Livin’ the Swede Life
Hello, Wyatt Cusick here, occasional Still Flyin' bassist and permanent Swedish resident. For all you xenophobes out there I thought I'd ease you into the culture by way of a few choice items straight off the shelf of my local grocery.
Back in the gutter my American scum band mates are still bacon and eggin' it for breakfast every day while I'm here livin' it up and eating kaviar out of a tube! With a "K"!
But if you've gotta have bacon (and of course, you do) we've got a tube for that, too. With cheese.
This is a can of hot dogs.
This is a can of Pussi
Dedicated to Yoshi.
Honorable Mention: I found this can of Red Hot Balls in a British specialty shop. (Also dedicated to Yoshi)
Posted by: Wyatt
MONDAY, AUGUST 24, 2009
Summer Lovin’
Dudes across the net, I didn't go on any Still Flyin' tours this summer, but we've been grooving our own Summer jam here in California. Building memories for life! Lida Rose (our youngest flyinette, age 3) is getting better at the guitar and hopes to travel with the crew one day. She loves the music, so do I!
Keep up the good work everyone and enjoy your health, enjoy your life!
Posted by: Alicia
MONDAY, AUGUST 17, 2009
The Fashion of Mookers
Mindy "Mook" Schweitzer-Rawls, aka the blond flyinette, here today blogging for you. For my blog entry, I was lost at what to do, until I was looking through old pictures recently with my amazing grandparents and came across a picture of myself at around age 10 and thought, "yikes, I looked really... umm... strange and what is up with my hair?!"
So, when it came time for my blog entry I thought I would share with you a mini recap of some (yes, this is not all of them) of my off the wall and eccentric hairstyles and outfits. As you will see in a bit, some of the photos were taken before I was able to add much input to my look, but I have to give my mom credit for keeping such a young girl so stylish. Anyway, these photos are pretty embarrassing and may cause you to laugh, but as the great singer/songwriter Jimmy Buffet once said, "If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane."
On a more serious note, I wanted to share with you an organization which has been a large part of my life for the past 5+ years. After moving to San Francisco in 2003, I quickly was inspired by the city's overwhelming humanitarian energy and made the decision that I wanted to contribute to bettering the lives of individuals less fortunate than myself. So, I began my search for a volunteer opportunity in which I could give back. In the past, I had done a lot of volunteer work focusing on fundraising, event planning, and athletics, so this time I wanted something more intimate.
One night, I made a trip up the hill to my neighborhood video store and came across a brochure for an organization called Shanti. The brochure was advertising Shanti's Peer Support Volunteer Program, a program that trains volunteers to work one-on-one with clients living with HIV or breast cancer. The volunteer opportunity seemed very intriguing, so I snatched up a brochure, brought it home to look over, and immediately applied to become a Shanti Peer Support Volunteer.
A few months later, I had completed the Shanti Peer Support Volunteer Training and had been matched with a wonderful 65 year old client living with AIDS. My client and I met weekly and ended up developing a special relationship that lasted 4 1/2 years. Last September, my client match came to an end (but our relationship still exists) when I accepted the offer to join Shanti's staff as the Volunteer Services Manager.
Currently, as the Volunteer Services Manager, I have the privilege of recruiting and training ordinary individuals to provide extraordinary practical and emotional support to Shanti's clients living with HIV/AIDS or breast cancer. As a Shanti volunteer, I was able to give a part of myself to someone less fortunate while gaining a friend, life experiences, and a new perspective on life. Today, as Shanti staff, I am able to share my positive life changing volunteer experiences with individuals looking to give back and I even get paid for it!
To learn more about Shanti's work, you can watch this short 3 1/2 min. video:
If you are looking to give back to your community, here are some links to help find YOUR perfect opportunity:
www.volunteermatch.org
www.serve.gov
www.idealist.org/if/as/vol
www.1-800-volunteer.org
Posted by: Mookers
MONDAY, AUGUST 10, 2009
My Life on Girl Island: A Comprehensive Documentation of the Life and Times of Frank En Sax from April 23rd 2009 to late May 2009
UPDATE EXTENSION
…Talked to a hooker today. I don’t know, maybe it was just some CT. Disney mom creep trying to get some of my BBQ if you know what I mean.
