St. Patrick.....What's this guys deal?

Saint Patrick was a dude that lived in the fourth century. He was born in China, but his father was a summoner of demons, so they moved around a lot. It's just the nature of the business. Pat, as his peeps called him, was known to hit the opium pipe hard and often. While not unusual in his birthplace, this behavior did raise a few eyebrows in Ireland, where his father had been hired to conjure demons for the Queen. Her insatiable hunger for man meat required super natural slap and tickle. While his pop conjured, invoked, and did his thing, Pat was supposed to hold the flashlight under dads chin for aesthetic effect. But cluckin for a fix, Pat made a habit of disappearing several times a day to his secret smoke spot, behind the garage. When confronted about his absence, he would claim a superior had sent him on an errand. Because people in ancient times were mostly illiterate, it was corrupted into Saint, where it remains to this day. Now in my town, opium is hard to come by. This may have contributed to the tradition of drinking yourself stupid, but who knows for sure? So this St. Patricks day, toss back yer favorite poison, I'll be out back smokin some "O" in memory of Sent Patrick aka Pat Jones. GO HUSKIES GO HUSKIES GO!
If I'm gone for awhile....Chill out, follow some links-> I'll be back!

Is it a sign Lord?

Open your mind to signs from above.

Rejuvenated and Inspired

Well, was it everything I'd imagined? Mmmmmmm, yes, no, and maybe. Friday, I spent 90 minutes in south T-town traffic. Next time you must drive like an asshole, remember, there are people on the highway more important than you. If you have to wreck your car, try not to wreck my plans. In spite of the irritating delay, I still managed to get to the club on time, smelling good and feeling frisky. Thanks mind control! I had my usual peeps in tow, minus Hawkeye, plus a new guy you've yet to meet, plus one parasitic prick. The prick is Mark, no nicknames afforded when you're a fucking idiot asshole. The cool new guy is I.R.A., he plays drums like I play The Game, with passion and accuracy. We all had a great time, despite some of my favorite girls being absent. One of the great things about clubs like Safari, they have fine ass girls to spare. Word. Friday night ended perfectly, at 4am on Saturday morning, like it should. I didn't spend too much money, may have drunk too much tequila, but definitely had more fun than you did. I was gonna come home Saturday afternoon, but the bronco needed some of my skills and money(not unlike the girls in P-town), so another day was needed to accomplish all tasks. Me, 2Lo, X, and I.R.A. spent Saturday jammin music and leering at the betty next door(X or 2Lo should tap that shit). Fixing my ride and finding some food took time and effort, plus we had to ditch Mark, who mistakenly thought we wanted him around. After the truck was fixed, the asshole ditched, and the food consumed, we pondered the possibilities of an extra night in the city. The guys(X and 2Lo) were having serious problems getting their balls out of their purses, so we settled for a couple of movies, instead of groovin with beautiful, naked, young strippers(I was out-voted 2 to 1). The first flick, Flight of the Phoenix, was conceived by someone who takes bong-hits every single breath, instead of mixing in air once in a while,which is what I recommend to retain cognitive skills. This impairment may suit writing a comedy or porno, but an action flick needs connections to reality, in order to remain believable. The movie was so implausible, that it actually morphed into a mildly entertaining comedy. If the writers meant to do that, nice work. Friday Night Lights, the second gem, was a bummer from beginning to end. If this turd accurately represents going to high school in Texas, we should hawk that shithole state back to the Mexicans, shortening the drive to score drugs from our southern neighbors. After movie time, X and I ate chicken till midnight, then X somehow cheated at Madden2005(damn you X, damn you). The night was over, so X and his pooch Malmsteen retired to their room. I hit the couch. 2Lo didn't even make it to the second flick, but that's okay, I don't take attendance on movie night, it's an elective. Once I was asleep, my subconscious treated me to a fantastic dream, in which I nailed Ashley Simpson(repeatedly of course), lived in an apartment, and went to a Damien Rice concert. Now say what you will about Ashley's singing(or lack there of), brandensbaked will vouch for some of her other wonderful talents you may not have been aware of. For example; doing me in my dream, having soft skin, and smelling terrific, to name a few. She made a vanilla night of icky sleep, swellingly bonerific. Morning barged in like it always does, so after a hot shower and a cup of 2Lo's famous "blacker than a labradors sphinxter" coffee, I bid my hosts farewell. The drive back to the land of five dollar alcohol free drinks and jacked up VIP rooms, was straight through and uneventful. Two hours and thirty-nine minutes of doing long division in my head, deciphering personalized license plates, and polishing up on my mind control skills, at seventy-five miles per hour. With another successful pilgrimage to the land of milk and honeys on the books, I once again look forward to guiding my flock on our spiritual journey of enlightenment. In other news, look for my upcoming essay entitled: "Stripclub deejays, why won't they shut the fuck up and stay out of the show?" It should be ready for print within the next week. Remember the brandensbaked motto: "Keep your head on strait, your eyes on the prize, live your life like a rockstar, or just read up on mine." Until next time... Peace and titties.

Goodbye Cruel World

Happy fucking friday mutherfuckers!!! Headed to Oregon where I can have beer and titties in the same building. I'm getting outta Washington state and leaving it's draconian stripper laws behind, at least for tonight. On that note, I hope Bush invades Lebanon and starts a war with Syria. That will keep him occupied elsewhere, so he won't be looking for things to fuck up here. Imagine if him and the rest of his ragtag bunch of holy-rollers set their wandering eye towards the adult entertainment industry. Can you say revolution? Did you hear about that fucker that wants to bring the cable networks under the control of the FCC? No more skinamax you fornicaters. I swear to God some fucking people aren't satisfied ruining the lives of their own family, they have to try to fuck with everyone else's. So I guess you could say that tonight, I'm not fratranizing with strippers for me, I'm doing it for America! George Bush, the terrorist hate our freedom, so get a table dance and show em why this is the greatest country in the world(that I've been to)! Lets get it on!

