Friday, September 30, 2005


Hey Kids, what's up? I've had a little time to separate myself from the JK situation and make a few decisions on that, which I'll talk about a little later. But I've also had the opportunity to think about what makes me so different here than back home. I think it comes down to an very simple dynamic.

In Detroit, I had a mediocre gig with some real perks, but no REAL loot. I had a lot of female companionship all of the time. Old shit, new shit, but I always had this cadre of broads to choose from. And everything was cool.

In Satan's Anus, I have a very good gig with not too many perks, making significant loot. I have hardly any female companionship. Everything sucks.

If I could ever get a situation where both the social and the career path were working for me, I'd be a muthafuckin' monster. I don't believe that there would be any stopping me. My fuckin' ego would run amok. I'd be the most arrogant muthafucka you'd ever know.

I think that's what stopping me from having it all. God, the cosmos, whatever you want to believe, is allowing me to learn and accept humility. I won't have what I believe to be "it all". Never. Not until I can actually handle it. So now is the time to get a grip and be O.K. not being "the man". I have to be happy to be < (less than) in some instances. This weekend I'm going home. I have to get re-twisted so I'll be seeing Dreadlady who'll offer me the ass. I'll be going to a black alumni function for my University, so that'll be a fuckin' harem reunion. I'll get ass thrown at me from a thousand different directions tonight. I can honestly say I don't think I'll let my ego get in my way. I can release that need to be constantly reaffirmed that I'm the shit. I think I can just say no to broads I don't wanna fuck.

I also think that I'll continue to pursue JK. I'll be measured with my pursuit, but I'll still let her know I'll be around in case that bastard slips. In the meantime, I probably gonna "twist" that broad from that free meal thing I went to.

I'll keep y'all niggas apprised of the situation.

Keep Bloggin',

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Your Boy Catches an "L"

"My girl's a grown woman/she ain't gettin' her Eagle on/she'd rather be in the bed/tryin' to get her Kegel on" -Phonte from Little Brother, "Say It Again" on The Minstrel Show.

Hey niggas, what da deal is? Man, I'm fucking sick. Sick to my stomach. I just left lunch with Jayne Kennedy. We met at this upscale downtown restaurant. I got there first. I asked to be seated on the atrium facing the entrance. She came in looking fucking outstanding. Tall, beautiful, titties and hips and shit all coming at me. She's smiling, just fucking beautiful.

When JK sat down we immediately started a lively conversation about the culture shock I must be experiencing. She grew up here in Satan's Anus, so she's pretty used to the slow ass pace and lack of black people. Her only escape was when she went away to college (we went to the same university. She started the year I finished so we totally missed each other). She got dragged back by family obligations. So we begin to talk about situations.

She asks if I've ever been married or if I have a girlfriend. I say yes, I've been married and divorced. No I don't have a woman currently. She says yes, she's been married and divorced too. But yes she has a new boyfriend, who she's been with 11 fucking days.

If you know me a little bit by now, you know this, I don't give a fuck if she has a man. This is my issue: because the relationship is so new, it'll be harder to fucking sabotage. Them fucking endorphins are still intact. If she'd been with this nigga a year or so, I could slip in and fuck. He'd be none the wiser, except for how much more room they'll be in the pussy after me! hehehe

The one thing on my side is that this shit is long distance. That nigga lives....drumroll please...IN DETROIT! Unless that nigga's dick stretches across the state, I might be able to get over.

So she sees that I'm disappointed. I can't even fucking fake it. I had some shit riding on this, like my whole muthafuckin' winter in this hellbox. JK says "Well at least let me introduce you to some of my friends". I say "I don't wanna meet your friends. I'm interested in you". WTF?
I don't know what the fuck is in the water here, but I'm about to lose my fucking Player Card. As a matter of fact, if any officials from Player, Inc. read this blog, they might be calling to revoke it soon.

JK says "I have friends that are so much more accomplished than I am and they are beautiful women". I say "If I go out with them I have absolutely no chance to ever hook up with you. That shit's over." I continue, "I'll tell you what, if you and this cat are still together in 1 year, I'll met your girls. Otherwise, if you break up with him before 1 year's time, you gotta give me the first opportunity to date you." She's smiling and shit, "O.K. I can do that." I'm fucking pitiful, grasping at straws and shit. It was fucking absolutely embarrassing.

I left a defeated man. I'm embarrassed to even see her around after that shit. I was desperate and completely uncool. And now sick to my stomach.

