Reader Submitted Content: That One Time I Lived With A Lesbian

I’m straight. I can’t help it. Older lesbians would try to recruit me when I was in high school. Apparently I wasn’t aware that having soccer mom short hair instantly made me a lesbian. Fast forward to college and I was even known to kiss a girl or two. But kissing is fucking fun, so I’ll kiss whoever I want - and if it gives freshman boys boners, all the better!

I was also that loser girl who lived in the dorms all the way through senior year, but there was that one summer circa 2007 where I subleased a room in a house. I knew one of the guys living in the house, but not the other guy. And, of course, the other guy was this annoying vegetarian who didn’t have to pay rent because his daddy owned the house and still ate chicken flavored ramen noodles with the DEHYDRATED CHICKEN seasoning packet…because that’s what his fucking daddy bought him. And his annoying-as-fuck girlfriend (who desperately wanted to be that chick from Amelie) practically lived there too. She got mail there and would leave her laundry in the dryer and her SHOES ON THE TABLE. Not to mention their fucking dog that shat everywhere… ugh.

Enough about that. Things got real interesting when the “it’s okay to eat dehydrated chicken and call myself a vegetarian” guy’s sister moved into our happy, dog shit-filled abode. She was a lesbian, and she was in love with me. It wasn’t a big deal at first. She was super cool and we got along really well. She would say sexy sort of things to me occasionally and I didn’t mind, because I’m all open minded and shit. Granted, not open minded enough to go muff diving anytime soon, but still fairly open minded. She drank Bud Light like it was water and had a tattoo of a dinosaur on her arm that some drunk 15 year old gave her. I used to go the gay bar with her on Wednesday nights because there was unlimited pizza and keg beer for $5. With bitchy drag queens lurking around the corners and gay boys waiting to ironically grind on me to Cher(?), I was practically in heaven! That is, until my lesbian roommate decided that I was going to be her fake girlfriend. It was all because she accidentally drunkenly fucked this really gross girl, and the gross girl - surprisingly - fell in love with her and was pretty much stalking her. Any normal person would just confront the uggo and be like, “Sorry lady, mistake! Now leave me alone!” But this lezzie was no normal person. She decided it was a much better idea to say that I was her girlfriend and to constantly make out with me in front of the gross girl…. Why the hell did I go along with this? I can be pretty naive at times. It must be the whole Iowa childhood thing.

This cycle repeated itself for awhile, maybe a month or two. But things culminated one evening when we had some people over to consume massive amounts of Bud Light. I let a friend sleep in my bed because I thought it was a good idea to sleep in my lesbian roommate’s bed... With another dude... Because we were all gonna do it. Lezzie bitch passed out after a couple minutes, so it was just me and the dude going at it. We were making out, all was good and fun, but then the dude felt this warm wetness creeping towards him. That dumb bitch managed to piss herself and ruin my good time in her bed! Seriously! What a bitch! He decided that was a good opportunity to make his grand exit, so I stepped upstairs to see what was up. My friend was peacefully sleeping in my bed. WITH THE SHITTING DOG. Gross. So I went downstairs and slept on the couch. The lesbian had no recollection of the event and I kinda wanted to pretend it hadn’t happen. There were a few more gay bar adventures but it just wasn’t the same. I moved back into the dorms at the end of the summer and that was it.

But at least now I can say I’ve been pissed on by a lesbian.

I'm Faster Than My Shadow

Send you're RSCs to bnb@hotdogdayz.com


Totes Quotes 6/29/10

"On occasion, you see a girl so beautiful that you just know she has no butthole...she must have two vaginas!"
-The Darkhorse

'Midji Freight Flickin'

Bemidji, MN, 6/21/10

If flicking is your thing, hit me up at thee.n.o.b@gmail.com Let's talk.


Totes Quotes 6/28/10

Fellas, having problems with the ladies? Well fret no longer, sound advice has arrived. Heed the word...

