maggotmaster13:

As I sat in the airport bar I thought to myself, “if you had to suck another man’s penis or have your own one ripped of, which one would you choose?” That’s a tough one. I am not a penis-sucker, though I certainly do my part to encourage it. It’s more the forced order of it I would rebel against. Ain’t no one gonna make me suck nothing I don’t want in my mouth. Rip away, my good man.

Lol, Oh Davey

maggotmaster13:

As I sat in the airport bar I thought to myself, “if you had to suck another man’s penis or have your own one ripped of, which one would you choose?” That’s a tough one. I am not a penis-sucker, though I certainly do my part to encourage it. It’s more the forced order of it I would rebel against. Ain’t no one gonna make me suck nothing I don’t want in my mouth. Rip away, my good man.

Lol, Oh Davey

12 notes

conortheginger:

Sign of a good day of hockey

conortheginger:

Sign of a good day of hockey

(Source: edwardsmillroad)

7 notes

Work in progress

Far beyond the spaces in between
Traveled long and battled hard
Keep on pushing through to the next day
Life is untitled so I’ll ride the wave

Just one of those songs/poems that comes out two lines a day for two weeks. Not a day goes by still that I don’t have a million words and ideas running through my head. I just wish I was better at guitar already because drums+lyrics don’t work.

It was so nice out today. Fantastic day for street hockey and what a game it was!!

It was so nice out today. Fantastic day for street hockey and what a game it was!!

Lockout is over! Can’t wait to get down and dirty on the 19th against Shittsburgh. GO FLYERS!

Lockout is over! Can’t wait to get down and dirty on the 19th against Shittsburgh. GO FLYERS!

4 notes

Writing some lyrics while at work. Got a new song in the works we’ll be looking to finish tomorrow, very much in the likes of Angel Of Death as far as speed and riffs. I can only hope to match it’s lyrical intensity.
Here are a few lines of ideas, simply structured as we haven’t gotten a melody yet, but you’ll get the idea. Aiming to paint the picture of the freezing, horrible conditions that were experienced by soldiers outside the town of Bastogne, Belgium, during the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes forest.

Gnawing, biting, ripping cold
Brittle bones crack with the wind
The steam of blood chills your soul
(Chorus alternates)
Laws of men I now rescind
Fight for life, immerse in sin
Mind fixates on frozen grins

Silhouetted trees towering like phantoms
Fog rolling in, blanketing your cries
Dark solitude of the deepest fathom
Sordid flesh too cold for flies

Can’t outrun the cannon fire
Trunks explode in a deadly shower
Lay and scream in splintered mire
Ripping earth with dreadful power

I’m placing the most emphasis (obviously) on the weather conditions and also the consistent artillery barraged that took place during the battle.

Writing some lyrics while at work. Got a new song in the works we’ll be looking to finish tomorrow, very much in the likes of Angel Of Death as far as speed and riffs. I can only hope to match it’s lyrical intensity.
Here are a few lines of ideas, simply structured as we haven’t gotten a melody yet, but you’ll get the idea. Aiming to paint the picture of the freezing, horrible conditions that were experienced by soldiers outside the town of Bastogne, Belgium, during the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes forest.

Gnawing, biting, ripping cold
Brittle bones crack with the wind
The steam of blood chills your soul
(Chorus alternates)
Laws of men I now rescind
Fight for life, immerse in sin
Mind fixates on frozen grins

Silhouetted trees towering like phantoms
Fog rolling in, blanketing your cries
Dark solitude of the deepest fathom
Sordid flesh too cold for flies

Can’t outrun the cannon fire
Trunks explode in a deadly shower
Lay and scream in splintered mire
Ripping earth with dreadful power

I’m placing the most emphasis (obviously) on the weather conditions and also the consistent artillery barraged that took place during the battle.

Merry Bryzmas! I want my hockey back, Mr. Buttman.

Merry Bryzmas! I want my hockey back, Mr. Buttman.

3 notes

Battle of the Ia Drang Valley, Vietnam 1965. The first major battle between American Forces and North Vietnamese Military, and Vietcong. From one of my favorite books, “We Were Soldiers Once…And Young” by Colonel Hal Moore.

Lieutenant Neil Kroger’s platoon had taken the brunt of the enemy attack. Although artillery and air strikes were taking a toll on the follow-up forces, a large group of North Vietnamese soldiers had reached Kroger’s lines and the killing was hand-to-hand.

