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Born in the 1980’s in Traverse City, Michigan, Joey Z was raised on Michigan folklore and liberal misinformation and falsehoods. Joey ran away from home for the first time at the age of 8, and was recovered three months later atop Brockway Mountain in the Keweenaw Peninsula, emaciated from having eaten only seasonal berries and sassafras and had perfected the call of all the region’s indigenous species of birds. This would later prove to be an important factor in his stunted mental and emotional development.
Always the bridesmaid and never the bride, Joey saw many of his closest Union allies married off to Confederate suitors. Swearing that, after the wedding of his dearest friend Mitsy to a plantation-owning Dixiecrat, he’d never stand up in a wedding again, he again fled his Northern Michigan home in search of life’s meaning. From the age of 10 to 13, he panhandled for Greyhound tickets and hobnobbed with locals during his several journeys to and from America’s coasts. It was in his final trip west that led him to the doorstep of Roscoe, a haggard old bastard who took in the young Joey Z and filled his brain with dangerous liberal rhetoric incongruous with Joey’s deep Christian roots. Slowly indoctrinating Joey, Roscoe eventually convinced him to move back to mid-Michigan and join a radical leftist group called “Monday Night Technology”. There, Joey Z would spend the next year of his life cultivating his own philosophy on one of our nation’s most dangerous schools of thought: Science.
Fearing large scale government retribution for their attacks on rational thought, Joey Z and Roscoe parted ways for a year and went into hiding, assuming they may never see one another again. The year following, however, fate chose to reunite them when they, independent of each other, joined an extremist splinter group of scientists known as the Math / Science / Technology Center. Under the guise of educators, the leaders of the group operated in secrecy in a newly-renovated facility at a small university. There, the duo had state-of-the-art technology at their fingertips to spread their seed of wickedness on Geocities and Napster. They traveled to US cities and tropical locales, conducting their research.
Fearing that the fundamentals of the MSTC’s cause were weakening, Joey Z departed from the group after three years, again suspecting he may never encounter his partner in thought crime again. Joey made radical shifts in his operations, laying low for several years. In this time he married a woman named Dorothy, a Southern Baptist. Fritz Wakowski, a prominent Joey Z biographer, suspects that, while many assume this was a period of existential crisis for Joey, his philosophy was too paramount to his being to be compromised. Rather, his life with Dorothy was a sham that he could uphold well enough to disappear under the radar for the time being. Dorothy was murdered by hipsters days before their fourth anniversary, and Joey, fearing his discovery by the splinter organization whom he had betrayed, escaped to the Orient.
Upon his return, he penned and distributed several tracts on American pessimism and began speaking out against pseudo-scientists for their wayward leanings. Asia had made a bold man of a timid boy, and Joey Z swore never to hide from his oppressors again. He founded Baseball For Dinner and has committed his life to spreading liberal misinformation and falsehoods in the manner of his ancestors. He currently resides in Buenos Aires with his cat, Indy.
Roscoe’s early beginnings can be traced to New Mexico, but cannot accurately be pinpointed to a specific city. Local legend near the area of the Capulin Volcano in northeastern New Mexico states that Roscoe was found near the rim of the extinct crater, and raised by los lobos (not the band, but actual factual* wild animals). Contradictory claims report that he was first sited in the vicinity of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, shortly after the incident on December 30th 1958. Other areas also have laid their own claims as the true birth place of Roscoe, but none of these claims can be substantiated.
After roaming the New Mexican deserts and mountains for most of his early childhood, Roscoe heard and answered a call to head east. He felt that in the cold desert nights something in the air was missing. He wandered without any sort of destination, mainly by way of hitchhiking along historic Route 66, until eventually arriving in St. Louis. After spending a night in a Greyhound bus depot, young Roscoe awoke to discover that the urge to travel eastwards was still strong, causing him to divert away from the well-known roadway. Upon reaching the bluegrass covered hills of Kentucky, the young nomad felt something calling his name, a something that would become a lifelong companion: Kentucky Bourbon.
Maybe it was the whiskey, or being raised by wolves, or being exposed to radiation at a young age, but something sparked in the adolescent Roscoe to propel him into acquiring some behaviors not often seen in people still in the heyday of their youth. Roscoe appeared to fall into a line of thinking and dress more suitable for an old crotchety curmudgeon rather than a spry young boy in his late oughts.
After being chased out of town in Lexington, Kentucky, Roscoe once again headed east, this time finding a resting place among the shipyards in Newport News, Virginia. There he worked as an apprentice welder under the wing of Owen Leonards. This man offered an introduction to a skewed philosophy and an extreme central viewpoint. Owen and his cohorts also introduced Roscoe to the explosive possibility of technology, spurring a lifelong fascination that bordered on obsession.
Once again the wanderlust stirred in Roscoe’s loins, causing him to venture to Michigan. There he was reunited with one of his former colleagues in the underground movement that was Monday Night Technology. Joey Z and he painted the town red, much to the chagrin of the local paint store and police. Upon riling up the locals, they decided to split up, with Roscoe heading north to God’s Country, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He fell into a den of thieves that furthered his reckless thoughts about nuclear winter and enforced mandatory facial reconstruction on the campus of Michigan Tech. After completing the preliminary training Roscoe opted to head back south to Grand Rapids, to work towards organizing his own splinter group, feeling the organization was moving too slowly.
There he found a kindred spirit in the form of one TeeCoZee. For several years, the two were basically inseparable, working to undermine the system and start up worldwide crazes such as knife dancing and the ancient art of stir-fry. Roscoe currently has disappeared from the grid once again, but surely will announce his presence with a large display of fireworks in the not too distant future.
SCOTTYM70 and affiliate FILMORE FIREBUSH
Scottym70, a name first conceived in 8th grade during a career education class, has been my unofficial monkier ever since. People have asked me “why, why 70?” to this I always respond “go fuck yourself” and then expound upon this by informing them that, according to hotmail in 1999, there were approximatly 69 previous scottym’s on their site.
Yet, I digress. I first met Mr. Firebush in a seedy Vietnamese karekoe joint in 2002, he was humming the tune to “hotel california” while hookers in lepoard printed skivies were feeding him mangos on a stick. Being fifteen at the time, I had an intense interest in both hookers and mangos, and grilled Mr. Firebush as to how to obtain both, and how he found himself lost in Malaria country with only a pocketful of dong, a fake rolex, and an air jordan shirt to see him by.
Firebush pulled me aside, motioned casually for the hookers to move onto their next cacasian target, and leaning in with breath distilled from Heinekin and Viceroy cigarettes he told me of his decent into journalism, how a simple gen-ed course at Ol Miss University mutated into a full blown career which has led him from the hidden battlefields of Antarctica to the highest peaks of Nebraska. When I, scottym70, relocated to NYC to pursue some sort of acting career, I was surpised to find my old friend Filmore Firebush alive and at large in the Big Apple.
After the first text, which simply said “Don’t trust whitey” Filmore began to use me as a funnel for his underground, racey, and oftentimes preposterous adventures in NYC. Being an assosiate of the budding blog site “baseballfordinner” (perhaps you’ve heard of it) I decided to spread the good word of Firebush to the masses, seeking to expose any and all Americans with the glorious knowledge of baseballfordinner to Filmore’s rants, raves, hallucinations, and bone-a-fide news stories.
Hopefully, you dedicated readers out there floating through the internet universe will enjoy Filmore Firebush’s tales as much as I do. If not, please flame my posts like a witch in Salem and Filmore Firebush will be no more.
Profile Coming Soon.
Profile Coming Soon.
Profile Coming Soon.
* Baseball for Dinner is currently in the process of fact checking these claims.