There he was, lying on his back with his face bright red, looking like he had just returned from a long day at the beach. The tip of his nose was badly blistered and oozing. And there was the faint scent of burnt hair wafting through the room. The bathroom door was directly across the hall from my room. The blast sent him from the bathroom, across the hall, and into my room - at least 4 or 5 feet.

Elvis was dazed, but completely conscious. He chuckled a little and cursed as he slowly picked himself up.

Me: "Holy shit, dude!. What just happened?!"
Elvis: "Fuck. I am retarded."
Me: "Are you okay?"
Elvis: *Walking into the bathroom to look at his face in the mirror* "Yeah I'm fine I think. My face kinda hurts."
Me: "What were you doing? What happened?"
Elvis: "I was trying to create a homemade fire bomb. I thought I had a pretty good design."
Me: "Okay...."
Elvis: "I was filling up balloons with gasoline in the bathtub, but I didn't realize that gas would eat holes in the rubber. The gas started leaking out and running down the drain. I felt a little lightheaded from the fumes so I turned on the water to wash it down the drain. Then I filled up the tub with water to rise the gas off the sides."
Me: "...."
Elvis: "Yeah, it didn't really rinse off. Instead, the gas just sort of floated on top of the water. The fumes were really getting to me, so I opened the window and the bathroom door. I figured that would air out the room enough so I could burn the rest of the gas off the water. I was going to light a match, throw it in the tub and watch the gas burn off. So I grabbed the matchbook and struck a match."
Me: "And?"
Elvis: "And here I am. I guess there were still a lot of fumes in there. The air just exploded. and I went flying."

The skin on his nose was really starting to peel off at this point. It looked like hot cheese melting off a pizza. And I noticed his eyebrows weren't so much brown like normal - they looked more like the whitish gray of a cigarette ash.

I don't think he ended up going to the hospital or anything. I'm pretty sure he let everything heal on its own. The bathroom was unharmed. And his plans for developing some innovative explosives were forced into phase 2. Time for a redesign. But that's a story for another day.

Elvis and I had just moved into a new apartment. This was the mid 1990's and we were broke college students. The rent at our last place was too high. It was a small two bedroom apartment a block away from campus (location, location, location). We were working minimum wage jobs while going to school full time, so we were able to cover rent and groceries but not much more than that.

Once the lease was up, we had only two real requirements in our apartment hunt. Rent had to be cheap and the place had to be within a short bike ride to classes. After walking through a few potential apartments, we finally found the perfect spot. The landlord didn't give a shit who we were or what we did, as long as we could cover the $360 per month rent. Yeah, that's right. We each paid $180 a month for a decent sized two-bedroom duplex with parking and a yard.

Elvis and I had one request for the landlord before we signed the lease. The place was a real dump. It was filthy and falling apart. So the agreement was this: We'd fix the place up ourselves, and any money we spent on materials would be deducted from the rent. Each month we ended up mailing in a very small check along with a pile of Home Depot receipts. The work week was full of classes and clocking hours at our jobs, while weekends were spent getting shitfaced and painting or hanging ceiling fans or putting down a new floor in the kitchen.

This is the point where we were able to make a few design decisions. Some made sense, others were the result of a case of beer, a couple of joints, and a severe lack of sleep. Here's an example: One late night around two or three in the morning, we had just finished laying new linoleum down in the kitchen. We thought it would be a great idea to hide a little message for future tenants. Sort of a home improvement practical joke.

It started when we moved the oven to scrape up the old linoleum. We realized the oven hadn't left that spot for decades. The floor under that appliance had a thick layer of dust, and the floor under the dust was its original color, untouched by years and years of sunlight. As we scraped away that old flooring, I thought of the Beck song I Get Lonesome from the album One Foot in the Grave. "Well there ain't nobody left to impress - And everyone's kissing their own hands - There's 666 on the kitchen floor - Ain't no fire in the pan - I get lonesome..."

"666 on the kitchen floor?" How very Helter Skelter. Drunk and high, it seemed like the funniest idea ever. After finishing the job in the kitchen, we took some red paint from another project and painted "666" and a pentagram on the floor where the oven belonged. We slid the appliance back into place and never mentioned it again. For all I know, our secret artwork remains undiscovered to this day.

But that was just the beginning. We had repaired all the little scuffs and dings around the apartment and put up a fresh coat of paint. That left us with a boring white apartment. Elvis decided it was time for something truly unique. He started with his bedroom.

Before I get into the details here, I want to clarify something. Elvis wasn't one of those weird artsy neo-hippie college kids. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans nearly every day, and had a normal looking haircut. So when you read the next part, picture a regular college guy. One who perhaps dabbled in hashish and opium, but a regular guy nonetheless.

Our apartment had two stories. Walking through the front door, you'd be in the living room. The kitchen was at the back of the unit, also on the first floor. Just off of the living room was a long straight set of stairs leading to the second floor where the two bedrooms were located. If you were to head straight at the top of the stairs, you'd be in Elvis' room. That's where he decided to create his very own harem.