So I do bike deliveries for a fancy BBQ restaurant at night as my second job. On my way to work I hitched a ride on the side of a box truck heading up 6th ave. By this I mean I grabbed onto the side of the truck and held on till I decided I was going “permanent damage fast” and then let go. On dismount I gave a sweet high-five to some lady trying to hail a cab up by Bryant Park. At point of impact I yelled, “high-five. Right On!” Her hand was silken and warm and smelled of lavender. Ha ha… just kidding. I scared the shit out her! Whoops. She’ll be ok. She’s got a good story to tell her buddies at the Bank Of America securities office or wherever she works. Ok, so after spreading some baby back Swine flu throughout Chelsea I headed down to a practice space I share and had Still Flyin’ practice. I’m trying to play some songs on tenor so I’ve been transcribing them. What can I say, the dudes were solid (I play along with the cd) and I ruled… word! The practice space has a beer machine, not unlike a soda machine. Good times. Welcome home frank-en-sax.
I spent the better part of the next day trying to come up with an obscene banner to hold up at my next Met’s game. I’m not talking like “Chipper Jones Sucks” or “Ryan Howard rules the cesspool” (even though that one's not bad) I’m leaning more toward something like “Chipper Jones has a learning disability” or “Ryan Howard has an eating disorder.” You know… something personal to really make ‘em think. Nothing like some quiet jock introspection to put one of these meatheads into a nice batting slump (Banner suggestions are welcome if anyone has something they would like to add. No American League. Just NL East.). Anyway, I don’t know if the subtle nuance will be appreciated at the new Shea, but maybe I’ll get on SNY and Keith Hernandez will comment on my commitment to the team. Then we can snort some coke and party like it’s 1983. Just kidding Keith. You know yr my dawg!
So, after thinking about my fantasy Met’s game for awhile and also thinking about how I got on the plane home after last tour with a bunch of weed stashed (more like forgotten about) in the liner of my jacket I decided it was time for me to hook up with a friend of mine named, for anonymity’s sake, Eugene. Anyway, we had this plan to take mushrooms and head down to Coney Island and go on the rides and create some general havoc. So we did what we had to do and headed to this bar called “Murphy’s” in “Park Hill.” Don’t even try to guess where. This shit is encrypted. Ok, so we’re at the bar jamming a brew counting down the minutes and just having a good time talking about stuff. I’m like 30 minutes in and two Budweisers plus the one I had on the walk over and I’m getting that urination sensation ya know. Ok… just to let you know. This is when shit gets REAL. So, I go in the bathroom and I decide to use the stall because I have a button fly on my pants and it just makes it easier. So I’m doing my thing and an older guy kinda stumbles in. He takes the urinal right next to the stall so I can’t really open the door till he’s done cause the room is tight. Anyway, I’m thinking “no biggie I got time” and I’m feeling good cause that shit from earlier is starting to work, right? Right. So, my vision's getting interesting and I’m feeling kinda weird when I notice I’ve been in the bathroom for a LONG time. I know Eugene’s out in the bar thinking that this plan is heading in the wrong direction fast. Little did he know that the dude outside my stall has, while I was daydreaming, dropped his pants and is taking a shit in the urinal about a foot away from me separated only by a piece of plywood short enough that I could see over it if I stretched my neck a little bit. Did I mention the urinals in this particular bar are filled with ice and not urinal cakes… Ouch! So, since there’s no way to really be prepared for something like this I just sit down to wait out the storm (ha ha). Just to recap… it STINKS and I’m trying to deal with some sort of paranoid truffle nightmare going on around me like Bing Crosby at a “Father of the Year” banquet or a $1000 8oz sirloin at a RNC fundraiser. Anyway, so I’m getting a real bad, “Mickey Rourke at a child day care center,” vibe from all the noise the guy next to me is making. He might be having a hard time of it, or I guess he might be having a really good time. Who knows? I am not… 15 minutes goes by and Mr. dude stumbles out, but not before cleaning up in the bathroom sink… Seriously? YES. So my brain’s feeling weird and I’m uncomfortable about being the last one in the bathroom given the mess I’m leaving behind. So I get out of there and Eugene and I bolt before I even say a word. There was no need. The smell was becoming intrusive. As we slide out the front door I hear the bartender yell something like “What the Fuck!” after a short investigation regarding why the bar all of a sudden smells like a G.G. Allin concert. Anyway, we’re out and on the N local to Coney Island via Bay Ridge. This is possibly the worst way to get there. It took over an hour with some, either really attractive or really not, Russian lady staring at me giving me a look like she either wanted to fuck me or kill me. I couldn’t tell. I told you. Shit is REAL now. Anyway, Coney Island ruled. After an epic kaleidoscope of an air hockey tournament (if air hockey was in the Olympics, I’d be set. I’m kind of an air hockey savant) and truly truly scaring myself on the Cyclone we headed home on the fucking N local… what a bunch of losers. Well an hour and a half later and with a year of stress added to my life from some extremely drunk man in the subway car who was up to no good with full conviction I made it home. I threw up all the next day while riding my bike and doing deliveries. Was it worth it? Hell yeah!
