Banner Jump Joint...

GOVERNMENT CHEESE from The Banner Jump on Myspace.

Butcher Babies Win BBaked Award for Rock Costume

Daddy Like...

My Oh My! Dawgs Eviscerate Cal!

Damn Dawg! That shit was brutal. 66-27, and IT WASN'T EVEN THAT CLOSE! These Huskies have the killer instinct that other UW teams haven't had. USC next week and a great test. If that doesn't move us into the top four they can shove the CFP rankings up their loose, calloused asses. I am itching to fight someone worthy. I'm hoping the WSU-UW Apple cup is one to remember. I'm rooting for WSU to go undefeated until the game against us. I'm guessing they will. Setting up a perfect storm of UW power VS. WSU Couging it. Fun fact: I lived at Wazzu in 1989. That's where the legend of Brad and Branden got it's glorious start. The winter of '89. Oh yeah. Spokane. The Parkade. Leather jackets. Eating moldy cheese. The news said "Don't go out today!" Good times. Good times. In other news: Val came home today. Seahawks already looking at a must win on Monday night. Cubs win it all. Frankie has worn out his welcome. Too bad too. We always had a good time, but a mutherfucker needs to pull his weight...He doesn't. Plus, the lies. I got two new PA speakers today. Peavey SP2 ti. The election is uncomfortably close. Visited Mom today. My B-Day is Monday, I'm hoping to get a Seahawks win. Brad and I had a crazy night December 4th, 1989 at the Monday Night Football game against....The Buffalo Bills. Took place in the mighty King Dome. Hawks won a thriller 17-16. Fucking poured down rain today. Cold too. Got the foose ball table taken down and put away. I'm on a historic runner, and shit is getting done yo. I'm over 500 followers on Instagram. @brandenhuff Stay tuned for more remastered Supercell joints. Trump is gonna get trucked. By a girl.

2 In A Day...

Here Ya Go-

Ahhhh. Memories. My Kramer....REWARD!!!!

The Guitar Paul Billings III stole. He is currently in Kitsap County Drug Court

The Serial Number

Paul hasn't paid for this crime...Yet!

Which was stolen from my house in Port Orchard, Washington on or around July 18, 2013. A little dirtbag named Paul Billings took it while I was in jail. He pawned it somewhere, possibly at Trader McGee's in Bremerton, Washington. The guitar is obviously a custom job, done by myself, but the value lies in the history. I obtained this Kramer in 1995 from a good friend who had it since the original owner lost his life. The guitar was purple and pink, but under all of that eye shadow, this thing had balls. I stripped it down and had it painted black with gold flake at Al's Used Cars and Trucks. He also clear coated it with an automotive finish. It remained that way until 2008 or '09. I then started screwing around with colors and artsy finishes trying to find this thing's hidden identity. One day, I threw it on the table saw while listening to "What's next to the moon?" by AC/DC. A couple of cuts here, a little off of the top there, and voilà!!!!

This is from 1996, Right after I painted it black.

Pre-paint circa 2006

I had found the magic spell to release the inner bad-ass that this Kramer always possessed but was suppressed. Impressed, I had to rest. I'd done my best, and passed the test. And the rest? Find a color that stressed it's blessed, this guitar, from way out west, caused shy, responsible twenty-somethings to crowd up to the stage and forcefully share their ample breasts. I was impressed. No no no, don't get dressed. Let's all regress to mindless sex, and give these breasts the best 'fest I'd guessed. 

SuperCell show at the Ray Waterman RV and Rodeo show 2001

This is from 2007.

Ah, but I digress. When the guitar had found it's true shape, I then painted it using closely guarded technics I had developed over the years.(Unfortunately, the guitar itself was not as closely guarded). I quickly did a pro-setup and added it to my arsenal of six-string murder weapons. Soon after that, on July 15, 2013, I got busted for passing off fake Facebook/Copywrite posts when I made a fool out of the wrong Sheriff's social media liason. While my lawyers were sorting through the legal minefield, Paul broke into my home and took everything he could carry in his tiny, child-like arms and sped away to buy his heroin. Many things were stolen. My MXL microphones. (4). My M-Audio Black Box. My Alesis Multimix 8 mixer. My Ibanez bass. My Yamaha acoustic. etc. The thing I want back the most, the thing that's easy to identify, is that Kramer. The serial number is on the screw-plate easily seen in the photo. Okay. I'm outta time. Bottom line. I want this guitar. I will pay the person who has it, for it. I will give a reward to the person who finds it and informs me where it is. Let's start the bidding at $250.00 reward, and $350.00 for the guitar. We'll negotiate from there. Aight? 