Elvis tacked plain white bedsheets to all 4 walls and the entire ceiling in his room. The sheets were attached in such a way that they draped down, billowing into the open room.The furniture in there was sparse, just a bed in the center of the room with nearly everything else hidden away. I think he imagined that women who visited would feel comfortable and undistracted in his love nest, able to focus entirely on sex and sleep.

Then like kudzu, the white sheets began to spread. Elvis hung them in the hallway outside his room and along the wall and ceiling down the stairs. And at the bottom of the stairs on a large blank wall, He hung a huge 6' X 9' pink and red tapestry. The fabric had a sort of Asian design with a large oval shape in the middle.

He said it was supposed to emulate the birth canal. On the way down the stairs, which were draped from ceiling to floor in white sheets, you'd reach the vaginal-looking tapestry leading to the living room. I guess that made his bedroom the uterus. Somehow, girls were impressed. I really can't explain it.

Elvis invited a couple of friends to visit for the weekend. That alone is a recipe for disaster. Gainesville is home to more than 50,000 college students and dozens (maybe hundreds) of bars. Every weekend is a party, and every decent bar is swarming with scantily-clad hotties and guys guzzling uber cheap beer. When people visited from out of town, the night often ended in a fog. Saturday and Sunday mornings inevitably led to a mumbled, "What happened last night?"

This particular evening, we gathered the troops and headed to our favorite bar - a place just outside of town called JD Penguins. The place was a real dive. For years, the bar's regulars were the kind of guys who bellied up to the bar at noon and stayed there till midnight. Real full-time drunks. But somehow in the early 90's hipsters stumbled upon the place and before long it was a true hipster hangout. They even hired a DJ who played things like Morrissey, the Flaming Lips, and Pavement.

This place had one major draw. It's probably the thing that drew the attention of the first college aged trendsetters who made the place popular. It had a giant rotating bar. The bar slowly spun - maybe one revolution every 15 minutes or so. The bartenders worked in the middle of the big circular bar, while the patrons sat around the circumference. Of course we never referred to the place as JD Penguins. It was always called "the Rotator."

So me and Elvis and the guys showed up at the Rotator ready to get shitfaced. The beer was cheap - I think it was $1.50 for a Sam Adams draft. It was affordable enough to down a couple 12 ounce beers for every rotation of the bar. That way, by the time you were done with one beer, you'd be near another Sam Adams tap just in time for a refill. After a few hours you were bombed.

It was right about this time that Elvis started feeling woozy. The 12+ beers and the rotation of the bar had gotten to him. He was wavering, almost like he was going to fall off his barstool. He put his head down on the bar and a minute later he suddenly sat up. He had that look on his face. You know the one. That look - like "I'm going to fucking puke all over this bar." But he didn't puke. Instead he wobbled toward the bathroom with that expression of shock and fear. He made it to the bathroom door and disappeared into a stall. No puke.

After a few minutes, Elvis stumbled back to the bar looking slightly refreshed with a goofy grin on his face. We assumed he had been in there tossing his cookies. He sat back down at the bar and ordered another beer. He assured us he was feeling much better. The night raged on and we made it home safely.

The next morning, everyone woke up feeling like balls. A couple of us exchanged the whole "man, what happened last night" thing. And then I remembered that Elvis hurled in the Rotator bathroom.

Me: "Dude, how are you feeling today? I can't believe you puked last night."
Elvis: "What? I didn't puke."
Me: "You totally did. You were in the bathroom for like five minutes last night."
Elvis: "Oh... at the Rotator?... I didn't vomit, man."
Me: "Dude we saw you get up looking all freaked out like you were about to puke - and you ran into the bathroom."
Elvis: "Alright. Here's the deal. I think I passed out at the bar for a minute. I must have lost control. Because I suddenly woke up sitting at the bar and I realized I had shit my pants. I ran to the bathroom to clean up."
All of us: "What the fuck are you talking about?!?"
Elvis: "Seriously. I shit my pants at the bar. I went into the bathroom and threw my underwear into the trashcan. I washed up and started drinking again."

How's that for dedication? Disgusting perhaps, but it shows dedication nonetheless.

So I wanted to create my own 12 step program for people who want to quit drinking or shooting up or whatever. But this shit ain't easy. I've only gotten to step five so far and now I have writer's block. Here's what I have so far:

Step one: We can have lots of fun
Step two: Theres so much we can do
Step three: It's just you and me
Step four: I can give you more
Step five: Don't you know the time has arrived

Okay, that was a long way to go for a stupid gag. Fuck it.

Also - Travis's roommate wants to know "What's weirder: gay blacks or gay Asians?"

After our set, I was mingling with friends. My old buddy Joe (my college roomate) walked up to Momo and asked her to take a picture of him. As she framed up the shot, he started shaking his head violently. The flash went off and this was the result (the pic on the left).

Joe explained that it's a goofy trick called "jowling". There's even a website devoted to it - jowlers.com. Here's how it works: grab a camera, make sure the flash is on, aim the camera at your face, loosen up your lips and shake your head side to side, then take the pic.