So now I’m sitting in a bar/pool hall that has 30 flat screens and sells bottles of Remy Martin VSOP for $225. I don’t know if I should watch the NBA playoffs or hookup, in the bathroom, with some fine Brooklyn cougar enjoying a generous happy hour (Shout out, Drew. Boston dance party, baby. No braces up in here ;) ). I suppose I could have written this blog at my regular spot on the second floor of a Midtown bodega drinking $1 24oz Bud Lights in the after hours poker room (holla Yosh!). No Joke. It took me awhile to get into that speakeasy shit. You gotta know somebody, Ya know. Turns out I do… Anyway, I don’t play but it’s nice to have a cool spot to hang in Manhattan. Also, I don’t speak Spanish and the dudes there don’t speak English. We get along aces. I just thought I needed a more decadent blog zone to get down to the bottom of what went on the past couple of days. Nothing like some candles in glass jars and a uniformed wait staff to let my brain do its thing. Anyway, that’s that. It’s just a little something for “All Y’all” (southern style – hit me guru!) to think about. Frank En Sax out in the wild like an uncaged, teenaged, Liger. And by the way, this ain’t no weekend shit. This is Monday and Tuesday, kids. Frank En Sax, OUT!
Ok. So this is Friday and I’m feeling pretty good riding my bike on my way to work my 14 hour double shift at the BBQ place when I get to Dekalb and Washington. I roll through a red light with two cops standing there but I give them a nod so as to confirm some sort of social arrangement like “there are no cars or peds around so it’s cool that I’m running this red light.” The one nods back and then as soon as I cross the second one stops me and tells me to get off my bike. I was like “are you serious?” and she says “yes.” So I get off my bike and I’m pissed cause I’m gonna be late and this is gonna take time. So she explains that I’m not allowed to ride my bike through a red light (Duh!) and I tell her that no one was around and that it was cool, but that didn’t work. So I’m even madder now cause I know I’m gonna get a ticket so I get desperate and I’m almost pleading and I say “do you really have to give me a ticket? I’m super broke.” Then she says “Yes… And the fine is $200.” I flipped out and said, “You gotta be kidding me you fucking oinker hog rookie!!” Then as my face was pressed against the warm hood of the police car and with my limbs securely bound tight against my back I started to regret my initial dialogue with the po po thinking, in hindsight, I could have phrased myself more eloquently. So, I’m watching my life go the wrong way fast in the reflection on the NYPD patrol car windshield, and considering I sincerely don’t want to go to jail I dig deep down into a dark place only reserved for the most extreme of conditions and I say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Wait, wait wait! I have Torettes, I can’t help myself. My hours got cut at my job and I haven’t been able to refill my prescription.” Total darkness… What the fuck?… But It worked! I told them I was on Phenylanacodoneadone, which is fake, and that I was trying to renew my prescription but I didn’t have enough money yet, and that it’s not my fault, and that I’m genuinely harmless, and this shit worked. I may go to hell (For Real.) I think about this sometimes. Anyway, I still got the ticket, but they let me go. Not bad… Stupid fucking oinker hog rookies! (I apologize to anyone reading this who has or who has a loved one living with torrettes.)
