And with that, just know that yes, I am back and badder than ever, but NO, I don't have anything of any substance to hit the folks with today.
I went to Agenda Thursday-Friday. I fagged it tho, and left my camera in my clothes backpack instead on my "backpacker backpack", so I literally only got like 8 photos, all of which were of this wack ass live painting exhibit by a bunch of nobodies and the street artist known as "BigFoot". Cooooooool.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
Thursday morning wake up, a bit on the hungover side because I figured, why not get hammed the night before a long ass drive thru traffic in L.A.
Traffic: 1 Ollie: 0
I finally get on the road around 10:05 a.m. on Thursday, next stop: Huntington Beach.
I was jammin', makin great time, no one fuckin' up my mission until BLLLLAAAAMMMM!, Hello Grapevine. (for the non-California based readers, the Grapevine is basically the only way to get from central cali to southern cali without EXTREME detours). 11:45 All of a sudden, everybody locks up the breaks and I get pinched between a literal wall of big rigs. Don't ask me why I was in the truck lane, I think I was trying to make a power move and outflank a large line-up of idiots pacing the traffic in lane 3.
When I finally get clear of the wall of big rigs, I look up to see 4 lanes of traffic backed up for as far as I could see. Literally, a solid 5-7 miles of no one moving. AT ALL.
Cut to 1:45 p.m. I have moved no more than 3 miles in the last 2 hours. The drugs are wearing off and my patience is running thin. I'm even more pissed that the camera has enough juice to take like 6 flicks before it is going to die. I conserve.
Next to me, I see this wild old black lady puffin' tuff on a "big ol bomber" (that's what my ultra hip uncle calls joints). great. No photo op.
The source for this clusterfuck? Some double axled truck turned over and rolled a few times and ended up laid out, completely flat, stretching across the entire width of the freeway.
After I got thru that jam, everything opened up and I was movin well until right around Culver City when the powers that be opened up a flood gate of new vehicles who all decided to get on the same freeway, at the same time, at the same on-ramp.
Drugs are in the trunk, I have lost all patience.
3:20 I finally pull up to the regency Hyatt (host of Agenda) and spend the next 30 minutes looking for parking, until I get a text informing me that I can park at Big Lots! and take the shuttle.
I go into Agenda, camera dies. Meet up with the homie Trav of MSK fame (that's legendary graffiti crew MSK for you legal living souls out there). Trav informs me that I missed all the good stuff at the show the night before when he passed out drunk in the lobby during the party. AWESOME. Just what I wanted to hear.
I go to the bar. $7.00 for a corona?? Are you fucking kidding me?? I'll take 3. thanks for nothing you anal raping son of a bitch (no homo).
Stumble around the show for about an hour and a half, catch a good little buzz, bitch about not having a working camera, start bumming cigarettes (which I gave up almost a full year ago) until finally I find the homie T on the phone, who informs me that he is not coming.
This shit just gets better by the minute...
Pt. 2 Tomorrow. I'm too pissed to continue with this shit today.
I will also put together some photos from other various bloggers that were in attendance down at Agenda as well.
I thought that since I am preparing for my departure to Huntington Beach for Agenda and don't have much time to write, I would hit the peoples with some classic "ugly people" photos from my personal collection. I am more than sure that most, if not all, of these photos have definitely been seen by the readers, but FUCK IT, they make me laugh and this is my blog so complain to someone who cares.
You see how giving I am? I could have kept this for myself and posted each one individually on days when I didn't have anything to blog about, but instead I give it to my peoples. All 9 of you (Welcome back Kristen)...
You take some random video footage of a girl pissin' in the streets and an old man kickin her hard as fuck in the ass, and loop that shit to come up with this awesome little rectangle of joy.
And peace to that old man son, that kick and grill was icier than Ike Turner and Bobby Brown put together.
I dislike 90% of reggae in general, but this cat really gets on my nerves. I think Eek A Mouse may have been the first reggae I was ever subjected to and could very well be the reason I hate the shit so much. Seriously, listen to that and tell me it doesn't make you want to dive head first into an empty swimming pool.
