I know the “LA is gay” sentiment is pretty prevalent in most East Coasters. And I was reminded of why that is when I was out there last week. The reason is because LA IS GAY. Why? Let me count the ways… LA is gay because no one is a Lakers fan until the playoffs. Then all the flags and fanfare come out. Fuck you, Faker Fans. Clippers fans are real fans. They know how to lose with style. Lakers are for kooks. The Clippers are for lovers. So I will be quite happy when my new favorite team, The Denver Nuggets, shits those unsavory characters (you know what I’m talking about) out of the playoffs.
Professional skater and Lakers fan Eric Koston and I have a bet going: Lakers win the series, I owe him $500; Nuggets win, he wears an NJ Skateshop shirt for a month and comes out and does an autograph signing. I told him Jersey is lovely in September.
LA is gay because they have earthquakes and earthquakes can suck my dick. What’s their deal? Don’t they know nobody likes them? Why don’t they go sleep on Loser’s Beach and die. There was an earthquake while I was out there. I wish I could tell you I told the earthquake to cut the shit but I didn’t. I was scared.
LA is gay because the lady cop gave me a ticket to appear in court because I was lost and made a wrong turn. I was a half-mile away from returning my rental car at the airport and coming home. I asked her if she had any humanity left in her heart. She didn’t answer. Have you ever seen Tom Sizemore’s porno? In it, as he’s coked out of his mind, he tells the camera, “I hope a hundred cops die in LA tonight and I hope they all have kids.” Now I’m not gonna say that I totally agree but I will say I’ve always been a fan of everything Tom does.
LA is gay because my lady cop didn’t laugh when, after giving me my ticket I said, “Where the hell were you the other night when I was wasted drunken driving and almost hit a tree? Now that was ticket-worthy!” Lighten up, LA. You can be gay with a sense of humor.
LA is gay because the lady at the courthouse just told me I might have to go to traffic school for my wrong turn. Online. What the shit is that? I have to call back in two weeks and find out. If I have to do that I swear I will go sit in my car with my laptop, keys in the ignition and drink a 12-pack while taking my online traffic school. Let’s see how they like my drunken protest.
Finally, LA is gay because I spent an hour of my life with my friends Steve Olson and Andy Kessler at a roundtable meeting of the minds outside of Starbucks on Melrose. Time has never moved so slowly. I asked someone at the table how often they meet there and they said, “Fuck. Every day. We put in full shifts. Solid six hours.” I signaled for my check and got the hell out of there and went and watched porn before I wasted any more of my life away.
There are more reasons that I may or may not think up later but I have to stop because I’ve reached my word count quota.
I really wish I had something else to show you besides my wife’s retarded Uncle Lonnie’s Easter Egg Hunt from Sunday because tomorrow he is coming over our house to paint eggs with my wife and one can only imagine what kind of mess he will make. Did I ever tell you how painful it is to watch Lonnie eat? You really feel bad for him and yet he doesn’t seem to care at all. Remember when Darryl Hannah ate the lobster in Splash? Shell and all? Lonnie is the same way. You can’t put anything down in front of him and turn your back. He’ll devour it in seconds. I have seen him eat unpeeled shrimp whole. And I’m sure tomorrow, when no one is looking, he’ll eat a hard boiled egg with the shell still on. There’s no stopping or helping him either. I have attempted to peel shrimp for him and he just can’t wait to eat and rips it out of my hand and swallows it whole. He is a human trash compactor. And tomorrow will be awesome but you will miss it.
Sunday was pretty great though. Friends of the family set up an Easter Egg Hunt for the kids (and Lonnie). Lonnie calls the family friend McGummis. Lonnie has names for everyone. My wife, Cris Nieratko, is ‘Cille—short for "Lucille," one of Lonnie’s favorite Beatles songs. That is one of the few names where we can connect the dots on its origin. That and my name: Chrisole, which is a combination of my name and the word ASSHOLE. My mother-in-law is Doris Shittin. My wife’s aunt is Knox NaJew. And so on and so on.