"Have no standards! If it doesn't get hard, then it's time to hit the road."
-The Darkhorse

Blew Monday: White Wa$hing The Greenway


Weekly Top Ten 6/21-27/10

Work Of Art-on Bravo
Justified-on FX
2010 FIFA World Cup
Robin Hood-film
Kick Ass-film
Junk Pirate-zine
The Wreckless Press-zine
LCD Soundsystem-This Is Happening-CD
Homemade Cold Press Coffee
Buildings live @Cinema & Civics, Steven's Square Park, Mpls, MN


3 for 30

Last weekend I ran into an old friend who is totes birthing a turd baby because he’s on the verge of turning thirty. I realize it’s natural for him to have the panic shits about this stuff, but eventually I grew tired and finally told him to STFU about it already; and just follow these 3 simple rules:

Choose the right location.
College towns are no place for any self-respecting 30-year old. Now, that doesn’t mean any town that has a college. (For example, many cities have colleges, and I can think of no better place to turn thirty than in the city.) What it means is any town that is defined specifically by its college presence. Basically if you went to a state university, you’d best not be turning thirty there. You’ll have absolutely no chance of getting laid on your birthday or ever again because you just became the old guy that never left. And that’s the depressing kind of shit that college chicks hate. It’s weird because it’s just the opposite in the city. Girls in their twenties love dudes in their thirties. Which leads me to my next bit of advice…

Stay single or, if need be, get single.
There’s this big myth that once you turn 30 you should settle down and start procreating. Absolutely do not fall for this load of garbage! This age-old falsity was created by people that made that mistake and want everyone else to suffer for the rest of eternity because they did. There are so many potential having-the-time-of-my-life years that you can easily blow by participating in premature monogamy. Your early to mid-thirties are your last chance to summon the vigor of your youth and deliver the ferocious poundings that twenty-something women crave. The older you get the more your back hurts and the smaller your boner gets, so take advantage of time while it’s on your side. If kids are in the plans, wait until you’re like 38 or something and then find a woman that’s five to ten years younger than you. This way you’re not missing your fun-having window and she’s not missing her baby-having window.

Stay young.
Most importantly, don’t abandon your youth. If you were one of the lucky ones who stuck with punk rock beyond 8th grade you already know this. If not, well then, perhaps it’s time you get reacquainted with your younger self. Find new music, enthrall yourself new artistic endeavors, pick up the guitar again (or for the first time,) learn Ableton Live, ride a bicycle, etc. In order to stay young, it’s also important to take time to reflect. You know; start a blog where all you talk about is the salad days.

Fuck, you’re only 30.

Also, it’s never too early to start a vitamins-fish oils-glucosamine-skin care-sleep-water and reverse missionary routine.

(pic-Portland, OR, early 00s)

found downtown in the land of crooks *

Recent found items.

*Digable Planets

Casual Fridays: wear it, and wear it hard.


trash, won't pick it up. *

Recent found items.

*New York Dolls

Totes Quotes 6/24/10

Heard these two totally sweet bro-man-dudes talking about "cultural phenomenas" on the train this morning:

"Bro, I'm over the whole ironic-hipster-racism thing."

"Dude, but you have to admit the sum of those three things equals comedy gold."

-Alex P.

Mahi Mahi

Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, Jan, 2010


Reader Submitted Content: Mad Love For The Mad

I love crazy people. I’m still fairly new in town and I haven’t met any people who are sufficiently crazy, but not too crazy, for my tastes. If you’re gonna ask me to play favorites, I think I like Bipolar Schizophrenics the most.

SamMy friend Sam is a good example of this. One time, when he was between medications, he had a psychotic episode where he walked into the local hospital back home and started claiming he had the power to heal. The staff put up with it for a couple minutes and then gently asked him to leave, but he refused cuz he was on a fucking mission from God! So they called security and that’s when he really flipped shit. He blacked out and punched a lady cop in the face, then promptly fell on his back and, according to him, “A stargate opened and my soul returned to me.” Then he went to in jail. He really is a teddy bear of a fellow when he’s properly medicated. I was talking to him a few days after the episode and he was like, “Yeah… the police report is actually pretty funny.” If you wonder where Sam gets his crazy, his dad is even worse. Pappa Sam is full blown Bipolar and batshit crazy to boot. He’s missing the tip of his left index finger and when he gets real riled up he calls it his “devil finger” and slams it on the table repeatedly in an attempt to get the devil out. He’s a fun guy to talk to, but you have to be very patient, especially when he tries to sell you a TV or something… even after you’ve repeatedly told him you aren’t interested. More often than not, he’ll try to play really bad country music loudly while you’re watching a movie too.

