The Plight of Mr. Diaz

I enjoy watching people fight for money. It is one of the most thrilling spectacles available whether you are watching it on your TV or attending in person. One of the most intriguing figures in Mixed Martial Arts is undoubtedly Nick Diaz. His in ring shit talking and his undeniably proficient skills in the martial arts make him a favorite of the HO.

Mystery wrapped in an enigma.

The Nevada State Athletic Commission has decided to suspend Nick for 5 years because of his 3rd failed marijuana test and many are upset. They can potentially take away the greatest years of Nick’s fighting career and legally rob him of his bounty.

Nick is an athlete notably fueled by medical marijuana.

Now the blame game comes to the surface. Many argue weed is a harmless and beneficial blessing on anyone living an active lifestyle and it is unjust to persecute him or anybody. Others say despite these opinions, he still broke the rules 3 times and had to expect consequences. I understand both arguments and my gut says to rage against the dorky people wronging one of my favorite fighters. But at the end of the day I think we can learn from this situation. Nick lived a life that threw many obstacles in his path but he always tried to live as a martial artist while being clawed by adversity. He’s a good dude caught in a rough situation we all can find ourselves in. Even though the world is rapidly becoming aware of the benefits our favorite plant has to offer, it can still be used to discredit or deter our success. Sometimes when you don’t agree with the rules at the time, you have to choose what is important over a good bowl of stony bliss.

Can’t get too cozy sometimes.

Both Nick and the NSAC made mistakes in all of this but life often deals us these types of situations. It is up to us to make the correct decision and know when to stand up and fight for our right to blaze happily. Nick is going to be okay, I’d love to take a bong rip before he shows me how to gogoplata a jive turkey, ya dig?

His glories will never be killed.

Taking the next step.


Slips off the tongue nicely doesn’t it? Sounds almost too good to be true right? Well guess what HOs? Our promise involves a butt load of that sexy word.

Brucey knows what’s coming…

Time to put up or shut up HOs. New weekly videos and blogs are aboot to hit the deck, and if that cracks a smile on your scrumptious mouth, get ready to let them teeth shine!

The HO Nation is ready to get jiggy wit’ it, buckle up.

The Gentle Art of Boogying.

Meat is meant to move. If you are gifted the amazing act of balance and movement eventually you’ll start groovin’!

This man is also a guitar wielding wizard, check out Animals as Leaders.

The pulsing movement accompanying some jammin’ tunes is an undeniable blast. If you don’t like boogying you probably haven’t done it hard enough yet maaaaaaaan.


Find the groove that satisfies your favorite flavor and move till stuff hurts. HeadBang yourself into a concussion, your braincells can regrow if you stuff your nose into a book(I recommend Gates of Fire by Stephen Pressfield). Your slowly rotting meat demands your attention and getting wiggly is a guaranteed body treat.

I urge you to get up right now and do the FUCKING HOKEY POKEY…because that just so happens to be what it’s ALL about!

Inhale some green medicine while your at it, hook yourself up for once, you’re a miracle.

Rearview pleasure.


In the dust of the holy date, sprinkling bunny cult eggs and bong fodder on a gorgeous spring day is now a slippery memory. Zombie Jesus has bestowed his bountiful brain hungry soul upon our sinful skin and now we must realize life is ours to win.


What must one do when the fun has set with the sun? The Highest Order traveled to the desert pleasures waiting to be sipped at Coachella Fest, a groovy conglomeration of performance consumption. Memories of ear candy and overpriced treats will gently wash over the miraculous minds of thousands of hungry souls but how useful can this be?

Silly youthfulness shines a healthy dose of appreciation into the corridors of our mysterious existence. Whether you’re a displaced mentality hoping to party hard in your rotting 60 year old shell or an aimless teen imitating a false idol fun is fun. Burying all of one’s energy in a quest for the next smile is obviously a misguided pursuit ending in indulgent self hatred but allowing past pleasures to be juicy fuel can be a useful tool.

Bananas and bears have as much fun as the beach has sand.

Mindful pleasure can burst our brains with tactical joy bringing strategies. Orchestrating your future smiles with honest intent can be time well spent. Your meaty shell can find itself in plenty of coin tosses where the kind heart can help tip the toss in your favor. Remember what made you smile hard instead of waiting for more fun to eat like spiritual lard.

Get out of my fucking face

Hello and good afternoon, night and or morning to you filthy fuckers. Today is the day you sit on a cactus, ah-ah- I got you there! But no seriously I am the Highest Order Lama and I have a few things to talk about today. Kind of like when Harry Potter was really hungry during his stay under the staircase and he would pound on the walls for food. Dah-dah I’m hungry.

There’s problems in life, issues, just like tissues but that’s for another time. THE-POINT-I’M-TRYING- to get across to you readers is I’m getting into wearing children clothes. Show your stomach and its half the price HEY!

Lama out.




Finding the truest mask.


We all slop foreign material onto our greasy and decaying faces. Age and novel experiences make us fleshy clay, forever morphing perceptions. Unfortunately some shape-shifters shoot honesty directly in the face, while others attempt to forge an honest path to the brightness inside.


We exist in a constant state of marketing and advertisement attempting to engulf every drop of purity. Many simply cannot find a sense of self in the barrage, or perhaps I should say many cannot destroy selfishness amongst the corporate bullets. Guilt doesn’t provide any useful tools in our fight for truth. We must forgive even if we must pound forgiveness into our big dumb brains.

Steve Urkel knows what I’m trying to spit out!

What I’m clumsily attempting to say is we must fight to find the self before we can destroy it and unify our boundless potential. Empathy isn’t a mask, it is a pulse of energy unifying us in the chaos we call existence.


Becoming the “Punter” of your inner Shawn Hunter


Many teachers helped tip the balance of our youthful minds. Unfortunately our noodles are easily put into punishing bubbles. The tortured soul of Shawn Hunter will be the chosen metaphor of this post because his hair is fucking amazing.

We’ve all fallen victim to “Shawn Hunter Syndrome”, a disorder I will define as an unfortunately real reaction when life gets too real.

While I won’t diminish the value of keepin’ it muh fuckin’ real, I will analyze the crippling stress it may provide. There are boatloads of Shawn Hunter tributes available with a few simple clicks, his realness has affected tons of reckless youth. We can see ourselves reflected in his tears.

While we can’t erase the Shawn within us, we can slap him around and tell him everything will be ok. As long as we let our wise Feeny fingers guide us to reason and progress our inner Shawn will get out of the trailer park.