Thanks A Lot, bin Laden

94warriors.com has been discontinued involuntarily due to a slight monetary discrepency (again.) But there will be tasty treats coming up soon. I promise.

Jon R.

Temporary Return

021910
0935 Hours

With the urge to retire from online activity for the remainder of the decade constantly being fueled by the shallow offerings of the mainstream media and most people who are killing social networking sites, I offer possibly the last nugget of the inside world of the awkwardly handsome, heavy-set, five-foot-six-inch tower of a man (figuratively of course) that roams free somehow in the sadlands of the Red Lake Nation. But if I read about another “relevant” reality star looking tragically skinny and looking for cocaine, I will pull a J.D. Salinger and never come out again! You feel me?

Though I haven’t dominated the universe like I thought I would’ve when I was 13, hopefully I’ve spawned a few ideas that have inspired at least seven souls. I mean, it’s the least I could do to thank the Great Spirit for blessing me with below-average looks and a body to be admired by zero. But being that I just turned three-four, I really should consider getting it out of second gear.

The recent offering from websites, TV, movies, books has me considering a different avenue for my daily input of knowledge. Right now, I’ll only read a column from Bill Simmons, a blog by Whitney Matheson, Twitter feeds from Dalton Walker, Tashina Banks, John Mayer, read a semi-dailyUSA Today and that’s about it. Facebook is slowly turning in to a farming community where you can only “likes this (thumbs up)” but can’t “hates this (middle fingers up)” and I haven’t signed in on MySpace regularly in months because some people should lose their Photoshop privileges immediately.

And TMZ can suck it! I tried watching their show where everyone has to impress the boss and not mention his thinning, dyed hair and soccer mom yoga cup. I sat there waiting for breaking news and ended up saying, “That’s it? Krah!” after a clip.

As for Perez Hilton, I’ve pretty much ignored him from the mother-effen giddy-up! If you ignore someone long enough, they cease to exist in your mind. I suggest everyone join me in this one. Or have the BEP manager slap him every day. Now that was some news! Also, I noticed Mr. Hilton on The Sopranos in maybe the second or third season so his cool/relevant status just went up a few points in my book to negative 597, which still leaves him at the bottom of the cool/relevant barrel. Of course the Jon R. cool/ relevant barrel goes like the hurt/pain scale; 1 is uncool/irrelevant such as Spencer Pratt, and 10 is the coolest/most relevant like Jack Nicholson. (I rate as a 1.33 on the scale somehow.)

With all of that being said, I feel slightly cleansed. Kind of like a shower after a hard night of shenanigans, ballyhoo and tomfoolery.

Riding these roads, or as the city folk call them, “streets” of Red Lake, I notice a lot of impurities of the fine people of this great nation. Some corrupted by certain colors, some by addiction, most by ignorance. These are the scenes of the “Rez”, man. These scenes make me appreciate the little things, the small incidents I can control. I’d rather come home to squabbling kids that don’t want to go to bed early on a school night than be draped in certain colors while addicted to something and not realizing it. Why wouldn’t everyone want to have such small problems like mine? But what can you do, you know? One has to wonder if it will continue this way. I’m thinking there are quite a few that want to change the ways of Red Lake. I know there are. I see them everywhere, man. It will happen.

Ho wah! The urge to retire has somewhat subsided… for now.

May Or May Not Return

It's been so long. I may never come back to the online world... unless at least 2 people beg me. I don't even care who you are. Until then, enjoy the past posts from as far back as December 2004, twitter.com/94warriors, 94warriors.com, facebook.com/94warriors or myspace.com/94warriorsstudios.

Jon R.

Return to Blogger

Yeah, I've been away because I fogot my password. otherwise I'm on www.twitter.com/94warriors, www.94warriors.com, www.myspace.com/94warriorsstudios. Um, yeah.

Fuckin' YouTube

021209
1005 Hours

Today is the day that no one shall go unentertained (apparently that's not a word)! I return to you, good people of MySpace and Blogger for the sole purpose of sharing life experiences that will hopefully lead you all to the succulent fruits of being awesome (as in the powerful, 'New Jack' words of Jodeci) "Every freakin' day, every freakin' night."

I hope you'll all excuse my long "sabbatical." The past few months have been a blur with Christmas (where I checked my usual 'Scrooge' attitude at the door), work, travels (Vikings playoff game) and an unusually long bout of laziness I couldn't shake. It was like a bad case of head lice. But now I'm back.