So I get back on my bike (which they were going to take to the pound too) and do my long ride over the Manhattan Bridge into Chelsea. I can’t help thinking that this day can’t get any worse and I’m feeling good again cause what could happen now? I get to work and I get my first delivery – 1 pound lean brisket, medium cole slaw, 1 german chocolate cupcake, and two Lone Star brews – which takes me to Central Park West which is awesome and makes my day because, plus my tip, I get an additional $25 for the service fee for an out of zone delivery. Sweet!! So I drop it off, and the dude gives me $15 bucks so I’m making $50 an hour, with salary, and minus my ride to work, today is starting to rule when BAM!!!!!!!! I’m looking at a hottie walking around right at the southwestern most part of the Central Park perimeter and I crash right into this dude in a motorized wheelchair. In NYC some bike lanes are widened so folks in these carts can ride in the street and make their way. I wasn’t going fast so it wasn’t that big of a deal but I was still like, “Oh my God! I’m so sorry. Are you ok? I’m really sorry dude. I totally didn’t mean it. You ok? You ok?” So I’m looking at him and we’re having this weird silent moment cause he’s fiddling with something on his chair and I’m hoping nothing broke 'cause I don’t have any money to pay for any repairs and then shit gets crazy. I’m standing like 5 feet away from him and he fucking jumps out of his chair and comes at me. It fucking scared the shit out of me. I’m standing, straddling my bike, so I back away, but kind of awkwardly slidin’ my bike wheels along the pavement trying to do a 360, and he’s still coming at me screaming something in eastern European mixed with something that sounded like “dick face” and Get this!… DUDE COULD RUN!! I had to get back on my bike to get away from this creep. This must have looked crazy to anyone around. Also, 'cause we’re right at “Tavern On The Green.” It’s just like “When Harry Met Sally.” Sooooo, I swing around down 7th Ave and I’m gone. I could still hear him as I was riding away. I’m just hoping (and lookin’ back a few times) that no “good Samaritan” goes chasing after the dude that crashed into the retard (no offense).
My Life Is Officially Going Down The Drain.
OK, so there was nothing on the board when I left for this run so I call in to the restaurant and say, “I got an errand to run. Page me when something comes up. I’ll be in the neighborhood.” So I go run my errand and jam 4 twenty-four ouncer's at Guru’s (the deli/speakeasy) and read the Daily News and listen to “Miked Up with Mike Francessa” on WFAN (what happened to the Mad Dog Chris Russo?). Anyway I get called back and I’m just hangin’ so I’m thinking nothing could possibly make today worse so I decide to ask this waitress out on a date. Just so you know this girl is 100% categorically too hot to say yes to me. But what can I do? Fuck it… right? So I’ve talked with her before and we get along and I’m a little drunk from Guru’s and the Earth’s spin is in phase so we’re talking and I think “whatever” so I’m like “Hey, you want to go to Hoolihan’s sometime?” Fuck! I got no skills man… the only Hoolihan's, which is basically Applebee’s, is at fucking Penn Station. It just popped into my head. I was nervous… what can I say? Anyway it worked out ok cause she didn’t think I was even close to being serious and just laughed. We’re cool… hey now!
So since I was “categorically” denied and my 14 hour shift was over I decided there was only one way for this night to go. I made myself a disguised mix drink and went to this pizza place on Second Avenue. It’s not the best, but Second Ave. turns into Chrystie St. and that takes me to the Manhattan Bridge so it was on my way. So I got my drink and I got two slices and I’m at my table rooting through my bag for my book, “Infinite Jest” by David Foster Wallace which I borrowed from my friend “Eugene,” and it’s at the bottom of my bag. So to get it out I have to dump out like 50 cookies onto the table that I’m sitting at. Where the fuck did these cookies come from? Well, it turns out that when deliveries get slow the boss gives me cookies and menus (attached) stuffed into wax paper bags to hand out to folks on the street. I love this because instead I go to Guru’s and drink a brew or two and wait for the restaurant to page me back for a delivery. Then I save the cookies and bring them back to my roomies Nicole, Lottie, Mia, Lizzie, and Zoe, whose cumulative age is 95 (Do the math Gabe… I’m livin’ the dream, dude). Anyway, I have all these cookies dumped out on the table and I’m fuckin’ around with my AM radio like a real cool dude (ha) and guess whose attention this attracts? No seriously… guess? Ok, ready… you’ll never believe it. Ok. Believe It! Five NY Jets Cheerleaders who were taking a break from their offseason workout at this place called Club H. They were four brunettes and one blond, all petite and dimensionally exquisite. This is where stuff gets weird and sexy, right? Wrong. These girls come up to me (which is very intimidating considering they’re so young and pretty and into being themselves) and want to know about these cookies. I tell them the story and they’re like “yr crazy!” and that’s cool by me. So I give them some cookies and we all sit at a table and eat our slices. I ate two, and between the five of them they shared two slices and two side salads (side salads at a pizza place… give me a break) in what I surmised to be “sorority style.” So I’m reading “Infinite Jest” and there’s a character in the book that’s a punter who would be on an NFL team if it were real life so I thought this would be good conversation. Turns out… not so much… I basically end up listening to myself describe the “inner dialogue” of the lead character, and the author’s use of footnotes, and the Tennis Academy and all I get back is “A punter really isn’t a real football player…” WTF? I don’t think they really understood where I was coming from. Whatever… they were so pretty who cares. “Good luck girls! I hope you make it on the first string squad!”
