Sid Vicious’s confession to the NYPD.
Last Night was Really Fun? -
Added some newer pictures to the album from my daily adventures of partying with a video camera along for the ride. Click above to check them out!
Also remember I post a bunch on instagram @partyfowlproductions
Follow me on there to stay updated on all the madness.
My 21st Bday party was actually one of my favorites! Tomorrow one of my friends and favorite people Chlöe Madison turns 21 and it lands on a Friday where she will be celebrating at Trash! at Webster Hall in NYC. If you are in the area come down cause its going to be a wild night and as promised for her special day much of it will be captured on film! Let’s make it one to remember! Oh yeah and I made that flyer also =). Happy Birthday Chloe!
RSVP at Iwannabetrash.com!
Tomorrows my 21st birthday and I’m inviting EVERYONE to my birthday party at @websterhall.
Its been a hell of a year. (you can click here also…same link)
Easily in the top ten of most listened to tracks on my ipod!
Webcomic of the Day: Life in the Woods
In the latest issue of Incidental Comics, Denver-based artist Grant Snider shares his humorous insight on the inescapable nature of the Internet.
I Learned How to Make Artisinal Blow in Colombia
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Colombia is the world’s biggest producer of cocaine, providing around 80 percent of the whole planet’s supply. In true entrepreneurial spirit, mom and pop coke shops, or “kitchens,” pepper the countryside, churning out 345 tons of the white stuff last year alone. As a commercially-minded fellow who understands the pitfalls of a consumer-driven culture and the importance of production, I decided to spend a day as an apprentice with a cook in the Colombian village of San Agustin.
Although San Agustin is only 200 miles from where I was staying in Ecuador, getting there took me two full days. In true South American tradition, my journey was colored with confusion and mishaps, including rain, mudslides, three-hour immigration lines, lack of tickets, unpaved mountain roads, and chicken buses with no suspension that came very close to cracking my tailbone.
When I arrived at my destination, however, all of those inconveniences seemed trivial. I was about to make some artisanal blow.
Some of the wildlife on Pedro’s property.
The proprietor of the cocaine factory’s name was Pedro. He greeted me warmly on a portion of his property that served as a coffee farm, and told me our class would last about two hours.
After a perfunctory glance at Pedro’s coffee field, I was led up to his ramshackle house, and into his cocina.
A heap of fresh green leaves sat atop a canvas bag on the table. They were so fresh that the fields they were picked from must have been very close. Not wasting any time, Pedro put a razor sharp machete in my hand and told me to start chopping.
Over vigorous hacking, Pedro’s story was revealed. He had learned his trade during eight years of service in a cocaine kitchen—a kitchen once visited by Pablo Escobar himself during a casual pickup of 70 kilos of pure cocaine, fresh off Pedro’s production line.
After the leaves were sufficiently minced, I was told it was time to add a binding agent. If he had asked me to guess what this agent would be, I would have said an egg, or something equally benign. I would have been wrong. Pedro pulled out a bag of cement, sprinkled it all over our wonderfully chopped leaves, and began to knead the dough by hand.