On with the thoughts!

One recent thought has to do with my son's fascination with wrestling. He calls his Val Venis guy "Hello Ladies," his Finlay "Alex" because he looks like my nephew Alex, his John Cena, well... John Cena. But I am most proud because he acknowledges the past and adores his "The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes guy by calling him Dusty Rhodes. I bring this up because I have been watching a little WWE lately and have been bored to death with these new "Superstars." They have the personality of a 2X4 and all look like male strippers (I'm assuming that's what male strippers look like!) Randy Orton is the worst of them all. He stands there and glares. That's it! And he has two guys on each side of him who looked like they were fake cops who just took their uniforms off and ready to start dancing to the Village People. So my mission is to show Jaxson what "wrasslin'" was all about, man; where robust gentlemen like Dusty Rhodes, 'Playboy' Buddy Rose and Adrian Adonis, who without shirts, muscles, tans or baby oil were known as gods to the everyday fan. Woo! And how come nobody brings up 'Cowboy' Bob 'Ace' Orton's style of the fringe, leather vest and cowboy hat to the 'Legend Killer?' Wouldn't that be like the Yo' Mamma joke for wrestlers? Just asking.

Yet another, off topic though: For some reason, I believe some of our Tribal Council members are in need of a makeover ASAP. At least take a page out of the chairman's book anyway, who is very stylish and dresses the part of Leader of the Free Nation. Let's lose the sleeveless T-shirts when we're speaking to oil executives, shall we?

But for now, fuckin' YouTube derailed an awesome blog. Be on the look out for more awesome with me having the next few days off from work. FUCKIN' YOUTUBE!!! Let's change the name of it to Fuckin' YouTube.

Spicolli Rules!

022209
2326 Hours

Krah! I thought Mickey Rourke had that Oscar wrapped up. But, after getting a good look at the other nominees, any one of those guys deserved it as much as the other. Cool buzz and some tasty waves for Spicolli tonight!

The Heath Ledger win had me feeling something you humans call emotions this evening. How awesome was that?!

With all of the Oscaring it up now gone, it makes me want to win one. Not just be nominated but to win a motherfucker, you know?! Since my dream of being the National League MVP for the World Champion Chicago Cubs evaporated after a few Corey Graves fastballs that could only be heard and not seen, I will have to resort to the next greatest achievement, which is Oscar glory! Now I know that On the Road Battle River Style is not a prime example of Scorcese-esque filmmaking, but you have to start somewhere.

Doesn't Jerry Lewis make you want to do something with your life? He's helped kids with MS for over 50 years. Kind of makes my donating $2 to his kids at Sta-Mart look like... well, two bucks.

Now, I haven't seen Slumdog Millionaire yet, and it's sounds like an excellent movie (Best Picture), but the American people can cheer a poverty-stricken nation like it's nothing they have never seen before when they have 304 such nations in their own backyard?! Um, I don't know where I was going with that. I don't even know what it means. I just thought I'd throw that out there.

But enough about all of that. I saw Tyler Perry's Madea Goes to Jail today and thought, "Shhhhhhit... I could do that! (make a movie about comedy, love, drama and minorities) I think Tyler Perry is one of my idols even though he takes steroids (allegedly).

One On One With God

021108
2107 Hours

God (in the year 2078)
"And you, Mr. Roberts, what did you do with your first 31 years of life?"

Jon R. (just through those pearly gates after saying "what's up" to Elvis)
Holy fuck! What didn't I do?! First I got borned...

God
Borned? What an idiot. Just tell me without trying to sound smart.

Jon R.
Well you sent me to a single mother on the south side of Minneapolis... I want to thank you for that BTW... my dad wasn't allowed to hangout with me 'cause muh grammuh wasn't too found of the feller I was 'sposed to call daddy. So it was just me and my ma for the first few years o'life. While growing up in the Projects, I learned a few things about life in the city...

God (interrupting Jon)
Ok, ok, ok... I think you've spelled that out to the whole world in your stupid blogs over the years. Start with your teen years. What did you do and what did you learn?

Jon R.
Oh man, those were the days, man. I remember we and my friends would all try and get enough money for a liter of Southern Comfort during the high school years. We'd get drunk and do all kinds of stupid things. We'd race on the highway, stay out all night, snake out or puke on each other. At the time it was fun. No hangovers at all. I also heard a smart man once say about being young that "You just gotta keep on livin' man... L-I-V-I-N." So that's what me and the bro's did, just kept on L-I-V-I-N.