Ok. So I finish up my slices, clip on my bike lights (front and back) and take off down Second Ave to head home. I’m riding, slightly buzzed, which I don’t know if that’s illegal or not, but I’m “on it” and paying attention pretty good and this cab pulls over abruptly at East 1st right where the route kind of changes and so the cab cuts me off and this dude opens up his door and I slow down fast and am just waiting for him to do his thing. So to describe, I ride a fixed gear bike and I slow down to a stop, (all pedal, no brakes) while standing up, as the guy (taking his sweet time) gets out I backwards pedal about 8 feet to get out of this dudes way. He’s obviously never seen anyone do this so he shoots me a weird look like “what the fuck kind of bike is that?” I give him a thumbs up and take off. I take a nice gingerly ride over the Manhattan Bridge to clear my head. I always feel good on my ride home. I don’t know why.
Ok. So, I get back home and Nicole, Lottie, Mia, Lizzie and Zoe and two others are just chillin’ waiting to go out partying all over the Clinton Hill, “Pratt University,” neighborhood. So I tell them about my day while we’re jammin’ Cuervo shots, complete with lime and salt, passing the bottle around left to right. So I’m mostly just listening to them chat about stuff that I’m generationally unable to understand, and have a hard time commenting on, but since I’m friends with some popular indie rock music stars (Word up Jens!) that they happen to be really into, my coolness credentials are top notch. Anyway, we hit the streets and go to like four parties… doin’ it in style. These places we go to are just a mess of art-school collegiate co-eds being young and having fun. It was pretty sweet, but I’m so tired and wasted by this point all I can really remember is talking to Lizzie (about some deep stuff that I’m too much of a slacker to care about anymore) while walking behind the pack in between destinations. It kinda ruled. So I make my way through this party crawl without making any bad decisions (high five to me!) and I’m finally home (for good) at last. Well, it’s like four fourty-five and I’m jammin’ my last $1 twenty-four oz. Natty Ice on the roof of my apt. and I fall asleep listening to Teenage Fanclub as the sun comes up. Livin’ Sparky’s Dream! Friday May 8th 2009 Ruled!!
Frank En Sax still resides at Girl Island.
Posted by: Frank En Sax
MONDAY, AUGUST 3, 2009
SPCD
Posted by: OJ & Ice
MONDAY, JULY 27, 2009
Home Is Where the Van Is
UPDATE EXTENSION
Bristol, England
07.24.2009
Right before Still Flyin' began our tour three weeks ago I left my apartment and moved all my belongings into storage. Floating around the globe with Still Flyin' and Eux Autres is my new world.
Photo by Bren
L to R top:
[Poster for the de Affaire Festival 07.17.09 • Nijmegen, Netherlands] - My favorite show of the tour and one of my favorite festivals I've ever played at. I was honored to share the same stage as Deerhoof, I consider them to be one of the best live bands and I consider Greg one of the finest drummers around.
[Flyer for The Lucksmiths Madrid show 07.05.09] - We drove 16 straight hours from Rotterdam to Madrid to see our last Lucksmiths show ever. We left our hotel at 4 in the morning and arrived at the club in Madrid as they were playing their second song. Seeing them for the final time brought tears to my eyes. Four of the finest gentlemans to ever grace a stage.
[Poster for our Berlin show at De Arena 07.15.09] - My first time ever in Berlin & these posters welcomed us as they were plastered all over the city. See you very soon Berlin.