Shhhhhhhhhhh! Valerie is sleeping!

Guess where I am. Evil Val's lair. Ha ha ha! Came over to deliver some of my special sauce. I'm never too far from her thoughts, and as you all know, I'm pretty well sprung on her. Not that I don't do just fine without her, cause I do. But, in a perfect circle, she's my girl. Now I'm all up in her business! Ha! I have been hella busy. Working for Petit. Doing my thing. Building a fence in the front yard. Battling those fucking moles. Built custom speaker boxes for my truck. Moving all of my shit out of the office and garage. Eating Birthday Cake Ice Cream and milk. Taking care of my fucked off face infection. Cloning my favorite plant, and considering an attempt at breeding my own strain of Purple Blaze. Not too sure about all of the details, but when has that stopped me? I have finally got my own P.A.! First, I bought some Peavey PR12's from the pawn shop for 25 bucks. They were priced at $50.00 because they didn't work. I offered $25.00 and they said sure, then helped me carry 'em out to the truck. Got em home, and one worked fine, the other, nothing. Soooooo, I took the plate off of the back, and, low and behold, the wires were unhooked. So, I hooked em back up, and, TA-DA! P, mutherfucking A! Next, I went to Guitar Center and grabbed a Behringer 502 Xenyx mixer. Got it home and discovered that it had no FX send and return, the phantom power is only 15 volts, o today, I will be trading that shit in for a 1204 Xenyx mixer and my shit will be so fucking squared away you could measure it corner to corner both ways and it will be within a mutherfucking 64th of a mutherfucking inch. Anywho, after the mixer, my signal goes into a Peavey Classic 120 tube amp. From there to the speakers we spoke of already. I'm using some shitty mic that I've been carting around for years and years. Probably need to upgrade that shit to a Shure SM58. FX is an area that is pretty much whack. Yeah, I just used "whack". Fuck you, I do what I want. I need to get some fucking phaser on my earth-bound voice and launch that shit into orbit. Stoner Rawk is just not quite right with dry vox. I don't make the rules, but if I did, FX on the vocal track would be non-negotiable. When I close my eyes, I see black and pink fractal light shows in the shape of a guitar and half-stack.

This is the bullshit I'm currently suffering through.(The struggle is real!!!!)

This is the upgrade I will be employing today, to make my shit KICK-ASS!


















As you can see from my words and pictures, life is being lived, and the only reason you are not hearing about it more often is because my interweb situation is about as fucked up as Donald Trump and his daughter giving each other "back rubs" after a long day of lying. That is about all for now, but remember, time is a finite resource...Treat it as such.

Happy Friday From B and Frizzo

Down at the library, listening to Supercell on Myspace, and bloggin my Goddamned ass off. That is the kind of dedicated Mutherfucker I am. You're welcome. Let's see, what's new? Oh yeah, Frizzo got robbed at gunpoint Wednesday night and 200 dollars worth of company product disappeared without reimbursement. Yeah, I guess that's the textbook definition of "robbed". We will endure. We are nothing if not dedicated. Been jammin and moving the rest of my shit to my house. Got "The Shed" all pimped out. Ready for action. Next move? The hot tub!!!! Also, I've picked out the next song for recording.....Wait for it....Out Of My Mind! Stay tuned. In other news...Fucking rain. Fucking M's. Fucking Trump. Okay, that's all the news that's fit to spit. Peace and DEATH TO TRUMP!

WTF Happened To Summer?

The weather!?!? It's like a certain girl I often refer to. One day, sunny and 75. The next day, it pours down rain so hard, you fear for tender seedlings everywhere. I guess the solstice was Monday, so maybe I should cool down, but this was supposed to be an El Nino year! My yard is loving the rain, though. It's so pimped out the Sherriff keeps sending undercovers to try and buy a blowjob. Me and Frizzo jammed some old assed SuperCell songs today. I think I will try to resurrect one and give it a modern twist. Out is the name of the one I'm thinking of. Stay tuned to my Sound Town account. Been selling my extra shit on offer up. Made a fistful of dollars so far. Now I need some work. Plenty out there. Just need to keep grinding. A trip out to the property in Okanogan is in my near future, there has got to be some good news there. M's are tanking. Cav's won the NBA title. Hawks are looking good, got a good feeling about this year! Been laying off of the go-fast until tonight. Donald Trump is a jackass of historic proportions. I hope Clinton gets Elisabeth Warren to be VP...LOVE her! Huskies are all optimistic predictions, now all we have to do is beat Oregon.

