Yo homie, I live in Seattle. It's the fucking tits.

Forget the Twin Cities, fly from your friends, and you will have the experience of a lifetime out here. From reading your post I can see that you're ready for a change. I grew up in Montana and when I came to Seattle, I didn't know anyone out here. Not a soul. It was scary but it ended up being the best decision I ever made.

We're home to Kurt Cobain, Jimmy Hendrix, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and Modest Mouse (well, Issaaquah is), and you can check out the history of these fantastic musicians at the EMP Museum, which looks frickin' awesome. There's also a ton of sweet science fiction stuff there, original shit from Star Trek and Star Wars and M&M's from space. Speaking of cool architecture, the Space Needle sticks out of our city like a totally bitching alien spacecraft. I'm actually waiting for that thing to take off one of these nights.

Oh shit, you enjoy smoking Mary Jane Wanna? Well guess what son? It's legal here! Cops don't give a rat's ass! So smoke on up! Hell, there's a group of rasta dudes that sit around at Pike Place all the time blazing up. I've bought weed from those guys.

Just gonna take a wild guess here--you enjoy consuming food. Well I've got good news. Seattle's food is incredible. We're right on the Puget Sound smack dab in the heart of the Pacific Northwest so that means fresh seafood out the ass. And if seafood isn't your thing, we've got other options too--Paseo in Freemont serves Cuban sandwiches that are off the chain. Dick's burgers are out of this world good, the best 2 A.M. drunchies you'll ever have. I'm Italian so I'm partial to Petra on 4th and Belltown for great Mediterranean cuisine.

Valve's here. Microsoft's here. Amazon's here. If you've got an interest/career path in the tech field, Seattle is the motherfucking place to be. Even if you don't, (like me for example) the thousands of guys/gals employed at those places are usually pretty chill. Hell, everybody in Seattle is chill--we're all stoned!

Sports fan? Me too. We've got the Mariners (who suck, but that means cheap tickets), Seahawks (do not suck, atmosphere is unforgettable) and the Sounders (cheap tickets, one of the most LIVE crowds at any MLS venue in the country).

Check out Almost Live's guide to living in Seattle. It's hilarious and John Keister, one of the writers/actors on the show, taught me how to write screenplays.

We're truly the only place in America where you can be a suicidal gay pothead, and not break any laws in the process! We're forward-thinking. Progressive. And it really doesn't rain as much as people say. More like, drizzle. I actually like the rain, but that's just me. Come to Seattle.

Every night while I'm lying in bed, instead of filling my mind with coked-out naked supermodels desperate to satisfy my every desire, all that ever comes up is me sitting at a table in a bookstore. Maybe there's a microphone there or something. Everyone is really excited! And there's a line of coked-out supermodels stretching all the way out the door and around the block, and they're all holding my book! It's got my name on it and everything. A cool cover. They all want me to sign it. After the book signing I head over to the set of the Today Show, where a coked-out and naked Savannah Guthrie is interviewing me. She asks where I get my ideas. She mentions that I'm at the top of the Times Bestseller List for the fiftieth week in a row. She laughs a lot. Then I fly home on my private jet made of money to work on my second novel.

That's all I want out of life guys.

Oh, I never pass up a chance to tell a good story. I've got one, only a few of my friends have heard it. A memorable night in the hills to say the least...

I went to school in a bleak, rural area of northern Montana. My graduating class was barely 30 kids and there wasn't much for us to do except drive around, drink, and shoot things, which we did often. I had this buddy who had just bought an AR-15, a semi-automatic wet dream. He called me up one evening and we hopped in his beater of a truck with a big thirty-aught-six Springfield, a .22, and his brand new AR-15, and headed out to the hills to shoot the shit and shoot shit. He had that old truck for so long the odometer rolled over dead. This was back when I was a junior in high school.

Halfway there we stop at a pile of used-up tires and tested out the AR-15. The thing fired off easy and the power was scary. We got bored quick though and decided to head out further, deeper into the hills.

The Chinook winds that came down from Glacier Park and flowed through Browning howled in our tiny hometown at a constant pace, but out here in the hills, it was even louder. Sharper. In the cold October night it bit your skin and whipped it red. My buddy and I didn't mind much at all though, seeing as we were used to it just as much as anyone else who was shacked up in the area. But when you're out in the wide open space surrounded by those dark hills, it starts to affect you a little more.

We set up the thirty-aught on the tailgate of his pickup aimed down at a mucky pond in a steep coulee below. The thing kicks like a mule, which is why we've got it set on the back of the truck. It's hella loud too, like a cannon. I'm up and I get behind the old gun and aim right in the center of the pond. Squeeze the trigger, wait for the impact of the butt. A huge splash like an artillery shell was just aimed at the pathetic little pond. The eruption of sound carries even further in the wind, out here in the middle of nowhere.

We talk for a while longer and spotlight a few rabbits and soon it is very late. It was a Friday night so we had nowhere to be but we were both freezing and our ears were ringing. We both hop back in the truck and my buddy turns the key.

