Support Your Local Seppo

Mahea Hookano by Devon D.

 Mahea. Muh-hey-ya. Rhymes with Princess Leah, or sounds like "my hair" if you're a member of N.W.A. That is the name of my best friend, my partner in all crimes. True to her roots this Hawaiian is the most caring, friendly, outgoing person on the planet; if you cut her she would bleed aloha.

She is the queen of analogies, stutters when she gets excited, refuses to carve when bombing hills (and has the scars to prove it) or wear any lipstick color other than red, moistens at the sight of vintage cars, owns a pair of paws that are stronger than the average man's (doctor tested, massage client approved), knows every word to every 80's song ever written, dances like a sex panther, balances her check book on order tabs, creates art so interesting and innovative she deserves her own gallery, has style so sick Drew Barrymore stopped her on the street and asked to take HER picture, contains more whit and candor in her little finger than I do in my whole body and has totaled 4 Volvos. On the inside you will find not soft pink organs and a vast network of veins and nerves, but rather strange foreign metals that make up the alien-robot technology that allows her to stay up all night engaging in all sorts of debauchery, have an hour of sleep, then wake up bright and chipper for a full day of surfing followed by the commencement of more nighttime thrills. This cycle can continue for weeks on end. Truly she is a machine. She is my voice of reason and one of the main reasons I'm not dead or in jail. But don't be fooled by her vivacious curves and effusive spirit and heed my warning; she will always drink you under the table.

Devon Devine by Mahea H.

 Devon Devine is my weekend warrior when we initiate attack upon the battlefield of Hollyweird, my bar stool opponent in the race to wash down beers before boarding the plane at the airport, captain of The Beast, and the reason why I refer to myself as "we" when telling a story.

She's a labyrinth of quirky idiosyncrasies and zany charm that none have yet to map out, but I come pretty damn close. As the true writer of this uncomfortably energetic duo (the SEPPOS), this wild haired Cuban is ready to mentally pounce with whit at the ready and tape-recorder in hand. She will plow you down with her ‘70 Ford Econoline Club Wagon (The Beast) without a flinch and takes on the potential for life at the same RPM. If one received a PhD in the mastery of joint rolling, she'd be teaching that shit at Harvard. Gimme Danger by Iggy Pop and The Stooges was the soundtrack to the loss of her virginity and if you fail to leave a lasting impression upon her memory, then don't feel too offended. It's an all-too-familiar process:
"Hey! Devon, what's happening? How you been?"
This salutation is commonly followed by a queer facial narrative expressing "So... am I supposed to know you?"

She is the inspiration for what I call: The Hair Theory (explained in future blog writings) and is the Supreme Being in the art of hustling when the budget is tight like a male model's ass.

 Together! we are the SEPPOS