Nauseously Yours,

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Lick The Cabals

Say kids, how's tricks? Good I hope. I'm just trying to keep my head above water, enjoying the first good nights sleep I've had since moving to this hunk of compost. When I woke up everything was right with the world. Then I remembered that murderer's row of meetings I had planned for today. All of a sudden, it's not so rosy.

I'm not really a conspiracy theorist. At least not anymore. I used to be hella paranoid, but now, I pretty much take shit at face value. If it walks like a bitch and talks like a bitch, guess what? But being here in this place and time, I'm starting to put more stock in this idea of cabals, that is little conspiratorial groups plotting to move forth an agenda. I see them muthafuckas at work on the daily.

We got p-dub (short for P.W. T. or poor white trash) cabals, white women cabals, black women cabals, management (which is basically white men) cabals, and divisional cabals. All these different interest groups are vying for my attention and trying to get me to rule in their favor surrounding some disagreement or another. I don't give a fuck about people trying to lobby me, it's their perogative. It's the reaction of the other groups when I do make a decision. The ripple effect is fierce. The way one group steps up their performance when a decision favors one of their own and the way another group starts to make a lot more mistakes when a decision doesn't go their way. I'm used to seeing shit like this on an individual basis, but damn, these folks got some serious solidarity going on here.

I think this shit is an offshoot of having no fucking life. Groupthink sets in when a muthafucka lives in an echo chamber hearing their own ideas come back at them from different mouths and shit. When your job is your life, everything and everybody there has an increased importance.

When I come to work everything and everybody looks like a stepping stone. Give me one good opportunity and I'm out this bitch. I had to turn down a phone interview for this job out in Cali because my schedule was too tight here. Why was it too tight? Because these muthafuckas had in house conflicts, so I had to meet with a hundred niggas in a short time span to get this shit settled. They musta knew I was trying to jet! It's all a fucking conspiracy!

On The First Thing Smoking,

P.S. I gotta a lunch date with Jayne Kennedy tomorrow. Wish me fuck!

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Zed Got A Bed

Unrelated quote from Hip Hop's Golden Age
On the end of my chinny chin chin sits black hairs/string by string I think I counts five pairs - "Peachfuzz" by KMD

What's happening GorillaClan? It's ya boy, KZ, looking to turn his luck around. I took my car to the shop yesterday. I found out the first mechanic I took it to tried to gouge the fuck outta me. He told me that I had a blown head gasket and the repair would cost $2400. Then I went to other mechanics that estimated that a head gasket repair wouldn't cost more than $1500. Finally, I took it to one of the other mechanics who told me I'd been misdiagnosed. I had a intake manifold issue that would cost me $450. I dodged a bullet on that one.

So I was feeling pretty good about myself. I decided to call Jayne Kennedy. I left her a message and realized that I forgot to leave my callback number. Stupid! So now I gotta wait to call her again and remember to leave the digits if I have to leave a message. In the meantime, I can honestly say I kinda miss Batshit. I guess it's really a matter of not having anyone to "play" with as opposed to missing her crazy ass.

You know how you put your business card in one of those bowls at a restaurant to win a free lunch? You know how you find out that that shit is a scam for a financial consulting group to call and harrass you at work? Well, I stupidly dropped my card in a bowl and "won" one of those lunches for 15 people. So you know I don't know anyone here, right? So I'm asking staff if they'd like to go and hear this spiel. A few takers, but not 15. So I talk to "Poppins" who has a huge stable of eligible female friends. I ask her if any of her girls would be interested. She gives me a woman's name and number and asks me to call her to see if she'd like to come. I feel this is a little awkward, but I call anyway. We talk on the phone, I tell her I work with Poppins and invite her to this lunch. She tells me she also got roped into this shit with the free meal and hers is tonight. She invites me and of course I have to accept.

I get to the restaurant with these 14 strangers, we introduce ourselves and I meet ol' girl. She's o.k. looking, dressed nice with a low cut top and some huge ass titties. So now I'm interested. We listen to a five minute presentation from the financial advisor who then leaves, and we are left to chill and eat. It's actually a pretty good way to get friends together to eat for free. To make a long story short, when I finally left after about 2 hours of getting to know all the people I ate with, I shook ol' girl's hand. "Remember to come out to my lunch on the 4th, o.k.?" She holds my hand, "Maybe we can do lunch before then?" She's smiling. So now I gotta fuck her.