God
So you took life lessons from a character in a stoner movie that was a possible predator? Real smart. That's why it took you so long to grow up, idiot.

Jon R.
Hey man, just 'cause you run this whole Heaven place doesn't mean to get to call me an idiot!

God
I'm calling you an idiot because you were an idiot, idiot.

Jon R. (crossing his arms, turning away and looking up with his eyes closed)
Hmmph.

God
Please, continue or else you won't get to hang out with Farley.

Jon R.
Well, senior year was what I'd been waiting for since I could remember. 1994 was the best year ever, personally, other than 2008 when the Cubs won the World Series. I couldn't wait to get outta school and just party all the time... like Eddie Murphy. I was gonna get a job after I graduated, get my own place with the bros and just party! Isn't that what life is about, man?

God
Uh, no.

Jon R.
Well, that's all I thought about, man. You put a brotha on a Rez, what else do think he's gonna think about? That's all that I saw around Red Lake. Everybody was drinking or smoking weed. Everybody. Even people you would never imagine. It seemed like every time I went to a party, I would always say "I didn't know his/her old ass smoked weed."

God
You drank a lot, and I mean a lot... why didn't you smoke?

Jon R.
I have no idea. I guess it was just seeing the way some people coughed so hard, nodding their heads after taking a vicious "toke" and them considering that a GOOD THING didn't seem like something I would enjoy. Besides, I barely had enough money to drink.

God
Poverty SAVED someone from drugs. I do believe that is a first.

Jon (looking away, covering his mouth and whispering)
Asshole.

God
So take me through the last few months of high school and up to the rest of your adult life. And I heard that. Asshole.

Jon
Oh man. Where do I start?

God
High school, perhaps.

Jon R.
Oh yeah. Well, the parties, man, were awesome. I think the fact that I didn't get hangovers increased the potential to blank out. That's not a scientific theory, just something I learned. But anyhoo, I drank and drank 'cause it was senior year. Party after party. Every now and then someone would snake out on someone or lay out at the most unfortunate time and get his ass left, which was quite common. Apparently, Native Americans are prone to act different when they're hopped up on the fire water. Yet another lesson learned. There were times I could barely stand myself up, so I'm told. It was all in the name of good fun, right? Am I right? High five! (no takers for the high five proposal, just a frown of disgust.)

God
And that didn't teach you anything?

Jon
Hell no! Oops. Can I say that to you?

God
You shouldn't.

Jon R.
Sorry, bro.

God
You shouldn't call me bro either. Your people like to refer to me as "The Creator." Didn't you pay attention to Donnie Applebee when he told you those stories in elementary?

Jon R.
Not really.

God
I guess people really do need directions on life. Idiots.

Jon R.
But anyway, some times parties weren't awesome. There were times when I'd be out, I'd see some familiar faces I hadn't seen in a while. I'd talk with them for a bit, then I'd feel sorry for them.

God
Why?

Jon R.
I don't know. When I was younger, I looked up to most of them and it looked like they weren't taking over the world like it looked like they were supposed to. At the time I never thought that that's how I was gonna end up. My initial plan was to get off the Rez, get my own place, go to college, party, and get a kick ass job so I could party all the time, like Eddie Murphy, and spend my millions on expensive toys. I wasn't going to end up like them. Times were different, I told myself. I was gonna take the world by storm like Coolio and Luke Perry did, man!

God
And how did that work out... bro?

Jon
I could've used a little tinkering on the plan. I ended up working, not really giving college much of a thought. All I wanted to do was go to work, make it to payday and par-tay!

God
I saw you partied. There were a few times when you almost ended up besides me and you didn't even realize it. You have no idea.

Jon R.
Really?

God
Yup. You hang around the wrong people enough, something will happen.

Jon R.
You're depressing me. Will you allow me to continue?

God
By all means.

Jon R.
Cool. So I had a summer job working for a scholarship, cutting grass, picking up garbage, you know... like community service but they paid me $4.25 an hour. At the time, those were some righteous bucks. Bought me lots of stuff I didn't need. Good times.

After that I started a sweet job dealing blackjack at a casino. I figured I'd do that, save some money and maybe go to college after a year or so. But little did I know that casino employees liked to party. Who woulda thunk it? So I partied more. Same shit, different peeps. I partied my socks off... literally. Word 'round the campfire was I took my socks off every time I layed out. Not as good times. I partied so hard sometimes that I would forget where I parked my navy blue 1985 Monte Carlo with the Kelly Charger tires and chrome rims. I rarely felt that sick before. This is getting a little depressing.