McGummis was good enough to host a pizza party/egg hunt. We failed to monitor Lonnie’s pizza intake because he snuck off and sat at the children’s table where we couldn’t see him. (I know that he knows what he’s doing. I know it.) McGummis came over and asked, “Is it ok if Lonnie has another piece of pizza?” she asked followed by an awkward pause, “…he’s had EIGHT already.” We yelled, “NOOOOOOO!” in unison and I ran to cut Lonnie off. You know what happens to little babies when they’ve had too much to eat… and that’s why Lonnie wears adult diapers now. Luckily he didn’t shit his pants. Not then. Maybe later. And I’d bet $100 that when that diaper was removed there were candy wrappers in it. After Lonnie filled his basket with eggs he went through them one by one, keeping the things he wanted (the candy and the money) and throwing the things he didn’t want (toy cars and erasers) as hard as he could at the little 6-year-olds. They laughed and thought it was so funny. Then one of them got hit with a Matchbox car in the forehead and everyone stopped laughing. Except me. That’s when I started. Of the candy he kept from the eggs, Lonnie started to sneak some from his basket and eat it; wrapper and all. Now n Laters with plastic wrappers, Hershey’s Kisses with foil wrappers; he ate it all without a second thought. We’d try and unwrap them for him but while we worked he’d reach his bear claw into the basket and grab another piece and toss it in his mouth. We had to cut him off from the candy too. Sorry there’s no footage or photos of most of this. I was off playing soccer with a huge four-foot rubber ball. Me against eight kids ranging in age from 4 to 12. AND I TOTALLY KICKED THEIR ASS! I kicked the ball so hard and so high over their heads that they never had a chance. And every time I’d score I’d take a victory lap and try to give them high fives. Most wouldn’t high five me but some did: suckers.
Met up with Mike Anderson in LA to work on his NJ x Matix Jim Thiebaud Pro Model hat.
I think it came out pretty sick.
-nieratko
Pretty Boss ponytail, Jim
Jersey tail
Hewittail
Black tail
Bird tail
Anti-Pony tail
Alden tail
Darin and Oliver...
A tail of two beans
Two-Ton tail
Thunder tail
The tail nose what fear lurks in men's hearts
Romantaila
Pray for tail
Pony Pensyl
Nick takes the tail serious
When we bought our own house I decided I was going to be The Crazy Christmas Lights Guy in my neighborhood. I would, over time, amass more lights than a small city and light up my house so it could be seen from outer space. People would come from far and wide to see my crazy Christmas light house.
We had been in our six months before I told my neighbor my plan.
"Oh," he said, "just like the guy down the street?"
"What guy?"
"the guy down the street."
"Which street?"
"That street." And he pointed. and my eyes followed his finger to the next street over.
Turned out my neighborhood already has a Crazy Christmas Lights Guy.
And you could see his house from outer space.
And people come from far and wide to see his crazy Christmas light house.
That first year I set up my lone Homer Simpson inflatable figure with heavy heart. I no longer wanted to bother, knowing someone was already doing it. Then I went to see the guy's crazy Christmas light house and my heart went a flutter. I was filled with the spirit of Christmas. I was suddenly inspired to decorate my house in an even grander fashion. Not to out-do him but rather to compliment him. Who says there can't be TWO crazy Christmas light guys in a neighborhood?
Not I.
And so, each year on the 26th day of December I hit up every Lowe's, Home Depot and any seasonal store and buy up whatever lights they have left at 75% to 90% off. Last year I got a robotic talking Santa that sings songs and waves! I know I have a ways to go to even be compared to the other guy but I have time. It's only our 3rd Christmas and I'm already getting people slowing up and gawking at the house. I give myself five years and they'll be pulling over to take pictures.
Merry Christmas everyone.
The Nieratko
The inspiration
Getting started
Deer boxes
Creepy Santa
Our house so far
Thanks for the hand, Fatboy
Meatball undressed
Meatball dressed
Many years ago I found myself at The Carnies discussing one of my favorite topics, my wife’s retarded Uncle Lonnie. He is the greatest person that I have ever come across and I love to talk about his zany ways. He has a mouth like a sailor, talks like one of the Three Stooges, quotes TV Land and loves The Beatles. And depending on the day, he will tell you he’s either 4 or 7 years old. He is more awesome than any of us can ever be. I remember saying to The Carnies that Lonnie had a HEART OF GOLD and before long, with the assistance of a few more bottles of white wine we had come up with a more PC anagram for retarded people, H.O.G.s. And so it was that we never said the word ‘retards’ again. Mentally challenged folks, with their Hearts Of Gold, have been referred to as H.O.G.s ever since.
Last year I meant to post Lonnie’s Christmas Party. But I forgot. Here’s a clip from of it. Well last week we went to Lonnie’s Hog O‘ Ween Party at the Elks. As you would expect, it was epic. I knew once Janine started screaming for the “DJ” (guy who changed the CDs on the book box) to play Who Let The Dogs Out that words alone would not capture the moment. So instead I filmed as much as possible. I think it helps capture the awesome. I say next year we run a bus trip to the party and we all go.
Super-sad
Pre-party
Lonnie gets ready
HOG parade!
HOG parade gone wrong
CRAFTS!