In the meantime, today I take delivery on a BED. That's right niggas, I finally broke down and bought a bed. I actually bought it on Friday before I knew what the car was going to cost me. I got sick of waking up sore on one side of my body. Hopefully my dreams will be better. I know my sex will.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Marvin K. Mooney

Hey folks, what's really good? It is a marvelous Saturday afternoon after my torturous night last night. Maaaan, let me tell you it was a chore.

I had this broad come check me out from home. You might remember her from one of my earlier posts, "Eggy". I didn't invite her, she has family that lives near my place in the boondocks and she asked if she could see me while she was this way. So I said sure, seeing that Batshit is out of the country and my procrastinating ass hasn't touched base with Jayne Kennedy yet. What the fuck could it hurt her to visit.

This broad comes over with a case of "grab dick" and shit. I didn't even want to fuck her, I was just letting her come through to visit. Eggy's grabbing dick and kissing on me and shit. I'm trying to hold her ass off. I was talking to my girl about this: I don't know how a nigga can successfully turn down ass and not look like a homo. Women can always pull their period out their ass. They can even just say they aren't in the mood. Not a nigga. Your dick will be in the streets so fast. Your ass will be lambasted!

So, I fucks her, right? A couple of times. And now it's around midnight. I didn't invite her over and now I'm stuck. I put all my clothes back on and sat watching tv, I'm trying to send signals to her. She puts on her clothes. I'm thinking "Great, this broad will go back to her mother's house." She sits with me trying to hold my hand and shit while we are watching tv. I'm trying not to grimace and shit, but I'm just like "Bitch, leave!" Eggy says "I'm hungry". I remained seated. "Go look in the kitchen and eat whatever you want to." Trying to be as inhospitable as possible. She microwaves this bean and cheese burrito. I'm like "I know this eggheaded broad is not going to eat these beans and believe she's gonna sleep next to me." She eats it and starts getting drowsy. "I'm just going to go to sleep" and she walks up my stairs. What the fuck?!?

A broad invites herself over, takes some dick and I owe her room and fucking board? Is that the way that shit works? If I had asked her to come visit me from Detroit, shit, the sky's the muthafuckin' limit. But I think she went overboard.

This morning she was up before me downstairs singing and shit. Loud. It's Saturday bitch! I get to sleep in! Shut the fuck up. So she's coming back and forth in and out of my room, going in the master bathroom and shit when I got two other fully stocked bathrooms, waking me the fuck up. I finally get up, put on some jogging pants and get on the computer in my office. She's getting dressed, lingering and shit. She walks into my office and is looking at me smiling, scrunching up her nose. Never in my life have I hated a human being as much as I did at that very moment. Eggy, make like Marvin K. Mooney!

Anyway she hesitated, asking me what I had planned for today. I can't use anybody as an excuse. Everyone who knows me knows these things, (1) I don't know anybody here; (2) I hate most people in general, so I wouldn't be making any plans with them if I did know anyone. I said "I gotta big budget meeting on Monday that I have to get ready for, and I gotta watch the Spartans play." She looked disappointed. "Alright, well I guess I'll head out to Barnes and Noble. I'll talk to you later." Yeah, chick, go impose on those two muthafuckas.

She left and I'm happy. She's sadly mistaken if she thinks she'll ever be able to reach me on the telephone, via email, messenger pigeon, semaphore flags, anything ever again. Don't let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split yo' eggheaded ass!

Assholius Maximus,

Thursday, September 22, 2005

This Or That?

S'up niggas! The Bomba Momma has got me down. The Bomba Momma, the Blue Bomba, Bluey, Big Blue, or Big Blue Hunk of Butta are all terms of affection I use for my favorite girl, my 2000 Chevy Tahoe. She is an albatross around my freakin' neck. I can't cut her ass loose. Bad ass credit led to bad ass financing with a high ass monthly payment and skyrocking gas prices haven't helped. To top it all off, the bitch breaks down almost once a week.

I left Detroit and moved to Satan's Anus, MI on July 1. Since I got here, the car has been in the shop 6 times, starting on my very first day here and she's scheduled to go back this week. She breaks mostly on weekends. I hardly know anyone here, so I can't count on rides. Transit is non existent. It's just all fucked up.

The kicker is when I moved I gave most of my furniture away: couch, bed, dresser, bookshelves, etc. I just had my personal effects, gear, 2 TVs, a computer and a futon. I thought once I settled in, I'd buy the shit I need to live comfortably. The Bomba stopped all that shit. Everytime I get paid I think "This is the week I'll buy a bed". Scccccrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrttttttttttt, pump ya breaks, nigga. Your only method to engage civilization is not working. Gotta get her fixed. So since July 1st my grown ass has been sleeping on a futon mattress and sitting in one lone chair in the living room. Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, no fucking bed.

