Harrison Ford. The galaxy saving, nazi hating, non-scruffy looking, cheeky son of a bitch of pure awesomeness. He’s portrayed some of the greatest film heroes in the latter part of the twentieth century. Your mom loves him, you’ve wanted to be him, your dad secretly has posters up of him in his shed that you’re not allowed to go to, and he is the only reason you took archaeology 101 your sophomore year at college. So why not Harrison Ford for president of The United States? Come on, he’s already done it once. (fictitiously of course) And one would assume he would lead our nation with that same take no shit attitude, along with complete and utter hatred for mother fucking terrorists who manage to get aboard his plane.
Several years ago, somebody made a website dedicated for him running as president. They were on to something, so really, why the hell not? Alright, who would not vote for Harrison Ford? And don’t give me that shit about his gay ass earring cause I don’t want to hear it.
He’s also completely badass on the non cinematic front. Turns out some random kid out in Wyoming got lost hiking one day, and guess who found him? A pack of bloodhounds? The Yellowstone rescue crew? Google Earth? In the words of Al Borland- “I don’t think so Tim.”
It was none other than Mr. Ford himself, who took it upon himself to fire up his personal helicopter and look for the directionally challenged child.
No one would stand a chance at the polls, and no country would dare fuck with us. Every time North Korea or whatever random crank-pot country got a bad case of the “I hate Goddam America-itus” we would just email them the youtube link of Indiana Jones blasting that dude with sword in the marketplace.
This is the infamous Goldfield Hotel in Nevada. By far, this is the scariest place on earth. If ghosts had a home base this would be it, with secret passwords, a training facility and everything. The general consensus of the town of Goldfield is “Fuck that place.” And I agree. I have been outside the hotel and it emits such an ominous presence, you feel intense fear, like when your swimming in the ocean and seaweed touches your foot, and you’re like “oh my god! Some giant creature of the deep wishes to feast upon my soul!” And you panic, and you’re friends look at you like an idiot. Yes, just like that. Fuck Sharks. Paranormal investigations have yielded some of the best evidence to date, including full body apparitions and poltergeist activity caught on tape. Psychics claim that it is a portal to another dimension because of the extreme activity, and where it lies on the ley lines. So if you feel like taking on the wrath of the underworld, getting possessed, scaring yourself half to death, or nine-tenths to death. This is your travel destination, just take the 95 north out of Vegas for about 3 hours. When you reach the mannequin hanging from a noose in a tree claiming to have the best beef jerky in the west, you’ve made it.
I sit, I slumber, I wait. My body lay bear, save for a few miniscule remnants of her. Every year I wait for her. There are at times others, who come and wrap themselves around me with a feather touch, while others roar and rumble. They come in precocious fashion, effortlessly and eagerly swimming towards me. I stand defiant in their embrace. It’s not the same. They’re not her.
The leaves finally give up the fight and descend upon the forest floor one by one, like a leaky faucet. The air grows thin and lashes out with frigid teeth. All are signs. It’s her, she’s coming.
Late into the evening, the queen of the cumulus returns from her annual expedition gliding towards my barren peak. I call out to her, “Mistress of the sea in the sky, I am here. Please, I wish to be swallowed in your heavenly being. Hold me prisoner in your sinuous, generous arms.” She hears me. Her divine global soaring is momentarily suspended to be with me, and I am grateful.
She lingers in her study of my geomorphology, and then it comes, her vehemence, in the form of crystalline ice. Though her hands bleed the artic on my empty slopes, the rock deep within me glows with the touch of her. Flurry upon flurry, her kisses descend and paint my peak. For me there could be no greater state of being then the times I am gifted with her benevolence.
Quietly the blizzard subsides and the beauty that is her begins to dance away. I cling to her and plead with her not to go, but it is inevitable, true beauty cannot be contained forever.
As she moves beyond the far horizon, I proudly display her love on my brilliant slopes and dream of the next time we perform winter’s waltz. But for now I am alone again, and I sit, and slumber, and wait, for her.
How is old Weezer so good but new Weezer so terrible
Dysentery. #worstwaystodie @johncritz
my attempt at selling out http://t.co/jvHSHoiC
Indiana jones marathon, a Christmas tradition.
Thank you to @justbeingmatty and the rest of the @HeartoParty boys for the kind words in my Xmas card.
Happy winter solstice everyone! Don’t forget that the Christmas tree in your Living room is a giant pagan symbol of life through death
the creep is almost done
May the force be with you.
Chapstick is an addiction