Thick fog on the way back. So thick and heavy that the brights on his pickup do practically nothing and in the pitch black we're just driving by the feel of the bumpy dirt road and the wide turns around the foothills. Him and I had made this drive a thousand times before but we're both on edge. There's no cell service out here, and if you get stuck or your car doesn't start or you get in a wreck, tough luck. You're on your own. That's just the way it was out there. Little white crosses posted on the sides of the road, marking spots where drunk drivers had died or where someone had been murdered long ago.

After some slow driving we're out of the hills, back onto the flat rancher country that will take us back home. The fog is still dense but we've both settled down a bit as we get closer to civilization. At least what we called civilization. The both of us start to loosen up and talk about our girlfriends and school and sports and all the things teenage boys talk about.

So we're driving along, just talking, when in the three feet that I can see in front of the headlights an old woman's wispy white hair and black eyes appear.

"Yo!"

My buddy punches on the break and rips the emergency handle. I'm sent flying forward and my head hits the windshield, bounces off. We're in a full slide, the loose dirt and gravel sending the pickup careening out into the low ditch and brambles off the side of the beaten road. The guns on the rack behind our heads slam into the side of the window and crack the glass.

Things are still. The pickup has done a near 180 at this point. Our headlights are pointing directly at the old woman, who still stands still as ever dead center in the dirt road. She didn't even flinch. When I saw her face before my buddy hit the break I thought we were about to kill her. I thought for sure, she was dead. Road kill. But for a woman who just about had her face rearranged by the chrome grill of my buddy's pickup truck, she looked calm as a Hindu cow. Her skin was withered and her eyes were black as the night and she was draped in a loose nightgown. Barefoot. What was left of her snow white hair was all over the place in a rat's nest. She didn't move.

The both of us sat still in the pickup as the dust settled. The woman still won't move a muscle. My skin crawled. I didn't dare breathe. My heart about to explode. I reached back and gripped the wooden stock of the Springfield. Now my friend is opening the door.

"Are you out of your mind?"

But he keeps going like he didn't even hear me, keeps walking slow toward the motionless woman. It was like something out of a horror film. The sense of dread I felt was swallowing me up. My grip on the Springfield tightened. My buddy grabs her by the hand, and starts to lead her back to the truck. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I scrambled to the other end as they walked closer, the woman quiet as ever, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me and the pickup.

It turns out, this woman was the wife of a rancher that lived out there raising cattle. She was suffering from Alzheimer's, and was known to wander out alone at night in the flatlands and the hills that surrounded their ranch. My buddy, ever the country bumpkin, knew a few of the ranchers and just so happened to know this very woman. The three of us sat in the truck with her in the middle and we drove her back to the ranch. She never spoke.

I hear that she's dead now. Succumbed to that terrible disease. But I could never get it out of my head how terrifying that night was and how terrifying the idea of this elderly woman walking around all on her own in the pitch black where the coyotes roamed. Could you imagine? Out there alone in the wide open darkness with that wind just howling. Not so much as a streetlight for miles. Just the thought of it sends a shiver up my spine. And sometimes I wonder if her spirit or whatever still roams around the hills at night... Maybe I could hear her voice in the wind? Ah... But she never said a word. Not one.

God just writing about it creeps me the fuck out.

Word. Less worthless low-effort bullshit and 'witty' one-liners in the comments and more actual content and discussion for thinking people. As both thenewgreen and ButterflyEffect have mentioned, reddit serves its own purpose but to me Hubski is a completely different animal. Both sites are content aggregators but Hubski is more personal and has a lot of potential to broaden your worldview for the very simple fact (that insomniasexx mentioned to me when I first started really using this site days ago after registering months prior and never really jumping in both feet first) that everything posted isn't going to be 100% directly related to your interests, because of the different people you follow. So there isn't any 'hive mind' mentality and you get to see a lot of interesting stuff you might never have checked out otherwise.

Side-note, what happens when Hubski grows? Are people worried about the site suffering content-wise the way reddit did? It seems most of the site functions (the hub wheels for one) are more suited to a smaller community. I really enjoy how low-key it is here and the feeling of community that comes from that, I'm just curious about the future.

Seeing Jay on this track really gives me hope that the rumors of Act II are true... Please let it be true.

I'm not huge on Big Sean, but I can fuck with this--although he gets BODIED by both of the features. Sweet mother Mary Josephine. And this Kendrick verse is filthy. He went and killed. thee. whole. rap. game. That shit was Carrie at the prom. That shit was a nuclear bomb to my fucking face. That shit was bananas. Bonkers. Unconscious. And then to top it all off Jay Elec comes out and spits the Divine Comedy of rap verses and puts all the pieces of my disintegrated being back together. God damn.

Explicit version.

I'm newly single, and if there's anything a break-up does, it's allow you to re-prioritize what you want in a partner. I don't like the idea of making a laundry list of specifications and requirements I want a chick to have, because there are so many different personality types out there and who wants to limit their options? But my main thing is: I want a girl who can act completely independent of me. Like, have her own thoughts. Make her own decisions. Do things on her own. Pursue her own passions. Without me.

Dependance in a relationship isn't even a real relationship, I call that parasitism. That's an ugly thing and I'll bounce if I catch wind of that shit.