Janine was Dorthy
Hungover
Stoked face
Man, my Canadian web dungeon master has been working his fingers off on this site and NJSkateshop.com. Maybe all his hard work will help St. Peter forget he's Canadian when he tries to get into heaven.
Probably not.
Here's all the new OLD stuff he's just posted:
The funny thing about this is... I don't remember doing most of these things. I have to go back and check out the Navarette and Supa interviews because I have no recollection of ever interviewing those dudes. I know I've had many beers with both of them but I can't recall interviews. How sad.
What I do remember is photos. Here's a few recent ones I took that you might not think are a total waste of your time:
Carnie Spears
Bread
Adio Kenny & Joey
Hair
Boobs
Beard kook
NJ mock-up
I hate my wife
Vandelay
Koston rips!
Addidas Tim O'Connor Roast Hosted by Chris Nieratko
I know the “LA is gay” sentiment is pretty prevalent in most East Coasters. And I was reminded of why that is when I was out there last week. The reason is because LA IS GAY. Why? Let me count the ways… LA is gay because no one is a Lakers fan until the playoffs. Then all the flags and fanfare come out. Fuck you, Faker Fans. Clippers fans are real fans. They know how to lose with style. Lakers are for kooks. The Clippers are for lovers. So I will be quite happy when my new favorite team, The Denver Nuggets, shits those unsavory characters (you know what I’m talking about) out of the playoffs.
I really wish I had something else to show you besides my wife’s retarded Uncle Lonnie’s Easter Egg Hunt from Sunday because tomorrow he is coming over our house to paint eggs with my wife and one can only imagine what kind of mess he will make. Did I ever tell you how painful it is to watch Lonnie eat? You really feel bad for him and yet he doesn’t seem to care at all. Remember when Darryl Hannah ate the lobster in Splash? Shell and all? Lonnie is the same way. You can’t put anything down in front of him and turn your back. He’ll devour it in seconds. I have seen him eat unpeeled shrimp whole. And I’m sure tomorrow, when no one is looking, he’ll eat a hard boiled egg with the shell still on. There’s no stopping or helping him either. I have attempted to peel shrimp for him and he just can’t wait to eat and rips it out of my hand and swallows it whole. He is a human trash compactor. And tomorrow will be awesome but you will miss it.
McGummis was good enough to host a pizza party/egg hunt. We failed to monitor Lonnie’s pizza intake because he snuck off and sat at the children’s table where we couldn’t see him. (I know that he knows what he’s doing. I know it.) McGummis came over and asked, “Is it ok if Lonnie has another piece of pizza?” she asked followed by an awkward pause, “…he’s had EIGHT already.” We yelled, “NOOOOOOO!” in unison and I ran to cut Lonnie off. You know what happens to little babies when they’ve had too much to eat… and that’s why Lonnie wears adult diapers now. Luckily he didn’t shit his pants. Not then. Maybe later. And I’d bet $100 that when that diaper was removed there were candy wrappers in it. After Lonnie filled his basket with eggs he went through them one by one, keeping the things he wanted (the candy and the money) and throwing the things he didn’t want (toy cars and erasers) as hard as he could at the little 6-year-olds. They laughed and thought it was so funny. Then one of them got hit with a Matchbox car in the forehead and everyone stopped laughing. Except me. That’s when I started. Of the candy he kept from the eggs, Lonnie started to sneak some from his basket and eat it; wrapper and all. Now n Laters with plastic wrappers, Hershey’s Kisses with foil wrappers; he ate it all without a second thought. We’d try and unwrap them for him but while we worked he’d reach his bear claw into the basket and grab another piece and toss it in his mouth. We had to cut him off from the candy too. Sorry there’s no footage or photos of most of this. I was off playing soccer with a huge four-foot rubber ball. Me against eight kids ranging in age from 4 to 12. AND I TOTALLY KICKED THEIR ASS! I kicked the ball so hard and so high over their heads that they never had a chance. And every time I’d score I’d take a victory lap and try to give them high fives. Most wouldn’t high five me but some did: suckers.
Many years ago I found myself at The Carnies discussing one of my favorite topics, my wife’s retarded Uncle Lonnie. He is the greatest person that I have ever come across and I love to talk about his zany ways. He has a mouth like a sailor, talks like one of the Three Stooges, quotes TV Land and loves The Beatles. And depending on the day, he will tell you he’s either 4 or 7 years old. He is more awesome than any of us can ever be. I remember saying to The Carnies that Lonnie had a HEART OF GOLD and before long, with the assistance of a few more bottles of white wine we had come up with a more PC anagram for retarded people, H.O.G.s. And so it was that we never said the word ‘retards’ again. Mentally challenged folks, with their Hearts Of Gold, have been referred to as H.O.G.s ever since.