Fat Baby
Next on my list of all-star crazy friends is a cat named Fat Baby. I have no idea why he calls himself Fat Baby, but he has it tattooed down his forearm. For the longest time I thought it was just constantly scrawled in sharpie, but it was just a really bad tattoo. I’ve known him for a long time. He used to do dishes at this placed I’d got for brunch on Sundays when I was 16 or something. Then he did dishes at Perkins where I would hang out and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee cuz that’s what all the cool 17 year olds were doing. He somehow always managed to find me and talk to me about madness. I used to play bass in a punk band when I was 15 and he saw me play once. So he was always telling me what a good guitar player I was and how we should jam sometime. Ehh? Whatever. I always had to dodge that question. Then fast forward a couple years and he finds his way onto the scene. Most of us knew better than to let him do any drugs or drink any booze, but every once in awhile there’d be that kid who’d hand Fat Baby the pipe and then he would get craaaazy stoned. I’m really glad I missed the one night the boys let him try Tussin… aye. So anyways, one night he’s stoned out of his gourd and decides that I’m the only person in the room worth talking to. And he says something to the effect of “I have to listen to all the words that are coming out of everyone’s mouths all at the same time. You know why? Because it’s the voice of God speaking through everyone all around me.” This heavied the shit out of my poor 18 year old self. In retrospect, it isn’t all that bad, but it made me nervous. Especially when his crazy eyes were staring into my fucking soul. Or at my tits… one of the two. He also borrowed my ex’s bike and somehow managed to throw it under a train. We’re still not quite sure how that happened, but Fat Baby’s mind works in mysterious ways.

This guy was a real piece of work. He was obsessed with the local Catholic high school’s football team. He would frequently wear their football jerseys and occasionally wear the helmet to match. He also had a band called Motley Christ which had a different line up every time they performed. This was because he would ask people to play with him right before the show. I even performed once on some other girl’s bright pink guitar. He would sing songs about Jesus from lyrics he had written down in a beaten up notebook. The only one I ever remember was about how he wanted to find a girl who was willing to get down on her knees. And pray. I don’t think he saw the same humor in it that the rest of us did. He’s just always been around, as long as I can remember. All the way back to when I first started going to local punk shows at the tender age of about 13. I haven’t seen him in years, but I imagine he looks exactly the same. Fat, short, and bad. Usually pretty smelly. Still wearing that damn blue and yellow jersey.

God bless the crazies in my life. They keep things interesting. I don’t understand why they all have this serious God thing going on. Perhaps there’s a strong link between Christianity and insanity. Either way, I feel like they’ve made me more tolerant of all our crazy differences. Some folks are just more vocal about the madness that goes on inside of their minds. And those people are usually on lots of medication - and lots more fun than all the normal folk.

Send your RSCs to


Totes Quotes 6/22/10

If I hang out with my dad for an extended period of time (basically an hour or more) I realize that when you get older, yes, you do get grumpy, but no, you don't actually get any wiser. You just find different ways of saying the same thing:

"The things we used to do don't happen anymore and the things that do happen now just piss us off."

"Maybe I'm jaded because I'm not in the game anymore and the current game makes me depressed."
-My Dad

-Christian Lyter
AKA Anonymous ;)

Send your overheards, tidbits of advice, mini-musings, quirky email exchanges, funny sentences etc. to
Totes Quotes at bnb@hotdogdayz.com


Weekly Top Ten 6/14-20/10

Gateway Fountain, Mpls, MN
Great spot to cool down after a morning ride to work or to eat your lunch. Never mind the transients; they're just passing through. Never mind the joggers; they just have great boobs.

Best Name Ever-Two Boys Gumete
NSC Minnesota Stars midfielder from Durban, South Africa.

TV Carnage's Let's Work It Out at MCAD, Mpls, MN
Pinky Carnage (TVC creator Derrik Beckles) was a no show. But he did send along a personal message in which he called our state bird Prince & The Revolution. That joke never gets old. And even though LWIO is a humorous compilation of old workout video clips, we've been inspired to get back in shape.

Ron Artest's post game promo

2010 FIFA World Cup
If you're lucky you just might catch BNB in a USA jersey, believe it or not.

Guilty Simpson-OJ Simpson-CD
It's a rare occasion that we'll take a recommendation from the Onion's AV Club. But it isn't so much their review that sold us as it was the fact that it's a Madlib production.

Grant Lake, Beltrami County, MN
Great swimming. Also, if you're fishing in a canoe, we recommend staying in the part of the lake that's referred to as "little grant."

Bemidji Area Department of Natural Resources
We would like to personally thank the DNR for clearing out fallen trees from the section of the Mississippi River between South Fern Lake Rd and Beltrami County Rd #11. If you hadn't we would have been seriously effyouseekayed.

Having a bass cannon in your car.
Sometimes when you buy a used car it comes with a bass cannon and you just have to embrace it even if the last time you were 23 was awhile ago. Of course you can't use it in the city without looking like an asshole or getting pulled over. But when you get out on that open road...well, let's just say, there is nothing quite like blasting dubstep through a cannon while roaring down a gravel road in northern MN.