2. Soul Patches/Ridiculously thin beard trim jobs
Facial hair of this magnitude screams one thing and one thing only: "Hi, I'm a DICK." Fuck you with your razor sharp pencil thin lines and agressive flavor savor. What flavor is it exactly that you are saving? Your boyfriend's ass juice? Get the fuck outta here.
3. Feminists
I don't get it. Women's sufferage took place decades ago but you dumb hoes think your changin the world? You're makin' the women that actually worked for your right to vote look bad by being so aggressively dumb. Just for the record Ashley Judd, No, that is not what a feminist looks like. A feminist looks more like this:
and goes by the name of Chaz. How funny is it tho that half the would be feminist nazi bull dykes out there would rather have dicks. How's that for irony.
4. Female Child Actors
God I hate you.
5. Audience participation.
Listen motherfucker, I paid alot of money to get into this place and I'll be damned if you are going to force me to sing your song for you. More importantly, if you really want to piss me off, try to put me on the spot. Just try it. Yeah I'm talking to you clown at the local fair. Don't heckle me jerk-off. When I walk by, leave me the fuck alone. If I wanted to spend 9 dollars to throw a softball, I would approach you. You think by saying some outlandish comment about my chick you are going to goad me into playing along? WRONG. You are punching your own ticket for catch a beat down. Fuck you. Same goes for you Busta Rhymes. I dont want to put my hands where your eyes could see. I want you to perform.
6. Men with pony tails.
Why?
7. Every one on Earth being a poker expert after watching the W.S.O.P.
Fuck you. You don't know shit. Those free online poker tournaments you enter and take 10th place in mean dick. You have no fucking clue what real poker is but you ramble aimlessly about your "pot odds" when you make awful calls and catch cards. Do you really think people believe you when you sell that story? FUCK OFF.
8. My Friends.
Thats right. For the most part, I hate all of you. You are all just as selfish and miserable as me and you bring me no joy.
I love you guys.
9. Deflating an air mattress.
You can never get all the air out and fit that fucker back in the box. GOD DAMNIT that is frustrating.
10. Assholes that are too cool to dress up for halloween.
But you still want to come to the "costume is mandatory" festivities. You are not clever. You are not cool. You are a dick and everyone hates you.
11. Talking on the phone to old people and/or anyone else under the age of 19.
I love you grandma, but we have nothing in common and nothing to discuss. Same goes for anyone outside of my age range. I cannot relate to anything you have to say so let's not waste eachother's time.
12. Condoms.
Nothing ruins a moment like unwrapping one of these numbing devices.
13. Patent leather shoes.
Yep. You look like a DICK.
14. Denim Shorts.
Especially the above the knee classics sported by your favorite male over 40 construction worker with a pony tail and an relentless affinity for all things Megadeth.
15. Biting my tongue.
Self explanatory
16. Restaurants charging extra for cheese on a hamburger.
FUCK YOU. You are already charging me 9 dollars for a slab of grade D beef and then have the nerve to ask for 1.50 for a slice of cheese? Oh man. I could kill somebody.
Last (for now) but certainly not least...
17. Trying to take my jacket off while I'm in the car stopped at a red light.
I hate playing beat the clock cause you know damn well that you aren't going to win. The faster you try to go, the more tangled you get, the more pissed you are and the less amount of time you have to actually get that awful thing off. Worse than that is knowing you shouldn't have ever put that stupid jacket on in the first place. It's summer, sure it was a bit chilly outside but you're in a car you have no need for a jacket but you put it on anyways. You are an idiot and everyone is staring at you and giggling while you struggle.
That is all for now. As always, more as they come to me.
I realize that is an old flick, thus the reason it is going up on throwback thursday, and while I'm at it, a few more certified bangers for the fellas...
Tell me the classics don't hit the spot... Go head.
Ladies, get your squat/lunge game tight for the summertime... But never fear, Uncle Ollie still loves you... All of you.
Loyal BAMA reader who has decided to take on the blogging world for herself.
Hope hit me up like 2 or 3 weeks back to let me know about her new blogging project and I was impressed. Not because of the layout of the site or anything, but because of the originality of the topic.
The criteria to get on Hope's blog is quite simple: Have a beard.
