the legend of we:

prologue (or, \"how the legend of me began to eclipse itself with its own grandeur and something really needed to be done about it\") - the semi-sentient state in which i have resided for several years has seemingly been working tirelessly to be cleansed of the zombie breath haze that had engulfed it. yes, i am well aware there are rumors of what i have been doing with my time. talks of what i have been doing with myself. there have been idle comments about my being and behavior, when the sun is rising in the southeast and the early morning dew covers the land in eerie droplets. there have been press junkets and tmz specials centered on my personal private intimacies and all i ask is -- is it truly that hard to believe that it\'s just much more comfortable to go out in public wearing no undies\' is it incapacitatingly hard to imagine that negotiating the finer points of life became something other than everyday doldrums\' and that i embarked on these doldrums exceeding activities sans smear-saving undergarments? i would like to think when these images and videos surfaced that there were those among you, those fun-loving foolish jack daniels\' swigging sorts, that would see my crotch and hair smothered rectal region in rather unfortunate hi-res on their personal computer monitors who would rejoice as the legend of me was brought out and dropped on society willy-nilly like the remarkably inaccurate ramblings of that fat-ass in fur, punxsutawney phil. i would figure that there would be at least a few of you idiots who would not despair in such a way solely because the legend of me was introduced at last into the everyday vernacular. i would have hoped that some of you would have leapt at the chance to bask in the glow of something like this. instead, i fear the legend of me has waned (in part due to the aforementioned unfortunate incident involving in-grown areas) and for the past fifteen months i have been resolutely sitting by as the legend of we has evolved into something much greater and certainly more photogenic than the previously indescribably awesome legend of me.

and for those that have questioned my where-abouts and activities, i, along with my auto-biographer, have prepared our own little press junket to unveil unto you, you fortunate little bastards, the story of the legend of we (often mistaken for the legend of whee or the legend of the wee wee. both understandable and hurriedly forgiven here at headquarters. both are fantastic stories unto themselves but fantastic stories unto themselves that are best left for another time and another medium where censorship is quite a bit less rigid and the monkeys are a smidge less violent).

the beginning (or, \'the beginning\') - the legend of we began as innocently as a ninja: with an invite out to the movies. they say that when we walked under the moon, between the neon-glittery shops of desert ridge, i walked with a certain awkward swagger, my arms held forward. they say that my hair stuck out crazily from lying in bed all day. according to the books on record, it has yet to be discovered why i walked this way. some say it was to avoid falling. others say it was to avoid walking face-first through spider webs. i say it was to disguise my erection. they say i lost at skee ball that night to be gentlemanly. i say they are lying. i lost because she, the other half of the legend of we, cheated. i lost because she, the finer side of the legend of we, loaded me up on caffeine and whiskey. they say that eventually the carousing led to the movies where naked kazakhstani men wrestled publicly. they say the he, the me of the legend of we, held the popcorn and she, the she of we, lightly brushed her elbow against the elbow of the he of the legend of we.

there are doubts however that this is how it started. they say, regardless of fact or argument, that the first date caught on record was some sort of baroque style psycho-gibberish where a sweltering hot silver slide of a car was driven into the mountains up beyond highway 93. the legend says shops were stopped at and wine bars were drunk at and saloons sweltering under the weight of their sunday rock and rolls -- saloons full of hulking stringy haired middle-aged lawyers on motorcycles, motorcycles exaggerated with shining slivers of steel that hide the disparaging fact that those beardless faces riding them were faceless lego-dummies in sweat-filled oxfords and crackling leather vests, lego-dummies whose sole remarkable attributes were rhetoric spewing cigar smeared lips -- these saloons and their slack-jawed participants stared in wonder at the swagger still so persistent in the stumbling doubled up bipedal trot of the legend of we. stared in awe as the legend of we sipped wine and stopped in a head shop where she and not me wandered into the anal dildo display and exclaimed as the entire phallic-anus temple came crashing (inasmuch as rubber dildos can be said to \'crash\' and not more-likely, \'bounce\') down, \'aw geez.\' legend has it that we scampered around rebuilding the anal dildo tower like crack addicts swarming around a rain cloud of heroin. legend is wrong, as is so often the case. the legend of we hightailed it out of there and didn\'t look back. not even once.

$\"jerome,$

they utter at night that we went abroad on the land after that unfortunate mess, and many of the frightened townspeople reported seeing a wolf and a damsel in distress. this is the part of the legend of we that bothers me the most, because i think they\'re talking about my hairy ass. they reported ghastly, bloodthirsty howls coming from the area, as we sat on our blood-red blanket drinking champagne and reading bukowski. at this, when i hear it told again and again, i cannot help but shrug. what else am i to do? we\'re quite boring. there, the legend states, was nothing else to do at 11 in the morning. of this i agree most whole-heartedly.