All of the great fathers of the world-past, present & future, Happy Father's Day. We love you!


Totes Quotes 6/18/10

Now, I am no doubt about it a certified Lakers hater, but I got love for Ron Artest. After hitting what was essentially the championship-winning three, he cut the best post-game promo since KG:

“Well, first I want to thank everybody from the hood…my uhm, my psychiatrist…I knocked down that three, just like you told me to…and my single comin’ out…I got a single coming out. It’s called Champion!”
-Ron Artest

Send your overheards, mini-musings, tidbits of advice, quirky email exchanges and quotable quotes to Totes Quotes at thee.n.o.b@gmail.com

Casual Fridays: Daisys

Bemidji, MN, late 90s


Dear BNB, The Bottom End Fell Out

Dear BNB,
Is there a difference between a dilapidated butthole and a prolapsed anus? How can I prevent this from happening to me?
-#1 Fan

Dear NOF,
Well, I have not confirmed this with a biological organ professional but I am fairly certain that a butthole and an anus are pretty much the same thing. (Also, I should note that I am answering your question from my real life job and the last thing I need is for someone to ask me why I Googled either of these things.) When something is dilapidated it means it has deteriorated or fallen into partial ruin. Prolapsed is similar in that it refers to something that has slipped or fallen out of place. Dilapidated and prolapsed organs—in this case, the butthole/anus—are often times the result of misuse and/or neglect. So in both instances, I think what we’re talking about here is a butthole/anus on the verge of defeat, barley capable of performing its primary function after an undetermined period of cruel and inhumane treatment. Like I said, I’m not willing to risk my job to image search this, but I’m guessing it looks like a 2 or 3 inch upside down volcano made of purple flesh, hanging from the area that used to be your sphincter.

There are a couple of ways in which you can prevent this from happening. One, stop putting things up your ass that don’t belong there. A moderate amount of properly lubricated butt sex is tolerable—and in some circles encouraged—but it’s time to retire that Big Black Rubber Fist. ™ And two, stop eating at White Castle. Period.

New Hope, MN, '99-'00

Having relationship problems? Looking for fashion advice? Need help planning practical jokes on your co-workers? Have a burning question like this one? Send them to Dear BNB at bnb@hotdogdayz.com

Ea$y An$wer$ *

Bellingham, WA, early to mid '00s



Castleton Building

When I was first shown the shitty studio apartment at 220 East 19th, there was a crackhead passed out in the building entry way with Fritos spilled all over herself. I knew right then that this was going to be an interesting place to live. Most people probably would have said ”no thanks” and walked away right then. But not me. Living with my relatives was making it increasingly tough to have sex with girls and I had grown tired of going for a walk every time I wanted to partake in the time-honored tradition known as smoking pot. Plus, I could have my dog, Dylan in this place. And it wasn’t the suburbs, which I had promised myself at a very young age that I would never live. Besides, Fritos aren’t a bad snack; and they’re probably like a pounder burrito to someone who hasn’t eaten in a week. Who am I to judge? I said fuck it and signed a lease.

Aside from three horrendous, whining-at-the-door-please-get-me-the-fuck-outta-here hours, Dylan never lived with me. I couldn’t do that to him. Despite it being one of the only affordable pet-allowed rental neighborhoods in the city, Stevens Community is no place for a dog. I always felt bad for all the dogs I saw around the park. Including the Rottweiler named Conan that bit me in the ass after an intense stare down betwixt us. (The pussy waited until I was walking away.) Several times I wanted to walk up to the just-once-around-the-block-take-a-shit-now!-so-I-can-go-back-to-watching-TV dog walkers and tell them they were fucked up assholes for forcing a dog to live in an apartment. (Or for letting their pussy-ass Rottweiler bite me in the gluteus maximus.) Of course, maybe they weren’t so fortunate to have a wilderness-bound mother willing to take care of their dog. Dylan went to live with Mom up north.

I stayed in Stevens.

For five long years.

Despite never getting used to the crackheads, crack dealers, crackwhores and unfortunate asshole dog-owners, I still had a lot of good times there. I got to have sex with some girls; and was finally able to once again get high from my own couch…which may or may not have resulted in the consumption of several bags of Fritos.

220 E 19th St, Mpls, Mn, '00-'01

Jesus, look at that vinyl spread. Atmosphere's Lucy Ford EPs, Lifter Puller-Fiestas & Fiascoes, Dillinger Four-Midwestern Songs of the Americas, Quincy Punx-Nutso Smasho and both the early Menstrual Tramps 7 inches. What a fucking scenester.