I have no fucking idea why you think that your punk ass degree is more valuable than the degree my doctor achieved to practice medicine, but you do, and I hate everything about you. I am so tired of you putting your fat foreign nose in my business every fucking time I try to get a refill. My doctor has no issues with my medications, but somehow your community college certificate of completion gives you the power/right to override my dr.'s reccomendations. Trying to flex the small bit of power you have over me does nothing but make me want to severely hurt you. I swear on everything I find holy (i.e. TBC, thick white women, Cubs' baseball, etc.) if I ever see you in the streets, you are getting destroyed. I am so mad right now I could spit nails, and you best believe I will be carrying this grudge around with me until such time as the problem is solved.
I am fucking livid and it's all your fault.
Now to the back story...
Last Thursday I visited with the dr. and got a bump in my prescriptions. Being as I am a cash patient and had limited funds I asked the pharmacist to give me a chunk of the script now and I would come back in on Tuesday when I got my paycheck.
So I go in last night to get the remainder of my prescription and this fucking piece of shit camel fucker (no racism) decides that because I am "back too soon" he is not going to give me what is rightfully mine.
I ask, very calmly at first, "what right do you have to tell me when I can and cannot pick up a prescription that was written for me" followed by "the dr. wrote the prescription for a specific amount, please explain to me how me picking them up 5 days apart and all at one time are different".
Fucking jack off pharmacist "sir, I don't care if the dr. wrote the prescription for 2,000 tablets, it is my discretion"...
To which I respond "how does that make sense to you? If I had enough cash on me to get the ENTIRE prescription last Thursday, you would have released the full prescription to me correct? Then why in the fuck would it matter that I had to wait until I got my paycheck to pick up the remainder?"
Jack-off (dumb fucking look on his face) "ummm sir, you'll need to lower your voice".
Ollie: "I am going to beat the shit out of you if I ever see you in the streets"
Jack-off "you're going to need to have your prescriptions transfered out of this pharmacy and stop threatening me"
Ollie: "It's not a threat. FUCK YOU."
Cut to Wednesday afternoon when I call to get my scripts transfered to a different pharmacy and this fucking P.O.S. has the audacity to add a note to to the fax that says "do not release until July 6, 2009.
The only thing anyone in the world seems to care about is the death of Michael Jackson.
I know I said I wouldn't be discussing it anymore but some new stuff has come to light.
People are commiting suicide over this "tragedy". Seriously. TMZ or some other stupid website reported that there have been at least 12 confirmed deaths by suicide since the king of pop bit the dust.
What the hell people?
Also, there is supposed to be an open casket viewing of the body, OPEN TO THE PUBLIC on Friday July 3rd, 2009.
If this is your first time stopping by NickelPlatedBama, I would suggest getting a feel for the blog by going through the archives. There have been too many classic posts to count. If you disagree with an opinion here on the site, make it public. The writer of this blog suffers from a rare condition that allows him to feel absolutely zero remorse when attacking a person's character or, in most cases, lack there of. Please feel free to enjoy, hate, participate, tell a friend to tell 2 friends, but always, ALWAYS stop back here again tomorrow, as you never know what this looney bastard might say next...
Directly below this box you will find an interview with Oliver Wrist by Oliver Wrist that should serve as an FAQ. Anything else you want to know, Oliver will literally answer any and all questions you may have, so don't be shy, shoot an email to Oliver Wrist at: nickelplatedbamadotcom@gmail.com
Nickel Plated Bama: Who? What? When? Where? Why? and How?
Who writes NickelPlatedBama?
Oliver Wrist writes, edits, designs, takes photos, and publishes NickelPlatedBama personally Monday-Friday. Oliver Wrist is an alter ego that I created as a means of getting things off of my chest. Ollie is irrational and flagrant. Once boos are introduced, the hillarity ensues. Rather than feel bad, Oliver chooses to embrace his lunacy and use his shamelessness for a greater good. Oliver's travels and opinions are documented on an almost daily basis. I say almost daily because I don't work on weekends.
What is NickelPlatedBama? What is A Nickel Plated Bama?