R to L bottom
[iPod Touch] - I download a lot of podcasts to listen to on tour, NPR Shows, MSNBC Countdown, Baseball Tonight. I go on a lot of soul strolls after soundcheck in the beautiful cities we are so fortunate to visit and have been listening a lot to Grizzly Bear's Veckatimest and Camera Obscura's My Maudlin Career on these walks.
[Sam Adato custom snare #171] - The company I used to work for bought this for me as part of my 10 year anniversary gift. It was stolen by thieves outside the club Razzmatazz in Barcelona, Spain. But it found it's way back to me a few hours later after some miraculous circumstances. Good karma wins.
[Ben Sherman duffel bag] - I used to take jabs from my Aislers Set bandmates for having the largest piece of luggage on tour. This bag is pretty mellow but I'm actually going to try to go smaller when I find the right backpack.
[Roadrunner cymbal bag with wheels and handle] - I would have loved to see those thieves in Barcelona try to steal this, cymbals are heavy
Posted by: Yoshi
MONDAY, JULY 20, 2009
Catching Up with Izzo
Hello Still Flyin' world,
This is Isobel calling in from Australia. My blog today is going to be a catch up. I haven't seen the rest of Still Flyin ' since they were here in February and I've been so busy it's hard to write. So here is catching everyone up on what I've been doing.
I moved into a cute house in a quiet street. It has room for everyone to stay next time! AND I found a foozeball table on the street! The house has a music corner so I rehearse here every week with T-Shack playing Icypoles songs and Still Flyin' songs.
I also moved into a studio in the city and I have a great view.
These are the projects I have done in there.
This one is a showreel for a music licensing company but I cut out all their work cause it's not that fun to watch.
This one I did for an online fashion magazine called sesame media.
This one is a commercial for gum.
I was on the animation team for an online cartoon series about Freddo Frog which is a chocolate frog you can get here. (Sean's favorite)
Me and my friend Gus did some live visuals for a Qua performance at ACMI. It was kind of an installation with a bit of animation. The best parts were when I had an animation of a floating lion on the screen then I let out a few real life floating lions which I made with fabric and helium balloons. Also there was a great bit at the end where I hooked the drummer up to a giant shadow puppet so when he hit the drum pads the puppet would dance! That is the puppet in the picture. It went so well that we're doing it again this weekend.
My friend Cailan had an exhibition last month and I animated one of his amazing drawings to play on the projector in the foyer of the gallery.
And this is what I'm working on right now. It's going to be a game in a big art show here in February. I am starting the animation shoot this week. I think it's going to be a lot of fun. But a lot of work also.
I've also been trying to finish off the Icypoles album. Haima is helping me but he's busy too so it's taking a long time. Here is a still from the video we made last winter in anticipation.
Oh and I made a new website - well it needs a bit more work but for now it's www.isobelknowles.com
And of course I've been partying too. Never fear!
And there are a stack more things but I have to run off to work now. I've been having a great time though. And the winter has been sunny and fresh. Barely winter at all!
Can't wait to see y'all again.
Love,
Isobel
MONDAY, JULY 13, 2009
Get to Know Thrill
Hey ya'll, Thrill here. For my blog entry, I thought that I would let you in on a couple of my favorite things in life. The first is my favorite burrito in the Mission area of San Francisco. The Mission is famous for it’s taquerias. They are everywhere here and everyone has their favorite. My personal favorite burrito is from a taqueria called “El Metate.” Its at the corner of 22nd and Bryant St. Their veggie burritos are totally awesome. They get fresh vegetables every day, so you never know what’s going to be in your burrito. Whatever is in season is what you get. Also, the fine folks that work there are always super nice.
The second is something that I created called the “PLS”. If you are not familiar, PLS stands for “parking lot special”. It is a drink that basically consists of any kind of liquor mixed with any kind of mixer. Just as long as you got some ice and a couple of cups to go along with it, you are set. Our webzone warlock Bobby got to jamm one with me on this particular night. If you are into jammin' a PLS with me, just let me know and I will make it happen the next time I see you.
These things keep me dancin', jammin', and livin'. Alright, that's all for now. Hammjamm it to the bone.
-Thrill
MONDAY, JULY 6, 2009
Quantum Dudes (J.K. Leapin’)
Posted by: OJ & Ice
MONDAY, JUNE 29, 2009
Stream Crosserz
Posted by: Brendude