$\"sedona,$

$\"bukowski-champagne,$

in the tribal communities of australia it is sung around the fire-pit that we often engage in sexually explicit activities and to this point the elders often draw with sticks in the dirt the image of us entwined -- wrapped up in an embrace that looks something like this:

$\"earwigs$

they say our earwigs are magnificent and smell like roses and taste like peanut butter and jelly and cookies and ice cream sandwiches. this also is not true. well, the earwig part is true. but the description here is what bothers me about this particular chapter of the legend of we. they say i can suck out brains and i enjoy doing it, that brains to me are like scrambled eggs to a hungry college student who likes scrambled eggs a lot because cooking sucks. they say this and i cringe, because i can suck out brains but when they say that is what i am doing here, in the image they draw in the dirt, it hurts. i have to be honest. i was spelunking for gold. the earwigs i save for dessert.

legend has it that for awhile our legend of we was contained to the lands of america but that eventually our legend out-grew those vast confines and went international, alighting at some point, momentarily, in paris and then finally bedding down for a time in florence. it is said that during the trip we lounged in our seats sneaking sips of jack daniels while the passengers around us slept. it is said that we drove in a miniature contraption they call a \'car\' in these foreign places, that we sped around in ultra-highspeed and our hair flew behind us like capes and our superhero outfits had extra-large nipples implanted into the chest regions to drum up viewership amongst the middle-aged, single woman crowd. it is said we attended a wedding in a castle and walked down through underground wine cellars, touching bottles bottled by the long gone and dead.

$\"gargonza$

many people believe in the legend of we, many do not. many people believe in magic. many people don\'t believe in michael jackson. many people believe that when we stopped for a moment when we first arrived in florence that the morning sun shone upon me like jesus. still, regardless of whether you believe in we or jesus or michael jackson or the sun, i\'m hungry. can i have your sandwich?

$\"florence,$

it is whispered to the children of this fair region, before they fall asleep, that the legend of we is coming, just have faith. they say we build castles out of hay and ride bicycles in the rain. both of which, while true, sound kind of silly.

$\"san$

they say that we pray on young lovers, being young lovers ourselves. they say that the art of this seduction will be tedious. young lovers, they say, visit internet chat rooms pretending to be capuchin monkeys. they say that we will openingly and brazenly visit the cafes of poggi bonsi and flaunt our screen-names, names like \'organ-grinding_hairycreature_many-lovings\' or \'watch_me_masturbate_and_throw_my_semen_at_you63\'. they say names like these promote promiscuity. they say if we walk by your bedroom window and see two lovers entwined we will stop and stare. it\'s not all true, though. usually we\'re just staring because these people are fornicating with the blinds open. i mean, seriously. they\'re called razors, people. use them.

$\"badia$

it is said there were bridges. it is said we crossed them. this is true, we crossed many. otherwise we would have been swimming and i haven\'t worked out i a while. bathing suits just weren\'t an option.

$\"ponte$

eventually, legend has it, we returned to the land of the many americans and canadians and lilliputians. it is said we glowed. i\'m not sure if it was due to exposure to radiation when we flew into lax or my experience with jesus. either way, they say our glow was legendary and the margaritas from the little hut in california adventures were excellent and the bathrooms should have been more accessible so i wouldn\'t have had to urinate in the bushes and i\'m really sorry to the lady that plays snow white -- i didn\'t realize you were sitting there having lunch at that moment? i thought by your screams that perhaps you were enjoying it. and to the two toughies that roughed me up when they \'escorted\' me from the premises, vengeance will be mine. i will have my shoe back, you bastards.

$\"disneyland,$

it is muttered by furry old men in dirty baseball caps in sordid bars across the universe that when we mate the stars shake. this is only slightly true. the stars shake in fear, but not from our splendid copulations but from my nipples. when i get excited they shoot out like laser beams and everyone knows nipples are scary. these men also mutter that when we stay at resorts with jacuzzis in the room that we do not need the jets to make our bubbles. my butthole is more than satisfactory. this is true, my butthole makes fantastic bubbles. especially when i chew \'bazooka\'.

$\"nipples$

some stories claim that when we went camping north-east of prescott that the pine-cone hurled over the edge of the rim was swept up by a mighty breeze and thrown back at my friends sitting in the car behind us as if swatted by some mythical beast. they say this was an act of god and there was nothing anyone could have done about it. this is not true. i threw it at them on purpose. they had eaten the last hot-dog earlier that morning and goddamn it i was hungry.