WASSup Cluckers?

I see ya out there, it's cool, I won't say nothin. Ahhhh. Probably wondering where I've been. None of yo biznez. Honestly, I think I have been trapped in another dimension. Happens sometimes when you do what I do the way I do it, but you knew that. So me and b-diddy were a bit sore after all the rubberneckin at the Supersonics presents The Dismantling of the World Champions. After the show we hopped on over to Foxes to get our groove on, brandensbaked style. No such luck, every parking spot in a six block radius... taken. When life gives you lemons, you know. The prudent move here is obvious, the Vu, nough said. Tickettaker: "Would you like to get into the VIP room?" brandensbaked: " Huhnahh." So me and diddy are drinking our lemonade as a couple of- better than a sharp stick in the eye- types do their thing. But my attention is on the- fuck n a, when the hell is she gonna cut a rug- types, who were strollen in and out of the VIP room like they were - so not gonna dance on the UIP stage, where two dirty dawgs were beggin fer a treat. Lemme just cut to the fucking chase, cause this is important and it needs to be said. We all know I'm the man, so listen up. Thing is, when a stripper takes twenty from you, it's a beautiful thing. Your gettin something you want, but can only get from a chick this hot, that you've never even bought a 7-11 for, in the sanctity of this holiest of spaces. Well worth the dough. See, thats what I call the most honest relationship a man can ever have. Not necessarily the best, just the most honest. Hah! Just yankin yer chain, the best! Duh! We have already been through this though. What I want to talk about is the greedy muther fucker that is creating a strip club within a strip club. It ain't fucking right. You are so asking for testicular cancer from the Kharma Kops. It's just very wrong on so many levels. So whatever jackass, who's life was too great being a strip club owner, so he goes and pulls this shit, because of his gluttonous coke habit, may than mutherfucker burn to fucking death. Slowly. Like over two hours. One hundred and twenty agonizing minutes, then nothing. Dead. Anyway, thanks for listening and good luck with the chemo. Me? I've questioned my faith this week. So like any prophet in need of a reconnection, I'm headed to Mecca. Yes, the holiest place in Titslam, P-town. Can I getta "HEYOOOHHH!" Got to remember why we got into this in the first place. Watch fer me, X, and 2LO. We will be in the front. Word. In other news, you would not believe me if I told ya. Some other time maybe...

Just so you know, 7:06 is

six six six o clock mutherfuckers

Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful...

Hate me cause I just scored a free ticket to the Sonics game tonight. Yes, the world champs are in town, and my Supes are gonna beat em like a red headed step child(No disrespect to Sadjohn intended). Make em wish they were in P-town, playing the Blazers. Actually, that sounds pretty good to me too. Goin to P-town next Friday! Look for me, 2Lo, and X, at your favorite house of ill repute. We will be the dudes way up in that shit! Spreadin blessings like a two dolla ho spreads the drip. Word. Shout out to BooRippenRadly and his very generous, thankfully sick, better half. She is a white rapper going by the street name queenjd. I have a word for white rappers: "wapper". BRR and his queen are this weeks "brandensbaked spotlight sponser". If you would like to be a spotlight sponser, give me stuff. The more you give, the more I receive. It's like tithing the creator of the brandensbaked universe, the universe of brandensbaked, for brandensbaked, and by brandensbaked. True dat. In other news... today marks the start of a new cycle. FREE TOBY PATTERSON!!!

Tracking device being removed.

CIA plot revealed in Bible Code!!!!

We have all heard of the Bible code(we= me). But who amongst us, has found it to reveal possibilities pertaining to their own fate? As far as I know, I am the first. I was crunching holy numbers(numbers=peanutbutter Cap'n Crunch), when I realized, these new figures, when applied to the book of Judges, in the Old Testament, revealed; "brandensbaked", "CIA", "dental work", and "tracking device". As this new code's revelations sank in, a chilling thought entered my mind, MY GRILL HAS BEEN HACKED!!! I immediately called the Brandensbaked Institute of Dentistry, which is conveniently located in the same building as my office. After a short phone consultation, they agreed to look at the tooth, and guaranteed my anonymity. What they found, changed my tooth forever! What I had thought was a simple "alien abduction", was actually, an elaborate ruse to find my secret hideout, courtesy of big brother. Apparently, I hadn't been abducted by aliens, as I had repeated many times before, I had actually been abducted by John Law, or one of his soulless minions... unless? My next thought horrified me, and brought a cold, stinky sweat to my armpits. As the hair on my palms raised, I wondered, what if the aliens are conspiring with the government? Both find the stoners threatening. An allegiance this powerful would be nearly unstoppable. I must escape and gather my wits. Soon after the intrusive device was removed from my molar, I made arrangements to disappear. At least until the alien pig fuzz alliance, or A.P.F.A., backs the hell off. I am currently smokin tough at an "undisclosed location", giving the press a chance to confirm my allegations. Once this shit hits the network fans, the CIA won't dare try to take me out. As for the fat fingered aliens, hopefully, my black, aluminum reinforced, Seattle Mariners hat, will foil the their evil plan. We must assume the worst. They will try culling our most guarded THsecrets from my superbrain. I need all of you to be strong, pray, and stay tuned...POWER TO THE PEOPLE!!! FREE TOBY PATTERSON!!! Opressers beware...

I'm gonna be fine....

I've had hangovers worse than this puny birdflu. I don't mean to neglect my peeps, but I've got a live one.... demands alot of time. Oh, she is a sweety though. More later....