Specialist Arthur Viera was crouched in a small foxhole firing his M-79. “The gunfire was very loud. We were getting overrun on the right side. The lieutenant [Kroger] came up out into the open in all this. I thought that was pretty good. He yelled at me. I got up to hear him. He hollered at me to help cover the left sector. I ran over to him and by the time I got there he was dead. He had lasted a half-hour. I knelt beside him, took off his dog tags, and put them in my shirt pocket. I went back to firing my M-79 and got shot in my right elbow. The M-79 went flying and I was knocked over and fell back over the lieutenant.”

Viera now grabbed his .45 pistol and began firing it left handed. “Then I got hit in the neck and the bullet went right through. I couldn’t talk or make a sound. I got up and tried to take charge, and was shot with a third round. That one blew up my right leg and put me down. It went in my leg above the ankle, traveled up, came back out, then went into my groin and ended up in my back close to my spine. Just then two stick grenades blew up right over me and tore up both of my legs. I reached down with my left hand and touched grenade fragments on my left leg and it felt like I had touched a red-hot poker. My hand just sizzled.”

The ordeal of rifleman Arthur Viera, crumpled on the ground, terribly wounded, beside the body of Lieutenant Neil Kroger, was just beginning. “The enemy was all over, at least a couple of hundred of them walking around for three or four minutes-it seemed like three or four hours-shooting and machine-gunning our wounded and laughing and giggling,” Viera recalls. “I knew they’d kill me if they saw I was alive. When they got near, I played dead. I kept my eyes open and stared at a small tree. I knew that dead men had their eyes open. Then one of the North Vietnamese came up, looked at me, then kicked me, and I flopped over. I guess he thought I was dead. There was blood running out of my mouth, my arm, my legs. He took my watch and my .45 pistol and walked on. I saw them strip off all our weapons; then they left, back where they came from. I remember the artillery, the bombs, and the napalm everywhere, real close around me. It shook the ground underneath me. But it was coming in on the North Vietnamese soldiers, too.”

Battle of the Ia Drang Valley, Vietnam 1965. The first major battle between American Forces and North Vietnamese Military, and Vietcong. From one of my favorite books, “We Were Soldiers Once…And Young” by Colonel Hal Moore.

Lieutenant Neil Kroger’s platoon had taken the brunt of the enemy attack. Although artillery and air strikes were taking a toll on the follow-up forces, a large group of North Vietnamese soldiers had reached Kroger’s lines and the killing was hand-to-hand.

Specialist Arthur Viera was crouched in a small foxhole firing his M-79. “The gunfire was very loud. We were getting overrun on the right side. The lieutenant [Kroger] came up out into the open in all this. I thought that was pretty good. He yelled at me. I got up to hear him. He hollered at me to help cover the left sector. I ran over to him and by the time I got there he was dead. He had lasted a half-hour. I knelt beside him, took off his dog tags, and put them in my shirt pocket. I went back to firing my M-79 and got shot in my right elbow. The M-79 went flying and I was knocked over and fell back over the lieutenant.”

Viera now grabbed his .45 pistol and began firing it left handed. “Then I got hit in the neck and the bullet went right through. I couldn’t talk or make a sound. I got up and tried to take charge, and was shot with a third round. That one blew up my right leg and put me down. It went in my leg above the ankle, traveled up, came back out, then went into my groin and ended up in my back close to my spine. Just then two stick grenades blew up right over me and tore up both of my legs. I reached down with my left hand and touched grenade fragments on my left leg and it felt like I had touched a red-hot poker. My hand just sizzled.”

The ordeal of rifleman Arthur Viera, crumpled on the ground, terribly wounded, beside the body of Lieutenant Neil Kroger, was just beginning. “The enemy was all over, at least a couple of hundred of them walking around for three or four minutes-it seemed like three or four hours-shooting and machine-gunning our wounded and laughing and giggling,” Viera recalls. “I knew they’d kill me if they saw I was alive. When they got near, I played dead. I kept my eyes open and stared at a small tree. I knew that dead men had their eyes open. Then one of the North Vietnamese came up, looked at me, then kicked me, and I flopped over. I guess he thought I was dead. There was blood running out of my mouth, my arm, my legs. He took my watch and my .45 pistol and walked on. I saw them strip off all our weapons; then they left, back where they came from. I remember the artillery, the bombs, and the napalm everywhere, real close around me. It shook the ground underneath me. But it was coming in on the North Vietnamese soldiers, too.”

74 notes

Dig those drumsssssssss man. Fresh jams spread over the crunchiest toast