I'm embarrassed.

Ah, the seventies. What a decade. Most people would describe those ten years using five simple words: sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll. As for me, I'd use three: fashion so foul.

I don't know why the cultural mindset of the time decreed that it was completely acceptable for a man to roller-skate with tight, cut-way-too-high jean shorts, and hair that looks like it could repel even the most stubborn of brushes. It defies logic, it defies reason, it defies rationality.

It was, simply, the seventies. Back then we could do these things without getting embarrassed, because anyone who had the desire to laugh, probably was wearing something even more ridiculous than you were.

I imagine, however, that it would have been a great time for people like me. I know as much about fashion as I do about brain surgery (in case you haven't been paying attention, that means I know nothing about it). Yet who needs fashion sense when anything goes?

Let this picture serve as a stern warning for all those who may be tempted to get themselves out of speeding ticket by bribing an officer of the law. I will tell you it can't happen. Those men and women are an impenetrable wall of honesty and integrity.

Now, I know it looks silly, offering the police a $1 bribe,  but it happened to be all I had on me at the time. At least it's better than sitting in court and paying a huge fine; I was going 110 mph in a 15 mph school zone after all.

To make a long story short, I was unfortunate enough to be pulled over by a cop with a conscious and he was able to overcome the overwhelming temptation to pocket the loot. I ended up being arrested and charged with what the officer called "driving like a schizophrenic asshole off his meds". I'm not sure which statute that falls under, but I didn't argue at the time. I just can't wait to get my license back in 20 years so I can drive to the local Baskin-Robbins again.

Ah, what can I say about really cheap beer? It's the breakfast of champions and the nectar of the white trash gods. Nothing brings good friends together liked getting completely hammered on really inexpensive alcohol. You can have your expensive imports and high priced artsy-fartsy bullshit. Gimme the cheap stuff! Cheapest you can find! The cheaper, the better. CHEAP!

Most people have had the experience of waking up the next morning from a Milwaukee's Best-induced nuclear hangover. You haven't lived life to the fullest until you've experienced the retched feeling of being unable to open your eyes to the burning sunlight, with a half pound of schmutz gluing your eyelids shut, and a headache akin to having your head rolled down a bowling alley five hundred times.

And the great thing about cheap beer, other than the price, is that it gives you a great excuse to get into a balls-out knock down fight with some other asshole in the bar for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Maybe he looked at you wrong, maybe you don't like the fact that he's not as ugly as you. Who gives a shit? Just do it, as Nike once philosophized. Everyone else in the bar gets a great show, to boot. If you've never seen two hammered alcoholics throw it down, I highly recommend watching it one day. It's very  entertaining. First one to vomit all over themselves loses. Of course, that kind of behavior is a bit too sophisticated for the people who drink, say, Sam Adams. Not the Busch crowd, though. 

As far as I'm concerned, if cavemen had the technology and know-how to create beer, they would be loyal Pabst drinkers for sure. 

1) America is the land of opportunity
2) There's a sucker born every minute. 

Anyone who disagrees with either of these sayings has never heard about the genius who sold a grilled cheese sandwich that he claimed had an image of the Virgin Mary on it for $28,000 on Ebay. Don't believe me? Have some faith. 

Well, as you may have guessed, I'm not one to ever let an opportunity slip by to cash in when the gettin's good. Therefore, I'd like to introduce to the world the Fenrez Grilled Cheese. This is a legitimate grilled cheese sandwich I concocted last week that just happened to have my face miraculously imprinted on the toasted bread. I don't know how it happened, I just flipped it over with my spatula and there it was, staring back at me. 

And fuck Ebay, I'm auctioning this bad boy right here on Fenrez.com. Anyone interested in buying this priceless item can email me or just offer a bid on the guestbook of lust. 

Poker is all the rage nowadays. Why, suddenly, America became a land full of gambleholics is beyond me, but I have to admit the game is pretty addictive. 

And on occasion, frustrating.

Anyone who knows the game no-limit Texas Hold 'em is probably familiar with the feeling of getting "rivered". It's the awful, stab through the heart, sudden shock of horror when you see the final card of the round giving your opponent a better hand than you, only moments after confidently pushing all of your chips in the middle of the table.  For those who are not familiar with that feeling, I can only describe it as what it would feel like to have your intestines ripped from you body with demons sucking the soul out of you, as the ground opens up and you find yourself in a vortex pit of flaming hell.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit, but after being "rivered" for the fourth time that night, I felt it was time for some action. Being human, I can contain my emotions only for so long before I feel I must express them. Unfortunately that involved some significant damage to private property, life, and limb. It may be awhile before I'm invited back to their game, so for the time being I'll have to be content with online gaming, which is good because I won't hurt anyone but myself, and bad because I won't be breaking anyone else's furniture but my own.

I have to admit, slam-dancing is fun.  If you're  never heard of it, slam-dancing is an enterprise that requires a group doing their best to recreate what it looks like when people caught in the middle of a 8.0 Richter-scale earthquake panic. Take away the actual risk of the roof collapsing on your noggin and one can have a pretty good time. Not that the undertaking is risk-free, of course. Slam-dancing is one of the few forms of entertainment outside of sports that comes with its own disabled list.

What a great way to absorb all that excess testosterone, adrenaline, and insanity that guys (and some crazy girls) build up by the end of the week. Only in a capitalist society could this happen. At the very worst, it's a great form of exercise.

Slamming is simply a natural evolution of dancing that moves hand in hand with music. I mean, the guys in this picture aren't dancing to Frank Sinatra. As music became more hard-core and edgy, so did the expression of music. If you were at home alone, and your neighbor played that kind of music as loud as it is in clubs, you'd probably start slam dancing with the furniture (just after calling the police, that is). Sure, you'd break some of your property (see picture above this one for more on damaging your own shit), but you'd feel much better about doing it. 

Besides, anything that introduces the term "mosh pit" into the lexicon can't be a bad thing.