Don't say I never taught you anything.

Four Jobs You've Had In Your Life

1. Muck Washer - I wore a full-body rubber suit and shot high pressure water at grease and dirt caked on heavy machinery.
2. Photo Lab Guy - I spent eight hours a day in a darkroom, listening to talk radio while wearing night vision goggles.
3. Security Guard - I sat alone for 8 hours watching NBA playoff action, playing pool, completing crossword puzzles, etc. There was very little "guarding" going on.
4. News Producer - I'd write what the news anchors would say. Sometimes they say it wrong.

Four Movies You Could Watch Over And Over

1. Memento - Backwards, forwards, this movie kicks ass in both directions.
2. Billy Madison - Adam Sandler has been involved in two masterpieces: Billy Madison and Punch Drunk Love. His other movies don't quite measure up.
3. Return of the Living Dead - Gory, funny, sexy, punk rock. Pure fucking genius.
4. Goonies - Do the truffle shuffle, bitch.

Four Places You've Lived

1. A shithole Gainesville duplex that my roommate Joe decorated to look like the inside of a woman's vagina/uterus.
2. A classroom inside a Richmond elementary school.
3. Frankie's living room in a downtown Orlando apartment.
4. A highrise in Center City Philly.

Four TV Shows You Love To Watch

1. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia - Is this show ever coming back?
2. My Name is Earl - I used to have a skateboard video with Jason Lee. Dude was badass.
3. The Office - Art imitates life.
4. Conan O'Brien - I miss this show now that I have to wake up at a reasonable hour.

Four Places You've Been On Vacation

1. Angkor Wat, Cambodia
2. Nagano, Japan
3. Amsterdam, The Netherlands
4. Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico

Four Blogs You Visit Daily

1. Gangstas and Hugs
2. QWMaine
3. Diane’s Stuff
4. Captain & Coke with a Lime

Four Of Your Favourite Foods
This one's easy. I really only eat four types of food anyway.

1. Cheese pizza
2. Veggie burgers
3. Burritos
4. Cheese hoagies

Four Places You'd Rather Be

1. Dap Dap, Bam Ban, Tarlac, Philippines - That's the name of the village where Momo's family is from.
2. Tampa, Florida - I love going back home and hanging out with my parents.
3. Edinburgh, Scotland - What a beautiful city full of drunks. My kinda place!
4. Austin, Texas - Good beer, great Mexican food, and fantastic friends.

Four Albums You Can't Live Without

1. Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain
2. Slint - Spiderland
3. The Smiths - Louder Than Bombs
4. Misfits - Legacy of Brutality

Four Vehicles You've Owned

1. 1981 Buick Regal with blue velour seats
2. 1986 Yellow Pontiac Firebird with t-tops
3. 1981 Chevy S-10 with no air conditioning, no tape deck, and a cable clutch
4. 2003 Subaru WRX. Yeah, I could kick your ass in the quarter mile.

Four People To Be Tagged

1. Mel
2. Sarah
3. JuicyA
4. Turboslut

It's true. He took a big dump right in the middle of the living room coffee table.

It was April 1st during my junior year of college. I woke up that morning and trudged downstairs for breakfast. I was probably going to eat Ramen noodles and Kool-Aid, which was my regular diet at the time, but I soon lost my appetite.

I looked down and noticed newspaper spread across the top of the coffee table. My first thought was maybe Roommate was working on some sort art project, or more likely he was drying out a batch of mushrooms. I walked over for a closer look.

There was a small pile of shit logs on the newspaper. I jumped back as if I just saw a cobra ready to strike. I wanted to ignore it, but my curiosity got the better of me. I had to investigate.

Right next to it, a stick of incense was burning. And there was a small white card folded in half, with a handwritten phrase on one side like the title of an art piece. I guess he was working on an art project after all. This one had some sacrilegious title like "Frankincense and Merr."

The display was pretty impressive. But I wondered how he set the whole thing up. Did he stand on the table and squat?

Turns out he brought a Tupperware bowl to the bathroom, shat in it, and wiped up. Then he brought the bowl into the living room and dumped the pile onto the newspaper. He also made sure to throw the bowl away in the dumpster outside our apartment. (Thankfully he didn't try to wash it in the sink.)

I'm spending a couple of weeks in Thailand where I'll have limited internet access. But I didn't want to leave The Churning loyalists out in the cold while I'm away.

I've been working overtime, writing extra entries to post while My Lady and I are relaxing in the sun. Some are pretty fucking good and others are... well... they're okay I guess. Here's what's happening around here for the next couple of weeks:

And of course Jimmy, J.Mo, Ev, and Jillian will be posting as well. Meanwhile, Ev is in charge, so if you see a glitch on the site please send him a little note (and call him a dirty bastard, he likes that).

See you in two weeks!

fuck. i can't say anything. i don't know him well enough to tell him to light a match. he also has the godamn tv remote. and if i didn't have my laptop on my lap he would probably have this too.

i'm not selfish but after staying here for a month when it was supposed to be a week i just want fresh air and a tv show! fuck!