$\"pinecone$

many sites on the internet claim to have intimate access to the details of our legend. they lie. they say i can turn into a wolf and my hungry growls mean i am hungry. this is only somewhat true. i just really don\'t like shaving or hair-cuts. and the ball licking, well, it\'s comforting. try it. oh, and one time in july, we went bowling. it was legendary. these, i caution, are not the best balls to be licking seeking any sort of comforting. unless you find large dirty balls comforting. then by all means, lick away.

$\"bowling,$

the books of legend state that we will climb a mountain and at the top of this mountain there will be frisbee golf. i know, silly right?

$\"san$

a few say we exist and a few others say don\'t forget your ovaltine. either way, we are fantastically poor gamblers but exquisite drinkers. a few others besides those other few and the other few besides them say the giant wheel of fortune games are fun to spend (waste) your money in. they lie. here are the pictures to prove it.

$\"big$

$\"dear$

legend says we will go to del mar, california for a friend\'s wedding and we will drink too much and i will break out into a style of dance that hasn\'t been invented yet. hey, listen people (both my friends that were married and the fantastic if slightly stiff staff of l\'auberge del mar) that were at this wedding, i\'m sorry your puny brains cannot handle a style of dance as impressive and mind-blowingly complex as that which i whipped out at the reception. it\'s been five month now. i think you can drop the restraining order. my doctor says i\'ve made impressive gains and soon i might be healthy enough to stop cutting letters out of magazines and mailing you my favorite recipes.

$\"del$

many say she will look lovely that evening. this legend is a legend for a reason.

$\"del\"$

legend has it that at some point, for some reason, the legend of we will span two continents and thank goodness for skype. seriously, i love those guys. legend has it that one side of the legend of we will journey across the pond again while the she of we remains behind. legend has it that i will travel this distance with my older brother, a recent graduate of law school and we will rock the european continent because there is little else i, a financier, and my brother, an unemployed lawyer, should do with their time than slum around northern europe. legend has it we will see castles along the mosel, bridges in cologne, and towering palaces in brussels. they say we will see statues in koblenz and have naked women dancing in windows beckon us as we walk along the peaceful canals of amsterdam. they say we will be tempted by many, but this is a lie. the whores of amsterdam are pretty damn nasty. no offense, ladies. but you ugly.

$\"castle$

$\"grand$

$\"koblenz,$

$\"some$

$\"red$

they say on this european escapade that the beer shall flow freely and the wine will be downed by the gallon. they say that when the levels of alcohol reaches a sufficient level that pictures will be taken and drunken notes will be scrawled and mailed to our little brother serving his time in afghanistan. they say this will be fun and adrenaline will cure all hangovers, but perhaps it is best to be honest here. the only cure for a true european hangover is more liquor. hair of the dog, the hand that feeds. whichever. it\'s all glorious.

$\"mosel$

$\"wine$

$\"grand$

$\"amsterdamwherethehellareyou\"$

$\"dusseldorfwherethehell\"$

$\"oh$

legend has it that we will ride trains across these great lands and then the conductors will go on strike for the weekend as they do once a month and then we will walk and i will say to the conductors, you all suck you assholes. but prior to that, before i tell them all they are assholes, legend says we will ride the trains and it also will be glorious. bumpy and slightly hectic, but glorious.

$\"very$

priests write that when i return the legend of we will have grown even greater. in between prayers the priests will sneak glimpses of our legend that they have pasted to the inside covers of their bibles. they will write many things and i\'m assuming they\'re writing great and nice things, but i can\'t really tell you what they\'re actually writing because i don\'t speak latin. if you don\'t believe me, talk to mary armstrong, my thrice-repeated human anatomy and medical terminology instructor. anyway, we went to disneyland again. megan is addicted, so the legend goes anyway. secretly i think she has something going on with minnie. i can\'t complain. secretly i\'m totally into it. except for the stink. apparently minnie gets really sweaty.

$\"disneyland,$

the end (or, \'the end\', or, \'there is more but i haven\'t loaded pictures off the camera in a few months because i am horribly and cognizantly lazy\') - this isn\'t the end of the legend of we, legend has it. it is instead a small dot, as there is more but i haven\'t loaded pictures off the camera for a few months because i am horribly and cognizantly lazy. i am also cognizant of the fact that cognizantly isn\'t in fact a word. but who is this legend about anyway -- we or noah webster and his annoying platoon of grammar policing lackeys?

MY UNDERPANTS ARE GLORIOUS.