| 15th January 2007 11:06 AM |
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| mojoman |
quote:
Mr. Alligator wrote:
<BURP!>
have you seen JB? |
| 15th January 2007 07:23 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
This is not helping jb.
" Pimping is my way of life
my ho's know who be big $
and when they finish up, dam bi*tches
better pay me my money. "
Nanky ?!
 |
| 16th January 2007 12:26 PM |
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| Saint Sway |
quote:
pdog wrote:
So who is the chick on the bike? Is it RSUSA's girlfriend?
Sadly, no. She's with Flav now. |
| 16th January 2007 12:31 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Saint Sway wrote:
Sadly, no. She's with Flav now.
He came unto us
gods only child
and died for our sins
he shall returneth
and slavation shall come
as all gods children become one
and to those who beleive
oh, eternity is here
and all others must go to hell. |
| 16th January 2007 12:31 PM |
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| Joey |
Nanky ?!
 |
| 16th January 2007 03:31 PM |
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| Some Guy |
damn, it's cold. |
| 16th January 2007 03:50 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
damn, it's cold.
Some Guy ............................
Why can't we be friends?
________________________
There was a lovely little boy who just moved in
the neigborhood. His mom sent him to the park right down the street,
as many kids were playing on a lovely summer day.
Yet, when the boy asked the children if they could be friends, they
all said "no"!!! The boy asked why, and they said you are new here and we don't like
you. The boy ran home crying and his mother , feeling terribly guilty, overdosed on
sleeping pills. |
| 16th January 2007 04:01 PM |
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| Some Guy |
quote:
Joey wrote:
Some Guy ............................
Why can't we be friends?
________________________
There was a lovely little boy who just moved in
the neigborhood. His mom sent him to the park right down the street,
as many kids were playing on a lovely summer day.
Yet, when the boy asked the children if they could be friends, they
all said "no"!!! The boy asked why, and they said you are new here and we don't like
you. The boy ran home crying and his mother , feeling terribly guilty, overdosed on
sleeping pills.
sad sad sad. |
| 16th January 2007 04:02 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
sad sad sad.
The Turkey
____________
In a small village in Croatia
there was a farmer who raised turkeys
the farmer sold them to market so the family could sustain
One day, all the turkeys were stolen and the farmer and his family went broke
The farmer hung himself and his family became beggars in the streets. |
| 16th January 2007 04:03 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
This is not helping jb.
Some Guy ....................
The Pig
-------------
There was a little pig
he lived in a small farm in Poland
and when his owner got hungry
he sliced off the little pig's head
and roated the body for food. |
| 16th January 2007 04:04 PM |
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| Some Guy |
dude, you are depressing me. |
| 16th January 2007 04:05 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
dude, you are depressing me.
His name is "lil Jackie
and he does itt well
making love to the woman
as only he can
he may be small
but he knows how to move.
and afterall, isn't that
what the women want? |
| 16th January 2007 04:05 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
dude, you are depressing me.
 |
| 16th January 2007 04:07 PM |
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| Some Guy |
By TED E. GRAU
Wednesday, January 10, 2007 - 6:00 pm
On a recent morning, as I was driving my beloved to work in Century City from North Hollywood, we stopped at a gas station on the corner of Coldwater and Ventura to load up on supplies (coffee, smokes, Bratz press-on tattoos, etc.) before heading up the canyon to parts better known and vastly overpriced.
Tapping my toe to the hottest of Hindi hits lilting softly through the burnt-coffee-scented air, I noticed a small commotion at the front of the line. What I saw was a frail, hunched man, with longish, stringy hair and gnarled, shaky, “hard work” hands, wearing a loose-fitting long-john shirt, faded jeans and expensive track shoes. While the cashier waited, the man muttered to himself as he arranged six packs of smokes into a stack on the countertop — three packs of American Spirit heavies, three packs of Marlboro Light 100s (the chica smoke of choice). He was too well dressed to be a bum, but also too unkempt and “lived in” to be anything other than a burned-out roadie or an out-of-work roofer. He’d obviously seen too many late nights, but he also seemed like a scrappy sort who could mix it up, work with his hands, create... Hmmm... What’s this Hessian dude’s deal? And what’s with the smoke stacking, you goddamn smoke stacker?
As I watched him futz around with the cigs and thought to myself, “This is one chain-smoking mother fucker,” he turned his head to the side, giving me a brief glimpse of his profile. All at once, I realized that he looked very familiar, like an old friend who didn’t look the way I remembered but was still very recognizable based on a strong memory deeply rooted in the lizard brain of my youth. Then it hit me, like the first strains of “Runnin’ With the Devil,” the midpoint of “Eruption,” the last note of “Ice Cream Man.”