New Shit Yo...

Knocked this puppy out in an evening. Might need some drums. We shall see.

MySpace is still breathing...

My page is still up. My Supercell page is too. Trippy. All those songs just waiting to be listened to. Now we do Soundcloud. Why not just stick to MySpace? I do not know. Good question. Been jammin though, so soon new crap on Soundcloud or MySpace or whatever. Me and Frankie are cleaning out the garage at the office so I thought I'd use the internet to post some shit. Also grab a few GOT episodes. M's got beat by the Twins, but are still kicking ass.

Rehab....Take Two ...Electric Boogaloo: Finding Balance.

Soooo. Back to treatment. I guess the first time didn't take. We already knew that though. I. Like.
To. Get. High. Period. I cannot imagine going through my whole life sober. What a fucking drag.
I can sure buy some time and try to find some alternate income streams to fall back on if I ain't having any fun. I wish I could find some balance. Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. So anyway. Shit. Wax off. Balance. I know the hot new theory is to say I have a brain disease. Yeah? Well, this brain disease I currently suffer from causes me to be an absolute creative genius. I didn't write any music until I started doing drugs. In my 2 1/2 years of being sober, I wrote zip. Nada. Nothin. I tried. Couldn't. I never created anything of depth or substance. Not only did I begin to create while on drugs, but invented clever complex work-arounds to make up for any lack of talent, experience, or equipment. I love the challenge of making something from nothing, and then working on it. Try to improve what you have created. Add depth. Innuendo. Layers. I get so much satisfaction from being creative, and I am always high. If I'm not getting high, I watch TV. Or read. I consume other people's art. I only make art when I am high. I suffer from a brain disease that causes me to get high and play music, Write lyrics. Learn how to play instruments and use complex equipment. How to use advanced software and the equipment to run it. It also causes unhealthy binges of being high 24/7, and that ain't good. But neither is being sober all the time. Balance. I must find it. Capture and enslave it. It must be mine. Balance. I'm coming for you

Been A Long Time, Eh Bobo?

Sorry for the neglect peeps. I got caught in an alternet reality where everyone was enslaved by an evil app...Facebook. Damn! That shit ain't even funny. I graduated Drug Court...Started back in black. Caught a habit. Lost my job. Started back into music production. Going to rehab next Monday. Gonna get job back. Grew some mushrooms. Didn't notice they came up. Got spores all over and ruined 'em. Got it down though. I wonder what else I'll grow this summer? Hmmmmmmmmmm.
Gotta jam...Glad to be back. I missed you too. Peace!

Sup Ballers?

Me? Oh, I got two tickets on the train to Sobersville. Hmmmm. Where should I begin? How about the loud banging on the front door at a-quarter-to-oh-shit-the-pigs-are-here-with-a-warrant, on July 15th. It seems, according to the affidavit for search warrant, somebody ratted on yours truly. I KNOW, RIGHT? Anywho, I found myself in quite a pickle. Looking at no more pussy until 2018. Oh sure, I could have turned into a punk bitch and ratted out my hook, but then I would be a punk bitch rat. Unacceptable. Soooooooooo, I took drug court. 18 months of intense, supervised, reprogramming of my drug addict mind. Piss tests, NA, groups, one on ones, check ins, home searches, and court appearances once a week. If I succeed, charges dismissed. If I fail, 60 months in the joint. So far I have 76 days clean. No dope, no booze, no uppers, no downers, no shrooms, no doses, no lines, no tokes, no loads, no benzos, no dones, no subs, no kind nugs, no BTH, no pure, no shit, no white, no black, no crys, nothing. Just coffee, Rockstars, and Red Bulls. Super clean. Not too bad. Not as bad as I thought it would be. Even though I haven't used any mind altering substances, I still managed to fuck up a couple times. They found a crack pipe during a routine search of my room(Government plant, obviously!), for that I got 3 days in the hole. I missed a UA Saturday, I'm sure I'll get 3 more days when I go to court Friday. All in all, I consider myself lucky. I dodged a 5 year prison sentence, and I get to try a radical way of life that never would have happened if it weren't for some sorry little piss-poor piece of shit skating on a drug charge they couldn't/wouldn't do themselves. Well, instead of being bitter, I'm gonna turn a - into a + and hope the rat bitch uses their second chance to overdose or choke to death on their own vomit and do us all a solid....


