Chill Sunday

CRISTALLIN // Girl On A Motorcycle from Simeon Cristallin on Vimeo.

Our father. Who's arts in heaven. Hollow be thy name.

I'm not looking to make this a love story.  Not in the slightest bit.  But you can watch this and not fall in love?  It was only two months ago when Lana Del Rey was only an apparition.  A ghost to millions.  So we dig deeper.  As we always do.  Guess what?  We found nothing.  If this Mrs. Del Rey had something going prior to her engagement with music then we are all missing out.  It is about time that some American broad gets raw.  And you can hear that rawness in her chorus.
Here's my issue with this madness.  Quick to name drop and always plump in the lips she still needs help.  Nothing shy of fake, her voice is something stellar, but a studio worth M's can do that for this driven drunk (what I would do to that mouth).  So you read this and say, "who are you to bash," and my answer is, no one.  Just a man with a voice that will be heard by few, never replicated.  Needless to say I am smitten.  So when you hear her blue jeans or video games playing on your favorite blog radio site, I would be hell-bent if your not worried that your listening to the same song.  

Riding Chillwaves on the 1st of October

Waters - For The One (Director's Cut) from Allen Cordell on Vimeo.

Happy October from Freedom Fiends! Hands down, one of the best months of the year. If you liked the video for #1 Hit, check out Director Allen Cordell on Vimeo for more videos of the same nature.

I Can Make You Famous

Spank Rock - #1 Hit (Director's Cut) from Allen Cordell on Vimeo.

Check out the video for #1 Hit by Spank Rock, and get your hands on the album "Everything Is Boring & Everyone Is A Fucking Liar" produced by Boys Noize and Mark Ronson, guaranteed to be a certified party album!

The Diamond Lounge is Decadent & Depraved

The casino air breathes well. In fact so well I'm starting to forget what the real stuff breathes like. They say some mad scientist somewhere in a lab far far away invented some air filtration system that aids in the production of dopamine in the brain. He most likely meant it for personal use but was desperate for money so the casinos bought it off him and he retired young. Rumor has it, it's the's the same guy who invented legionnaires disease.

Anxiety is easy to curb in this place. Most likely a combination of the synthetic air and the graceful nature of the big breasted floor game dealers. Comprised of mostly retired hand models, schooled in the science of perfect posture. A 67 degree angle slope, bent forward. Showcase a reasonable amount of cleavage and perfect leverage on the back end. The high heels effect, a type of subliminal message geared towards our animal instincts. That's what this place is all about.

This mornings destination, the Diamond Lounge located on the mezzanine level in the Showboat Casino. For those unfamiliar, the diamond lounge is a place where the old come to die. "Shrimp cocktail sir?" "I'll take 3 shrimps and a Johnnie Walker Black, 3 cubes. I've had a long day so we're gonna have to keep them coming." The name of the game in a place like this is excess. Milk the system for all it's worth but always leave a good tip. Remember that unlike Ronald Regan's flawed economic model, when you treat low level employees such as bouncers, valet drivers and cocktail waitress's with more financial respect than they deserve, it often pays out two to one.

Greg was inventing million dollar ideas in his sleep recently. We would cheers to them often, "To the suicide button, and how as we toast this glass of champagne, some poor soul on the casino floor is wishing that invention existed," I said to greg. The suicide button was an odd idea that greg came up with, a sort of dentist like headrest to be installed in several locations around the casino floor. If you gambled your life savings away and knew that your life was over and declaring bankruptcy wasn't your cup of tea you could take the easy way out. A cattle prod like air gun would rest inside the head rest, and of course like any thorough security checkpoint you would have to answer a few "are you sure you want to do this" prompts on the screen that would look similar to a pop-up ad on a virus ridden porn site. Force the casino to hire new employees to dispose of corpses. Economy fixed, that simple.

