Manik Skatehoards
[ product review ]
 Seattle is where people go to die. I think it has something to do with their depressing rainy season that starts in January and ends in December for like five minutes and then starts right back up. Look how tough Bruce Lee was. Ass-kicking karate dude. Kick my ass, kick your ass, kick the world's ass fucking karate master. Dead. Where? Seattle. What killed him? The rain. Same goes for Kurt Cobain and that other guy. I really don't understand why people continue to live there, unless they're waiting to die, in which case I take back the first part of this sentence and would like to replace it with, "I understand why people continue to live there if they are waiting to die." My business partner and friend/enemy Ryan M-m-monihan lived up there for most of his childhood, and look how it affected him. He's a total kook. No one likes him. He thinks he's Islamic or vegan, depending on what day it is. He only dates black girls that speak in clicks and grunts, and he's just an annoying kid. He calls me like 500 times a day and never has anything to say, and when I hang up on him, he calls back. The other night at dinner he turned into a germ freak and was whining about how he had to touch a toilet seat in the bathroom with his sneaker to raise it up. Two minutes later I look over from my conversation with David Cross—yeah, from Mr. Show, didn't I tell you he was there? He was. And Monihan is clipping his fingernails and filing them. At the table. He's afraid of the world's germs, but I have to deal with his fungus over dinner. I can't stand him. We went to Seattle last month with Clyde to do some shit for HBO, and
Ryan was trying to play tour guide, but he hadn't been there in like 12 years and forgot where everything was. I was getting so pissed at him driving in circles, I needed a drink to calm my nerves, so I told him to take me to the bar. He said he knew where a real good bar was and decided to take us there. A half hour later, after passing a hundred open bars, we found ourselves in the suburbs outside of Seattle looking for some bar he remembers when he was a kid. A bar that has long been out of business. When me and Clyde threatened to beat the shit out of him if he didn't stop at the next bar, the truth came out: He drove us out to the suburbs to see if his childhood friend was home. If he'd told me that, I'd have been fine with it. No. No, I wouldn't. Know why? Because Ryan didn't know where the kid lived, didn't know his phone number and couldn't remember his last name to call information. He had a vague memory of what the kid's house looked like 15 years ago and just kept repeating, "That's not it. That's not it. I know it's around here somewhere. That's not it." Such an asshole. Manik belongs to Monihan's friend Marshall from Seattle. He seems cool, but if he's friends with Monihan and he's from Seattle what does that tell you?
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