I generally choose not to leave the house. It’s safer for me if I hide away from the rest of the world. Not for fear of relapsing or crashing my car or having a piano fall on my head, but because people outside my home are retards. And not good retards who like to sing and dance like Lon Da Milan but functioning humans that are far more dim than Lonald.
Since I last posted I have been pissed on 16 times and had my hand shat in five times. My child is like my own personal German shizen video. Read more »
It’s not all fun and games for my wife’s retarded Uncle Lonzie. Nope. Lonald has a very rare disease that only afflicts ogres and giants that make it difficult for him to rock out too hard or too often. He never had this problem before. It only started when he came down the beanstalk to get his goose back; he’s never been the same since. That’s why events like Beatles Cover Bands can’t be a regular occurrence. Lonzie gets too psyched and ends up in the Emergency Room.
Last week I wrote about Lonnie’s Easter egg hunt. No one saw it because Vice is so hip they think things people spend an hour writing should only be visible to the web-viewing public for 1/4th that amount of time before being hidden away in the intraweb like the Ark of the Covenant in Indiana Jones. It is beyond annoying and boy does it motivate me to keep writing this bullshit. But I do it for Lonnie. Because Lonnie is a bright shining star just waiting to be discovered. Or at the least, waiting for lunch. Then supper. Then breakfast. Then repeat. Read more »
Hello, my name is Chris Nieratko. You might know me from such films as Skinema: Love on the Rocks or My Wife’s Mouth Will Not Get Pregnant. Or you may not. Either way, Vice has found me, my wife of the same name (Cris), our dog Benny and my wife’s retarded (literally) Uncle Lonnie interesting enough (maybe stupid is a better word) to share our life with you on a weekly basis. I hope you enjoy.
These sardonic 5s may not look like much but trust us, they are the most important people at this bar. They are as funny as old fags, they know where to go when it gets boring here, and they are guaranteed to have a couple of better-looking (but dumber) friends.
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Being punk or a skinhead for life seems like a tall order of business until you go to Japan and see people who have been rockabilly so long it's become their career.
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