This was Eddie Van Halen.
Muttering to himself. Stuffing change into his wallet with shaky, gnarled, hard-work hands. Stacking six packs of smokes on a countertop. Two brands. Three a piece.
This was Eddie Van Halen, my first guitar hero, the blistering virtuoso with the striped guitar, the fuel behind the first great American arena-rock supergroup.
Eddie Van Halen, the musical whiz who was described as “coming from a planet where everyone plays guitar.” The guy who taught us about the “hammer on” move and the tremolo, and who took fretwork to a whole new stratosphere — or maybe just back to the planet he came from. The icon who invented the tennis-racket air guitarist. The effortless genius who grinned that laconic, dopey grin while blowing the doors off of guitar convention when not blowing the embryonic matter off of MTV. The man who married childhood boner queen Valerie Bertinelli.
The guy we all once knew as just “Eddie.”
And now here he was, at 9 a.m. in the Valley, gathering up his smokes and shuffling past me, eyes down, smelling of three-day-old liquor, and out the door to the dirty Toyota Land Cruiser, and the young, moderately pretty woman (certainly no boner queen) who waited for him behind the wheel, smoking her long, chica Marlboro Light 100 and yammering into her cell phone. Didn’t she know who this was? He’s a Guitar God, you jabbering skank! Pay some respect and at least open the door for this faded titan.
But she didn’t pay respect, nor did she even notice as my boyhood hero walked to the front of the Land Cruiser, banged his head a few times on the thin metal hood, and then mock collapsed, before slogging wearily to the passenger door, as if it was all too much effort. Like he was exhausted from the smoke stacking, from the journey, from the memories of what he once was and what he will never get to be again.
By this time, I stopped looking, for maybe the same reason that Eddie’s female friend stopped looking, as we all want to remember our Gods and Monsters the way we did as children, when all seemed possible, and men could be made giants, and giants into the infinite.
I didn’t even look to see where he went, or in which direction, because I already knew, and didn’t need to know the truth. At least not this time.
Not with Eddie. |
| 16th January 2007 04:10 PM |
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| Some Guy |
http://jam.canoe.ca/Television/2007/01/15/3382523.html
For an encore, Sting -- whose voice sounds as pure as ever -- treated critics to his Police hit Message In A Bottle on the lute.
After the performance, he was asked about rumours of a Police reunion. "You know, it's the 30th anniversary," said Sting. "It would be nice to do something to celebrate. We don't quite know what, but we're talking about it."
Sting insists he's "good friends" with ex-band mates Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland. "I'm deeply, deeply fond of both of them," he said. "I'm very proud of the band that we were in."
When it was suggested that the two bands fans most want to see reunited are The Police and Van Halen, Sting playfully joked, "I'll join Van Halen." |
| 16th January 2007 04:29 PM |
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| Saint Sway |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
When it was suggested that the two bands fans most want to see reunited are The Police and Van Halen, Sting playfully joked, "I'll join Van Halen."
I'm sure Sting is an adequate enough bassist to land the gig. But he strikes me as being about 35 years too old and about 115 pounds too thin for the Van Halen position |
| 16th January 2007 04:30 PM |
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| glencar |
I already answered you, my cornhuskering pal! |
| 16th January 2007 04:31 PM |
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| Some Guy |
quote:
Saint Sway wrote:
I'm sure Sting is an adequate enough bassist to land the gig. But he strikes me as being about 35 years too old and about 115 pounds too thin for the Van Halen position
 |
| 16th January 2007 04:32 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
whose more excited in that photo: the gawky fan, or Diamond Dave over the fact someone wanted to shake his hand ? |
| 16th January 2007 04:42 PM |
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| Joey |
 |
| 16th January 2007 04:42 PM |
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| Saint Sway |
quote:
Bloozehound wrote:
whose more excited in that photo: the gawky fan, or Diamond Dave over the fact someone wanted to shake his hand ?
the fan
Dave seems reserved in that pic - but thats just typical ol Diamond Dave on a day when he's feeling sluggish (you can tell by the lack of Karate moves and scissor splits)
he probably still hadnt had his morning coffee yet
you should see him when he's rested and full of pep! |
| 16th January 2007 04:42 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
glencar wrote:
I already answered you, my cornhuskering pal!
Blue ?!
 |
| 16th January 2007 04:47 PM |
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| mojoman |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
By TED E. GRAU
Wednesday, January 10, 2007 - 6:00 pm
On a recent morning, as I was driving my beloved to work in Century City from North Hollywood, we stopped at a gas station on the corner of Coldwater and Ventura to load up on supplies (coffee, smokes, Bratz press-on tattoos, etc.) before heading up the canyon to parts better known and vastly overpriced.