introduction

I think an appropriate place to begin would place us back at the Ventnor porch. The time is around 7:45 am, the friendly neighbors wave to us on their way to work while were just getting in. Just cooling down. “I couldn’t have asked god for worse friends than you guys,” Chotch said to Greg and I. At this point the chotch looked like something of a more tan edition of beetlejuice. With hair that a vat of conditioner couldn’t fix and a mouth so foamy that he could be mistaken for a rabid raccoon. He easily warranted a call to animal control but we let him be. To more fully understand how we got to this point I have to rewind the tape to the beginning.
I knew it was going to take some convincing to get the chotch to take the glorious drive back to ac with me. I told him to recall the law of averages. He was confused but convinced nonetheless. The destination was the pool bar, a bio dome like club that houses nothing but poorly dressed guidos and short stumpy women. We came barring gifts; gifts in the form of 2 bottles of vodka and a cabana inside between the three of us. Make that four if you include the wildcard “Mr. Saxton”. We simply couldn’t finish the liquor by ourselves so we made a cardboard sign that essential read “ smile at us and pour yourself a drink.”
A lone blonde haired woman walked up to the cabanna and asked me a question which I can’t remember. It led to me inviting her into the now vacant cabana and ended up in a 4 hour long conversation about the meaning of life. It would be important to note that the cabana was empty at this point because greg had disappeared with a 5 foot tall blonde haired blue eyed devil woman in a pink dress. He played poker with her. She had a boyfriend who was playing a million dollar prize pool entry game while greg exchanged salavia with her next to the pool. Mr. Saxton was gone at this point, well liquored up and the same goes for the Chotch. I was caught in conversation with the 48 year old blonde, who looked like a slightly more weathered version of Nicole kidman. She was married 16 years, divorced. She never had kids. I was thoroughly amused by her but the amusement turned to pure anxiety as she followed us to the craps table and my buzz was withering. I was dressed like an independently wealthy millionare with only $100 in my pocket.
Chotch and Mr. Saxton were lost causes at this point. They weren’t answering their phones. We assumed they were either dead or took mallets to their cells and wandered off like escaped cons. Nicole Kidman and I made our way to the craps table to meet up with Greg and his gold digging bitch of a friend named Felicity. I drank a few Singapore Slings in honor of Hunter S and listened to Felcity describe how she was only with her boyfriend because she wanted fake boobs and he was going to be rich. I despise the very toilet she takes a shit on, she reminds me of my cold blooded ex who put cold steel in my spine. Time and time again.
We left the casino around 7 am. Walking into the Ventnor house we laughed about how amusing it would be if the chotch was sitting their waiting for us. He in fact was. We opened the door to see the chotch walking in small circles around the living room like he was performing a séance on himself. He was starting to come out of his stooper. We invited him into the kitchen for a bite to eat and lined up a few drinks to keep the heater going. He told us that he had walked back from harrah’s. Keep in mind this is roughly a 4.6 mile walk with no pedestrian walkways. Only winding freeways and tunnels. He said that he remembers nothing until he was inside of a professional sex worker, black and apparently large in stature. 6 foot tall and something to the tune of 300 pounds. They rendevouxed inside of a dingy motel on the strip, she convinced him to withdrawl the remains of his bank account in exchange for the withdrawal of his sexual frustrations. We examined the chotch’s wallet using forensic methods to find nothing more than a few ATM reciepts and a $3.90 voucher from the golden nugget. Nobody will ever know exactly what happened to the chotch this night. Wearing boat shoes and a dress shirt with only one button buttoned he was a man on a mission, looking far too crazed to get jumped. His hair in a slicked back fashion representing the likes of a $500 windspeed aerial helmet used by velodrome bicyclists. With not a dollar to his name, the chotch is quitting smoking.

preface

my first thoughts waking up this morning were "fuck". six am and time to hit the one-way road back to shutter island in support of the chotch's gainful employment. the sun wasn't up yet and the car wreaked of liquor and havoc from last night. it was a pretty uneventful night in the big picture of things but the devil was there in the details. my last thoughts before getting in the car last night were "i don't think i drank an adequate amount of liquor" but then again there's really no such thing. the destination, club duskoteque or simply dumpy ol' dusk in atlantic city. been there too many times to count but enter always with delusions of grandeur which inevitably lead to complete and utter disappointment. our female friend who is a cocktail waitress at the borgata texted us and spoke of how her and a slew of friends were on there way. we quickly caught up on inadequate liquor consumption at wild wild west next door with complimentary tea's and vodka shots complimented with frivolous tipping on our behalf. our female friend who will remain nameless, kate (i know her because i once set a fire extinguisher off in her room on her birthday while sporting an adolf hitler haircut) failed to mention that her 8 accompanying friends were lipstick lesbians who were strangely obsessed with their one cohort. she, or it, had a head that looked like an over shaped lego with out of date facial piercings and hair like an acrobat. a real bulldyke of a bitch who smelled of axe aerosol spray. we quickly cut our losses and made way to the blackjack table where the chotch fell in love with an oversized half mexican half cuban half black woman with a belly that hung roughly 6 inches down and out from her belt line. she drew a lot of attention to herself, most likely high on something odd like methanol or windex. she had a strange cackle and somehow reminded me of santa claus, only black and blackout drunk. but she sure as hell couldn't lose and neither could we. the chotch took a seat next to her while the dealer called him the homeless guy good luck charm. a rather bold claim on behalf of the dealer, but an honest one, one that was full of merit and warranted more frivolous tipping. an appropriate footnote to add would be that chotch was in deaf mute stage at this point with posture like a pregnant emu but with the charisma of a care bear. 4 large thugged out bro's stood behind her feeding her small currencies to continue betting. we were making quite a scene at this point and i waited for the chotch to flat out start titty fucking this chick at the table which would have added enough adrenaline to our glands to continue betting but he didn't. we were up in currency but down in spirits so we left the table & made our way towards the cashier. with nothing more than a brief head-turns time, greg managed to be verbally exchanging hand jobs with one of the thuggs. he was simply sending them to the infamous "greg's list" but due to a combination of greg's strong voice and too much hennessy in the thuggs' cups, they were confused and thought that we were music producers/agents/financial brokers. jon in a black out stooper told them to basically fuck themselves but said it so softly under his breath it got mistaken for maybe a burp or something and no physical altercations insued. they fucking sucked, they were babblers and were delaying the inevitable drive home from valet parking. leaving the casino with nothing more than a faded business card (which serves as a constant reminder of how i dodge responsibility at all costs and live irreverently towards getting a real job) we left the casino. another night gone in punxsutawney, pennsylvania with no real tales to tell this time. but we seemed to have laughed a lot last night and fell for a few lesbian gold diggers. I lay now, restlessly in the surf city warehouse, the guest room of a house that feels like the deckman's quarters of an old ship. I think the room sways slightly, and there's an oil burning lamp next to the bed that may have been burning for hundreds of years. after i sleep half the day away i'll have to gather some photos we've taken from some more exciting nights for our 3 followers to enjoy. god speed.

-worm