God
You think? Continue with this tale and see how it plays out.

Jon R.
I'd rather not.

God
You mean you don't want to relive those days as a young father that drank too much and put the mother of you children through he--, uh, heck?

Jon R.
Not really.

God
Tough shit. Continue.

94 Warriors at MNF

Being that it's been months since I've been on Blogger, I shall share my last post from myspace.com/94warriorsstudios. Add a brotha if you will... if I have any readers left. All the info is on my MySpace. Enjoy

122607

1823 Hours



The Battle River DVD has finally been sent for mass production. After months of tinkering, I believe it is ready. Though it was initially thought it would be out 12.4.07, it was just not possible. So it was sent today, should get word by the end of the week and hopefully a few weeks after that it will be ready for public consumption. FINALLY!




Christmas came and went with minimal damage to the wallet. Grandmother spoiled the kids, which was fine by me, and I only had to get the supporting supplies for their new toys. What would this world be like with out Eve B.?


Did you see me on Monday Night Football against Da Bears?! Me, Dust, and Kev went thanks to Kev's ball skills. (The b-ball skills that helped the 94 Warriors return to Crookston and cemented it as the greatest class to ever roam the halls of Red Lake High School! WHAT?!) So I had to sell was what left of my doobies at rock-bottom prices in order to buy the ticket ASAP (Honestly, I had to borrow money from my sister until payday. I figured that sellin' doobs sounded a lot cooler so I could keep my thug life/street cred if in fact I had any to begin with.)




First stop was StaMart where my man, Kev is banned until the end of time, to gas up. After Dust filled up the car, he came out with a burrito and I immediately knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant 240 miles to the Hunter Hearst Helmsley Metrodome. We were off… to Burger King, where I would establish my fatness. While the guys lightly ordered off the dollar menu, I did my thang and ordered a Whopper with cheese/no onions meal to their finger food, thus making me feel super fat. But that's how I roll.




So after getting to the point of feeling like Ralphie's little brother Randy in The Christmas Story after his mom got him bundled up to go to school, like a tick ready to burst due to overindulging on the King's finest frozen patty, guess who got to drive the remainder of the trip? The only 94 Warrior with a license, that's who?! Dang! So much for the USA Today and issues 9, 10, 11, and 12 of Jason Aaron's Scalped. Tales of the Prairie Rose Indian Reservation and Dash Bad Horse will have to wait another day. With Chili Peppers and an occasional AC/DC blasting (and when I say blasting, I mean I was almost ready to panic and "pull this goddam car over!) thru the tiny speakers of Vera KB's Taurus, to the "Cids" we went.




As 71 turned to 64 and 64 into 10, conversations of nothing very important fought hard to pierce thru the 90's hard rock icons reverberating throughout the vehicle en route to MNF. One of those topics was weddings, as in I wondered aloud how many Kev had been a part of. A dozen, I believe was the answer.




"Are you f*****' serious?!" was my reply.




"Yup. Giin dash?" Kev asked back.




"Including my own?"




"Yea."




"One."




I need to make new friends. Seriously. I need to wear a tux at least one more time and hopefully make a Costanza toast.




The usual Royalton stop (at least for me) for a little evacuation comes and goes with us a little male visual entertainment periodical heavier. Tiny Fey interview + Adrienne Curry in the nude = awesome for the intellectual pervs in attendance.




A right to Clear Lake for the left to get on 94 (94 Warriors? Destiny, baby!), and we were minutes closer to MNF.




Pulling into the Cities, it seems like everyone was trying to get off Manhattan because it was going to be quarantined like in "I Am Legend." Traffic was at a stand-still. I'm frightened Auntie Em! It was my first experience in game-time traffic and I was ready to just jump out of the car and walk home, but the promise of "All Day" running over Urlacher and by Hester kept me truckin'.



Finally made it to parking by the Target Center and I begin to think my buds were sippin' on the hooch all the way down here. Not Kevin Alan Kingbird and the DustMob! No way, Jose'!




So after Kev cleans out his stomach lining with puke or 10, but not before leaving some on his shirt for good measure, it was off to yet another of my first-evers: a train ride to the Triple H. Again, I'm starting to feel like Dr. Robert Neville. I don't think I've mentioned that I hate people, so it was super-uncomfortable for the CEO.




The End.




The next part coming when time permits. Who wants more?