The Search for the Mel Gibson Stash Continues...

To a lubed-up muscle-wanker like Henry "Discreet Rubdown" Rollins , it's great to be an outsider. Of course, if you were to ask Greg Ginn...he'd say "Henry's a pussy - throwing teenage girls into Chain Reaction's brick wall is the new SWEET RELEASE". Yeah. Sure. Maybe 30 years ago, it was "Get in the Van." Now it's more like "Get in the Escalade while the chauffeur's cousin Joaquin gives you a rusty rimjob ontop of a pile of caviar-filled champagne bottles, platinum cards, and empty Dianabol vials. " Fuck man, Rollins doesn't live on the edge--he's too busy countin' the cash to measure up to a real edge-dweller: Mel Gibson.

Let's review, fuckos. Mel Gibson, the world's most famous bigot, has railed against gays, jews, african-americans, women, jews again, hispanic people, sobriety, good movies, education, his audiences, and his own lack of teen Malaysian dwarf-servants to poke at. Understand that Mel doesn't want to live on the edge, but his own confusing beliefs and daily 7 gram bowls of industrial-grade skag keep him too "limber" for straight society and your plebeian poolside blowjobs. And fuck, how do you reconcile the fact that you hate Hispanic people with your obsession with the Mayans?! Answer: take another hit of the meth slurry you seem to belt down like it was cheap, racist vodka.

So I thought to myself, "I don't care whose pets I gotta tie off this week, I'm gonna get my hands on some Gibson-grade arm candy." Well shit man, I crawled up and down Pico kicking over every cardboard box and tearing down every Shiloe gig flyer looking for my fix, when I found THIS FUCKING GUY restin' his coke spoons on an Amoeba Records shirt outside of El Burrito Jr...

So, naturally I did what every decent American would do...I celebrated my own personal 2 minutes hate with dollar needles stabs of brake fluid and whatever else I could "snowball" into a Ralph's bag. After that sweet drip, I licked my lips and slowly approached this jenkem merchant while foisting a picture of Mel Gibson dumping yuppie art-grads into a NoHo dumpster as my only form of identification. You see, Osama ain't dead, he just moved to La Brea where he supplies hipsters with baking soda eightballs and a complimentary eyesocket for blue balled sink-washing truckers.

To Be Continued...