the
kids.” They don’t build football stadiums for the kids. Quit talking about building skate parks for the kids.
If we start them young, hopefully it’s something that they can do for their whole lives.
DFEd: Is there a group that you are affiliated with for building parks?
DC: In Flint, there is a non-profit organization that has formed in order to address this issue. They have a
web site - flintskatepark.com. In Lansing, I’m part of a newly formed citizen committee called the skate
park operations committee. We are trying to get recognition from the city government and basically, we
will help advise them on how to use the skate park, when it needs maintenance, who will say what is
happening and what needs to be done. We’re also equipped to fund raise to try and make these things
happen. If the city says “Oh, we can’t afford that.”, we’re ready to raise money and make it happen.
DFEd: It’s interesting that not only can you
come into a setting like this one and
leave your mark on the event, but
you’re also involved in the behind
the scenes work for a large part of
the modern day skate scene.
DC: It’s part of the history of
skateboarding. Skateboarders do
things for themselves all the time.
Wether it’s a kid building a ramp in
his driveway or stealing a parking
block to put in his driveway or climing
into somebody’s backyard pool; it’s
part of the history of this activity. In
some places, the skaters are waiting for
the city to do something for them, in
other places, we’re making it happen.
DFEd: Well congrads and Happy birthday. -DFEd
Hey, are you good at math? Cause I’m not, but I need you to find the
average weight of the heffers I have fucked in my life. We’re gonna say that
40 females is a semi accurate number and out of those 40, I can really only
think of 5 of them weighing around 130... So here is your math homework.
5 = Women I fucked that weighed 130 or less
5 = Women I fucked that weighed over 300 pounds
20 = Women I fucked that weigh between 150 and 225
10 = Women I fucked that weigh between 200 and 400 pounds
Your job is to find the average weight of the “heffers” Eju likes to
“bang” and brag about, cause you know how I like em’ big.
Have fun asshole...
SPIN THE BOTTLE, KISS A GOD, AND GET YOUR FINGER WET.
My hands are cold; my feet are cold, and also, my temperament. It’s winter in Detroit again, and I’m
wondering why the fuck I am still here... again. It Seems like I do this every year. Fuck that, nearly everyone I know does this every year. Except for those psychopaths who swear that they love the fucking snow,
and they love a white Christmas, and, oh yea, nothings better than slaughtering a fucking deer in the snow
so you can see it’s fucking blood run out and melt the shit like some sort of Satan’s sodium chloride.
Fuck you.
I mean it. That’s supposed to be a whole paragraph up there. My fucking of you is serious
business and merits its own paragraph for proper penetrating emphasis. That’s really the only point here.
If you thought there was to be something more substantial, pick up a Real Detroit or a Metro Times, read
it, and pretend the tripe you read is something you really care about. There you go, substance. As the Rock
Man said, “You see what you want to see, and you hear what you want to hear.” That being said I shall now
enlighten the reading audience with the most substantial substances ever substantiated.
Kill yourself.
Yes, that’s another full paragraph so read a little bit further and do as I suggest for no other reason
other than the fact that I suggest it. I’ve seen a few strange things in my short twenty-seven years: a cop
handling a sheet of LSD he found under the ashtray of my car while on said LSD and not going to prison,
my friend’s suicide, an old man get his teeth blown out for taking the extra lunch tray the second time I was
in Macomb County jail, a slightly younger man fly onto the hood of my BM’r after a I mowed him over like
dry grass, a real war waged for fake reasons, not to mention the many times I have been arrested at
gunpoint or seen people get socked in the nugget with a 40 bottle.
What I have learned is this: you are better of dead. If you have some little tikes running around
the house, you might as well off them as well and save them from the perilous ride they are no doubt in for
after you’ve flung yourself off of a freeway overpass into speeding traffic. There is no bright future so put
the fucking sunglasses away and acquire a Starlight scope mounted upon a high powered rifle. Darkness,
violence, and poverty, that’s all there will be for all of us unless a large chunk of the populous does it’s duty
to America and does it’s self in. Better yet, start a belief in a god and kill yourself in a foreign land for it.
If you believe in the right deity, there just might be a thousand weeping whores to greet you upon your
entrance of Valhalla... or wherever.
Nothing is getting cheaper except our rate of pay. Well, not everyone, but if you’re reading this than
you’re probably some working-class scumbag toiling away for 70 hours a week with no money in the bank.
Like me, which somehow, brings me to a point. If there were a mass suicide, the work force would shrink
and wages would go up. My wages, that is, because I am smarter than you and you will do as I say. Hell,
take out a couple dozen illegal aliens before you go. Dubya would want it that way, and you must always
back up your president.
In conclusion, never forget: WAR IS PEACE, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.
– PAUL AWFUL*
*Paul Awful does not also write for Metro Times, The Real Detroit, or Newsweek.
If this were a perfect world Andrew W.K. would write a song about this next
paragraph called “It’s my salad tossing party and I’ll puke if I want to.”
But it’s not. So he probably won’t.
Sometimes I get confused. I woke up next to a pile of vomit adorned with a
mushroom. I didn’t remember eating a mushroom. I didn’t even
remember throwing up. That would lead any retard who adopts a logical
thought process to the obvious theory that the vomit must belong to
someone else, but at least twelve people told me that I puked all fucking
night and I’ve only been up for half an hour. Fuck that, I don’t remember
throwing up so I didn’t do it. That’ll hold up. I do remember killing 40s
of cheap malt liquor and vodka straight, and I remember lesbians.
My face tastes like pussy, but I’m not sure who’s pussy. Now I’m more
confused. Shit, there’s vomit inside my wallet. How the fuck did that
happen? Maybe I thought I was going to die and I was going to see if God
accepts things like bribes and MasterCard. Shit, I think my tongue was
in the asshole of one of those lesbians. God damn, why the fuck would
that seem like a good idea? I’m gonna write a very angry letter to the
makers of alcohol, give them fuks a piece of my mind. Anything that
makes my tongue go into the asshole of a lesbian who’s name I’m not
quite sure of should definitely be illegal. I wonder if I can get sick from
that shit. Haha, I said shit. Get it? And where the fuck are my socks?
I’m so confused.
If you are a band/artist/photographer/prostitute/writer/
articulate Mexican or anything else interesting, come on over for
a literary fist fuck and get interviewed or contribute to this
publication. Go to www.LitterItcher.com for contact information.
So I told my buddy George Dubyuh that we were doing a war issue and we wanted his input. He just sent us
this snapshot from his ranch. If you look very closely, you can see slaves in the distance. Only in Texas, baby.
I asked him how he kept his lawn so lush and green in the Texas heat and he let me in on a lil’ Southern secret:
the decomposing bodies of American soldiers make a great fertilizer. I thought Georgie’s image was a nice one
to close with, seeing as how the next issue probably won’t be so violent. Maybe. Thanks to Paul and Eju/Larry
the Lover for their contributions and big ups to Adrian, myself and George W. Bush for the photography.
Also Thanks to Hooters in Novi, go see Thomas Blaser and the wonderful ladies there, they know how to treat
a skater. They are at 44375 12 Mile Rd. or you can call them at 248.465.9464 but I’m pretty sure you can’t
see titties or eat chicken wings over the phone. Thanks to all the Skaters at the Modern Bowl Competition,
you wacky kids made my day. Oh, and thanks to that girl who blew me in Canada for a pack of Newports you are a classy gem. See ya next month and remember, don’t spread, wrap it up instead. Peace - DFEd.