Tapping my toe to the hottest of Hindi hits lilting softly through the burnt-coffee-scented air, I noticed a small commotion at the front of the line. What I saw was a frail, hunched man, with longish, stringy hair and gnarled, shaky, “hard work” hands, wearing a loose-fitting long-john shirt, faded jeans and expensive track shoes. While the cashier waited, the man muttered to himself as he arranged six packs of smokes into a stack on the countertop — three packs of American Spirit heavies, three packs of Marlboro Light 100s (the chica smoke of choice). He was too well dressed to be a bum, but also too unkempt and “lived in” to be anything other than a burned-out roadie or an out-of-work roofer. He’d obviously seen too many late nights, but he also seemed like a scrappy sort who could mix it up, work with his hands, create... Hmmm... What’s this Hessian dude’s deal? And what’s with the smoke stacking, you goddamn smoke stacker?
As I watched him futz around with the cigs and thought to myself, “This is one chain-smoking mother fucker,” he turned his head to the side, giving me a brief glimpse of his profile. All at once, I realized that he looked very familiar, like an old friend who didn’t look the way I remembered but was still very recognizable based on a strong memory deeply rooted in the lizard brain of my youth. Then it hit me, like the first strains of “Runnin’ With the Devil,” the midpoint of “Eruption,” the last note of “Ice Cream Man.”
This was Eddie Van Halen.
Muttering to himself. Stuffing change into his wallet with shaky, gnarled, hard-work hands. Stacking six packs of smokes on a countertop. Two brands. Three a piece.
This was Eddie Van Halen, my first guitar hero, the blistering virtuoso with the striped guitar, the fuel behind the first great American arena-rock supergroup.
Eddie Van Halen, the musical whiz who was described as “coming from a planet where everyone plays guitar.” The guy who taught us about the “hammer on” move and the tremolo, and who took fretwork to a whole new stratosphere — or maybe just back to the planet he came from. The icon who invented the tennis-racket air guitarist. The effortless genius who grinned that laconic, dopey grin while blowing the doors off of guitar convention when not blowing the embryonic matter off of MTV. The man who married childhood boner queen Valerie Bertinelli.
The guy we all once knew as just “Eddie.”
And now here he was, at 9 a.m. in the Valley, gathering up his smokes and shuffling past me, eyes down, smelling of three-day-old liquor, and out the door to the dirty Toyota Land Cruiser, and the young, moderately pretty woman (certainly no boner queen) who waited for him behind the wheel, smoking her long, chica Marlboro Light 100 and yammering into her cell phone. Didn’t she know who this was? He’s a Guitar God, you jabbering skank! Pay some respect and at least open the door for this faded titan.
But she didn’t pay respect, nor did she even notice as my boyhood hero walked to the front of the Land Cruiser, banged his head a few times on the thin metal hood, and then mock collapsed, before slogging wearily to the passenger door, as if it was all too much effort. Like he was exhausted from the smoke stacking, from the journey, from the memories of what he once was and what he will never get to be again.
By this time, I stopped looking, for maybe the same reason that Eddie’s female friend stopped looking, as we all want to remember our Gods and Monsters the way we did as children, when all seemed possible, and men could be made giants, and giants into the infinite.
I didn’t even look to see where he went, or in which direction, because I already knew, and didn’t need to know the truth. At least not this time.
Not with Eddie.
great story!!! sounds like he would av told you to fuck off if you asked for an autograph. i would have kept to myself too..maybe..but with the memories of a pair of shows i him play in 80 and 81 i would have said something...maybe like you need a lite mr van halen? |
| 16th January 2007 04:55 PM |
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| Joey |
Nanky ?!
 |
| 16th January 2007 05:01 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
diamond dave deserves to be publicly teabagged by Weeman just for wearing this ugly shirt
|
| 16th January 2007 05:04 PM |
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| TampabayStone |
quote:
Bloozehound wrote:
diamond dave deserves to be publicly teabagged by Weeman just for wearing this ugly shirt
I don't think you taking into account that, sure, the shirt is ugly, but it does match his pants. |
| 16th January 2007 05:05 PM |
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| Some Guy |
Daves got that shit eating grin down pat. |
| 16th January 2007 05:05 PM |
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| Saint Sway |
quote:
Bloozehound wrote:
diamond dave deserves to be publicly teabagged by Weeman just for wearing this ugly shirt
|
| 16th January 2007 05:08 PM |
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| Some Guy |
This is not helping jb. |
| 16th January 2007 05:13 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
Some Guy wrote:
Daves got that shit eating grin down pat.
grin now, but hear me later
he ain't gonna be grinnin once Weeman gets done with him
http://www.b3tards.com/uploads/teabag.gif |
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