Blew Monday: Lablay

Winnipeg Folk Festival, Bird's Hill Park, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, early July, 90s-00s ???

Weekly Top Ten 6/7-13/10

Get Him To The Greek-film
Getting Even-Demo '09-DL
NBA Finals
Clean Girls-Summer Camp-CD
2010 FIFA World Cup
Meth And Goats-Attack From Meth & Goats Mountain-CD
Target Field, Mpls, MN
Diet Cokeheads-band
Babes In Toyland-Spanking Machine and To Mother-CDs
L.A. Raw Ponx-new hip Los Angeles punk scene


All The Guys Are Here

The t-shirts I was talking about said I Survived Beer Camp 2000 and we all wore them proudly...even though none of us had technically survived yet. Depending on which definition of survival you use, those t-shirts may have been false advertising. Come to think of it, there are in fact people I have not seen since. Hmmm? Anyway, everyone got exceptionally wacky, parents were sworn in front of, street dance stages were hijacked and there may or may not have been a late-night "joint subcommittee" on a trampoline. Also there was lots of beer back at camp. At least at the start of the weekend.

Beer Camp, Staples-Motley, MN, Summer '00

Casual Fridays: Sleep is the Cousin of Fucked With


You Being A Pussy Is Really Harshing My Gig

You know what really pisses me off? Fear.

With the one exception being success, I’m not afraid of a goddamn thing. (Ok, well, what I mean is besides Juggalos, Sur 13, real life Germans and going too fast down a mountain or really large hill on a snowboard or bike, success is the only thing I’m afraid of.) So it’s not my fear per se, but rather other people’s fear that piss me off.

Today a friend sent me an email titled this is what I would do if I saw a frog with a link to this video of overpaid, fairly hot, terrible actresses being scared of snakes. Other than the fact that the blonde one looks good in skinny jeans, the video makes me more irritable than Justin Beiber at an Australian TV taping.

The mere thought of people being so scared of something that they can't even think about it, let alone see it, fills me with blood-boiling rage. Why? I’m not sure. And I’m not ready to figure that out yet. Instead I'd rather bitch about a few other people’s fears for a moment.

My gf is afraid of tickling. Fucking tickling! Are you kidding me? Who the fuck is afraid of tickling? You’re fucking laughing for chrissakes. You know what laughing is? It’s the end result of fun. You’re laughing because you’re having fun, goddamnit! She can't even think about tickling. If I even pretend I’m going to tickle her she cowers in fear or runs away or screams at me to stop. Then I have to feel bad for trying to have fun. Basically she’s afraid of not only having fun but also pretending to have fun. I don’t get it. Gawd, it makes me angry. Seriously, what’s more fun than tickling?

Let’s back up a minute shall we...

Frogs? Gedafuckouttahere. You’re afraid of frogs? What did a frog ever do to you? I think you're real fear is the theory of evolution. Besides, do you know how easy it is to kill a frog? All it takes is a foot. You got a foot don’t you? If you're lucky it will only take one stomp. Prefer to get creative and watch it die a slow death? Pick it up and throw it on an ant hill. You should never be afraid of something you can kill. Plus, they are like so totes cute. And they definitely don’t deserve to die, so stop thinking that way and get over it, you creep; you’re pissing me off.

Yes, blimps. Believe it or not I know someone that is afraid of blimps. When asked why, this is what she said.

“They just aren't right! They explode, they look weird, they are completely unnecessary, and they hover around like some creepy lurker.”

Oh, my bad, I didn't realize "blimps" was slang for New Yorkers or Texans. Listen, I’m not a huge fan of either one myself, but there is no reason to be afraid of them. Their obstrusive, hey-look-at-me presence is just a way to cover-up the massive insecurities that come with living a bubble; albeit a large bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. Learning that they do not in fact actually live in the center of the universe is a hard pill for them to swallow. Truth is they are intimidated by you. And for crying out loud, it makes no sense to be afraid of something that is afraid of you. Now get a grip before I pop a blood vessel.

Oh, how original. Congratulations Indiana Jones, you’re boring. Let me guess, you’re afraid of spiders and mice too. What you should be afraid of is taking a long hard look in the mirror and realizing you’ve made it this far without thinking for yourself. Christ, find your own fear already. You make me so angry I could poop a hemorrhoid.

If everyone could just stop being a bunch of pussies that would be great.