Nickelplatedbama is a face-melting social commentary blog written from the perspective of a self absorbed asshole with no shame or morals to speak of. If you're into hip hop music, silky smooth breezys, absurdly opinionated witty banter and reading the rants of an anti-social, overly confident, self absorbed "writer" (for lack of a better word) please continue. NickelPlatedBama is a source for venting and bashing, hating and thrashing, shitting and blasting on everything from bad food to bad music and everything in between. I don't hate everything however. NickelPlatedBama and more importantly Oliver Wrist praise iconic figures such as the ever elusive white girl thickness, mid-'90's hip hop, fashion, graffiti, art, ice cold behavior, celebreality t.v., Chicago Cubs baseball, San Diego Chargers football, College Basketball, Early '90's WWF wrestling, laughing at other peoples misfortunes, and generally acting like a complete type-a sociopath.
Nickel Plated Bama is extra gutter street slang for a nickel (the precious metal) plated hand cannon. You know, a burner, a strap, a gat, a tre pound, a whistle, or for the uninitiated a gun.
When did NickelPlatedBama get started?
Oliver Wrist has been the other half of my split personality for years. It originally started as my DJ'ing name. My career as a DJ lasted only about as long as it took me to write this BIO. As it turns out, I am an awful DJ. Not because I play bad records, but because I butcher the scratches. My brother, Young Smalls, a.k.a. DJ Fuzzy Badfeet, has taken over the reigns and is now my own personal DJ. Although Smalls refuses to accept the things I have taught him since birth as doctrine, he still gets the Oliver Wrist stamp of approval as a purveyor of all things mixed well. He uses my turntables, my mixer, and my records to do his thug-thizzle, but he is a much better DJ than I could ever be, so I just give him enough shit to remain enthusiastic. Being that my foray into the DJ world went south, I decided to use writing as a tool to express myself creatively. Thus far it has proven somewhat successful. How do I know? Well, you're reading this aren't you?
Where did you come up with NickelPlatedBama?
I have spent so much of my valuable time force-feeding the readers of this blog my personal musical preferences (Read: mid-'90's new york hip hop, ign'ant pimp shit, '90's bay area movement, etc.) and blasting all these idiots that set themselves up for utter failure everytime they open their mouth, or press record on the video camera over the last few months, that I forgot to ever place the credit where the credit was due. Nickel Plated Bama is a reference to a line in a song from the 808 King himself (No not you Kanye). I'm talking about The RZA. a.k.a. Bobby Digital. a.k.a. Bobby Boulders. a.k.a. The Abbot. a.k.a. The head of the Wu-Tang dynasty. When I came up with the idea to start writing a blog, I wanted to name it something that most people wouldn't understand right out of the gate, creating a buzz as a result of the inherent curiousity of the average internet lurker. The result was a line from a Bobby Digital album where RZA says "my head is a like a Nickel Plated Bamma". I guess I should just go ahead and spell it out for you. Instead of using an obvious title such as "The Smoking Gun" (besides, it was already taken) for a blog name, I decided to get creative. So, with this blog title, I pay homage to one of my favorite, not only rappers, but creator of things, and still stay sharper than a sword with the usage of metaphor in describing the gun (my keyboard) i use to roast those i deem indesirable.
See above question titled "What is a Nickel Plated Bama".
Why?
Why not is a better question. I hate alot of shit. I want people to know that I hate aforementioned "shit". This was covered in the above section titled "Who writes Nickel Plated Bama".
How do you pronounce the "BAMA"?
It recently came to my attention while I was in the streets passing out stickers and shamelessly promoting this blog that alot of people were mispronouncing the "BAMA". I will make it very easy for you all.
Think Alabama. Don't think Obama. Are we clear now? I really hope so.
Disclaimer:
While most opinions on this site are based in fact, they are merely that, opinions. If you take this shit seriously OR anything that Oliver Wrist has to say personally, than it was definitely directed at you. If you are easily offended, read on, YOU are the target audience. And ladies, Oliver Wrist is the Asshole your mother warned you about. Oliver Wrist is extremely self absorbed and could not care less if your feelings get hurt. If you disagree with anything Oliver Wrist has to say, please make it public, so that Oliver Wrist may be able to roast you publicly.
