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0bn0xi0us Posting Stylez II - 4 teh lulz
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NedLand
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Martian Crab
New Member
NedLand
Active Member
7h@ 12 jU57 7H3 hOX32. m1nN13 Fr493D h1m 4Nd M4D3 17 LoOk l1K3 4 5U1c1d3 7o 937 H12 MoN132 4nD r3cORD1N' R19h72
Martian Crab
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Martian Crab
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trr1
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http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=L1_W0LCHwK4
http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=L1_W0LCHwK4
Martian Crab
New Member
July, 1956
Walt attends "Walt Disney Day" in his childhood hometown of Marceline, where he dedicates a public swimming pool that is part of a ten-acre park named in his honor.
Actor Kirk Douglas sues Walt Disney for use of home movie footage of Kirk and his two sons at Walt Disney's home. The suit is later dropped.
Walt attends "Walt Disney Day" in his childhood hometown of Marceline, where he dedicates a public swimming pool that is part of a ten-acre park named in his honor.
Actor Kirk Douglas sues Walt Disney for use of home movie footage of Kirk and his two sons at Walt Disney's home. The suit is later dropped.
Martian Crab
New Member
We all dream of a homeland for drunks, but one visionary spent much of his life trying to make that dream a reality. This is his story.
It’s 1952 and Mel Johnson is hustling his dream. His audience is captive: the dozen businessmen, self-styled playboys and wealthy widows sit in a reserved club car of the Denver Zephyr, hurtling between Chicago and its namesake. Mel’s lanky frame, youthful face and nervous energy bely his 40 years—from ten paces you’d swear he was some goofy kid in his late-20s.
Mel has spent the past hour getting the potential investors liquored up and it’s time to make his pitch. He has no charts, blueprints or prospectus to show them. What he does have are matchbooks, cocktail napkins and drink menus from bars that have never existed—ephemera from fantasy land.
Just imagine, he asks his audience, a resort entirely centered on the culture of alcohol. A boozer’s paradise built expressly to facilitate drinking and the good times that naturally follow. Where the bars, clubs and liquor stores never close. Where the police force is there to help drunks, not hassle them. Where even the street names salute sweet mother booze: Gin Lane, Bourbon Boulevard and Scotch Street. An adult playground like no other. Just imagine.
The Quest for El Dorado
“Mel loved to drink,” says Emma Halverson, Mel’s cousin and heir. “He started pretty young, I guess. He didn’t have much parental supervision.”
So it would appear. A careful study of Mel’s journals, graciously provided by Mrs. Halverson, reveals that Mel loved everything about the drinking experience: the taste, the joy, the tradition, the camaraderie, the madness, the adventures. Especially the adventures. Mel spent five years, between 1946 and 1950, restlessly crisscrossing the globe, drinking his way through the great libertine cities of Dublin, London, Havana, Barcelona, Rio, New York, New Orleans and Paris. He would later realize he was subconsciously and systematically searching for the El Dorado of alcohol, the mythical golden city with the perfect drinking scene. The manner of fleeting paradise the Lost Generation had found in Paris in the 1920s. If it could no longer be found in the City of Lights, if the war had chased it away, it must have gone somewhere else, right?
Mel never found it. None of the cities and scenes were ever quite right. Finally, during a night of heavy drinking in the Old Absinthe House in New Orleans, he had an epiphany: if the golden city of El Dorado did not exist, if it was just a fanciful myth, well, then he would have to build it himself.
He briefly flirted with the idea of opening a nightclub in New Orleans then backed out. He realized it would not have been enough; it would have been a marriage of compromise certain to bring disappointment and, worse, a sense of obligation that would thwart his true destiny.
If he were going to fully commit himself, he decided, it would have to be to something much grander, something on an epic scale. El Dorado was no mere golden palace, after all—it was a golden city.
Read the rest here: http://www.moderndrunkardmagazine.com/issues/55/55-boozetown.html
It’s 1952 and Mel Johnson is hustling his dream. His audience is captive: the dozen businessmen, self-styled playboys and wealthy widows sit in a reserved club car of the Denver Zephyr, hurtling between Chicago and its namesake. Mel’s lanky frame, youthful face and nervous energy bely his 40 years—from ten paces you’d swear he was some goofy kid in his late-20s.
Mel has spent the past hour getting the potential investors liquored up and it’s time to make his pitch. He has no charts, blueprints or prospectus to show them. What he does have are matchbooks, cocktail napkins and drink menus from bars that have never existed—ephemera from fantasy land.
Just imagine, he asks his audience, a resort entirely centered on the culture of alcohol. A boozer’s paradise built expressly to facilitate drinking and the good times that naturally follow. Where the bars, clubs and liquor stores never close. Where the police force is there to help drunks, not hassle them. Where even the street names salute sweet mother booze: Gin Lane, Bourbon Boulevard and Scotch Street. An adult playground like no other. Just imagine.
The Quest for El Dorado
“Mel loved to drink,” says Emma Halverson, Mel’s cousin and heir. “He started pretty young, I guess. He didn’t have much parental supervision.”
So it would appear. A careful study of Mel’s journals, graciously provided by Mrs. Halverson, reveals that Mel loved everything about the drinking experience: the taste, the joy, the tradition, the camaraderie, the madness, the adventures. Especially the adventures. Mel spent five years, between 1946 and 1950, restlessly crisscrossing the globe, drinking his way through the great libertine cities of Dublin, London, Havana, Barcelona, Rio, New York, New Orleans and Paris. He would later realize he was subconsciously and systematically searching for the El Dorado of alcohol, the mythical golden city with the perfect drinking scene. The manner of fleeting paradise the Lost Generation had found in Paris in the 1920s. If it could no longer be found in the City of Lights, if the war had chased it away, it must have gone somewhere else, right?
Mel never found it. None of the cities and scenes were ever quite right. Finally, during a night of heavy drinking in the Old Absinthe House in New Orleans, he had an epiphany: if the golden city of El Dorado did not exist, if it was just a fanciful myth, well, then he would have to build it himself.
He briefly flirted with the idea of opening a nightclub in New Orleans then backed out. He realized it would not have been enough; it would have been a marriage of compromise certain to bring disappointment and, worse, a sense of obligation that would thwart his true destiny.
If he were going to fully commit himself, he decided, it would have to be to something much grander, something on an epic scale. El Dorado was no mere golden palace, after all—it was a golden city.
Read the rest here: http://www.moderndrunkardmagazine.com/issues/55/55-boozetown.html
Martian Crab
New Member
It sounds suspiciously like the utilidors to me. This possibility should be looked into immediately!
Martian Crab
New Member
wh3r3'5 (h4v32??!!
Martian Crab
New Member
1 hum8ly 5u8mi7 7h15 h46...5h3 15 m4y83rry'5 w0r57 m0n57r0517y
(5h3'5 h0ld1n6 a j4r of h3r 0wn f3c35)
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