In other news....Fucking Hawks!!!! 4-0. Fucking M's...71-91. Fucking Dawgs!!!! 4-0. Fucking Rain...Salmon are running up Blackjack Creek. Frankie, in an excellent example of how to be completely devoid of any wealth whatsoever, sold his drums, and bought smokes...Brilliant. Oh yeah, all of my guitars got ripped off while I was in jail, except for my Charvelle, which was in the pawnshop. Frank and Val managed, between them, to NOT extend my pawn ticket for 28 dollars, so I lost it too. Frank managed to call the wrong pawnshop and secure a guarantee of 30 extra days to pay off any loans, of which I had none.
I'm sure other things happened too, but that's all I can think of tonight....This has been all the news that's fit to spit...BDawg out.

My we live in interesting times...Happy New Year

Confucius say, "Man who makes no resolutions have very little shit to talk about around the water cooler when Christmas vacation over". Another favorite Chinese quote I found in the I Ching  AKA the China mans Book of Mormon, is a little tidbit concerning a man's duties on the last day of any year in which the animal representing that particular year, is a mammal with the ability to mate multiple times during any fertility cycle. It roughly translates to: "On the last day, of the year of the dog, a man should fuck many bitches, shit on the neighbors lawn, and lick his own balls in rabid celebration, but should show restraint in the practice of sniffing others assholes". Wow! Sound advice, passed down through the ages, and still relevant some 5000 years after it was written. Happy twenty-lucky-thirteen bitches/mutherfuckers! We enter into the Year of the Seahawk. Year of the Tube sock. Year of Garsement(garage/basement band) style of BaseRawk. Man I am feenin for a big old fat hit from the pipe of some baserawk. What? You've never tried baserawk? Oh man. If there aren't any dealers slingin it on your block, you can make your own. You buy common street level rock, like Foo Fighters or Metallica. Weak and expensive, it usually comes in powdered form. Cut many times from the studio to the street, unscrupulous middle men try anything to increase the profits. It's mixed with lactose, or gypsum, soap, sugar, other cheaper music, or even words, and sold to the next sucker. By using baking soda or ammonia to change the pH level from an acid to a base, we are also removing any contaminants, cut, impurities and rendering it into a highly concentrated, smokeable pure Rawk. BaseRawk is fast acting, portable, and easily concealed when inserted into a bra, pocket, or into a vagina. Now, you can avoid detection from the Man, the Fuzz, the Pigs or anyone who seeks to control or demoralize, or deny you your right to Fucking Rawk. Due to BaseRawk being insoluble in water, it can even be hidden in the mouth or quickly shoved up ones asshole to hide it from overbearing siblings, parents, teachers, even drug sniffing dogs. Now, I do not trust any drug sniffing dog, and I believe them to be unreliable(at best) witnesses in the courtroom, and(at worst) liars who are willing to perjure themselves if needed. Basically, as puppets for their employers, they will testify to whatever lies their masters need, as long as they get the drugs they like to pump up their insatiable snouts. I know that they're just pawns for the prosecution, a threat to the legal system, and a tumor on the brain of Lady Liberty...But this is a discussion for another time. I'm feeling like Rawking up some super chunky, evil jams, the jams that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Sounds so heavy, they could only be created in the gravitational field of a super gas giant planet, like Jupiter or Neptune, before flowing down through the galaxy's hidden dimensions, to the astral plane below, where, sucked into the wet, warm mouth of a black hole's event horizon, then into the swollen labia of a worm hole, so tight it seems to hold there forever, until finally, passionately ejaculated deep into this reality, all over the faces of eager young freaks who, from their knees, beg to be covered in the hot, sticky, sounds of (insert band name here). The very same (Insert band name here), who gained a huge following during the, "Rawk don't Roll, Pigs and snitches no show show" in 1998. The "Leave your 'tude at home or at least at the door tour", in 1999. The "Fuck and suck, do the drugs, bang your head on the floor, only then will we stop pounding Rawk down your whore tour" which was every year from 2000, through 2010. They were in hiatus for 2011, and 2012, resting and recharging, and writing new material. Almost finished recording their latest offering, the new album will be released in May, and the band hopes to build on these earlier successes by again touring all summer, supporting the new record, and reconnecting with old fans, while introducing themselves to the next generation by headlining the "Cum to your senses, Titty and Testicle Festival" which will be in all the major American cities this summer, other bands,tix and dates TBA.