Once again this week the Bomba has not failed in her quest to keep my back fucked up. Somehow the fucking head gasket has blown on the car and it will cost me upwards of $1500. That's the biggest hit yet. I wanna drive this bitch into the river. I swear that car is possessed with the demon spirit of my ex-wife.

I didn't write this shit to hear the fucking "Solution of the Week". Nigga, I'm smarter than you. I thought of what ever you thought of first, and it won't work for me. I'm just venting and shit.

I Still Don't Luv Them Hoes (except for Bluey),

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Exit Strategy

Hey Fellow Munkees, I'm back. You know, I never thought that I'd be updating this thing so regularly, but this "fish outta water" thing is chock full of material for me. In addition, this entry is a Batshit update and y'all luv that crazy shit.

So I'm over Batshit's house, right? She's packing. She'll be out of the country for about 10 days on business, so I'm keeping her company while she's getting ready. I'm washing dishes and shit, putting clothes in the dryer, real domestic shit. Batshit asks me "Is this what married life is like?" I say "Pretty much. It's very tedious, especially if you don't have kids. Y'all just sit around looking at each other and keeping stuff around the house orderly. On weekends, you do home improvement projects. " She asks "Isn't that boring?" I say "Yep. I used to find things for us to get into after work just so we wouldn't be looking at one another all night waiting to go to sleep." Batshit says "Do you think you'll ever get married again?" I say "No. I don't like marriage. The only reason I would ever get married again is to have children. I think kids deserve two live-in parents. I hate marriage."

My last statement galvanized her resolve to get me the fuck out of her life forever. "We can't be together. I know where I stand in your life. I'm just something to do until you meet more women." How astute, you raving loon. The rest of the night she spouted observations about the way we interact and how it's not going to work. I heard about how I'm a heathen, how I'm emotionally detached, how I somehow don't measure up. "You're always fucking me. You don't know how to make love." "I know how to make love to women I love" I thought but dare not speak aloud for fear of a pot of hot grits being prepared. I remained silent, mostly.

We went to bed around 12:30 and of course it was ON. I woke up this morning, dick throbbing but nonetheless, happy. I believe I've been given an out and I think I'll take it. I've got 10 days to see if this Jayne Kennedy thing is the proper way to go. Y'all need to wish me some muthafuckin' luck.

Floss After Every Meal,

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Munkeefood, Part 2: Disdain of Authority Figures

Hey Peoples, this ya boy again, waxing poetic about the things that sustain me. To people that know me this comes as no surprise but I absolutely hate ANY authority figure, across the board. I gives a fuck if you're a coach, a teacher, a supervisor, or an older sibling. Believe me I hates yo' ass. The only authority figure I recognize as a necessity is parent, because heaven knows I don't want responsibility for raising your little bastards. I got this thing honestly though. My old man is the same way. He has always taught me to fight for the underdog. He told me that he organized a protest against the management at Chrysler when he worked there, protesting the unfair demands that they were putting on workers. He was in the management training program at the time! He got fired and that same day he found out my mother was pregnant with me. That my friend is a fucked up coincidence.

I grew up with the strong belief that if you were an authority figure, you either don't know shit or you sold out. Either way I couldn't respect you. Fuck that.

I have constantly worked to undermine and belittle every authority figure in my life. Every job I've had, I've tried to show them up, question all their decisions, find a better way to do things than the way I was asked to do them, and in most cases go over their heads constantly to establish a rapport with their bosses. I get promoted, then I undermine my new boss. The theme is always the same, the emperor is butt-assed nekkid.

I have always managed to develop an almost visceral response to the bullshit management. My body would produce excess bile for me to spew and my mind would produce unending maliciousness to usurp them cats. I would stay awake at night plotting on muthafuckas because I believed that the clueless must be punished. Yeah, that shit is sorta sick.

In my current job, you guessed it muthafuckas, I'm second in command. Only one slot to move up. You'd think this would be pretty easy to manage, right? Only one muthafucka to undermine so I should be able to do that in my sleep. I forgot one thing about being in this position: there are 56 muthafuckin' niggas just like I was, trying to knock me off!

I got another problem. I fuckin' like my boss. This guy is cool than a muthafucka. His style is the complete opposite of mine and it works. He's an anal retentive detail oriented muthafucka, all I see is the fucking forest. I ain't seen a tree in years. This nigga is big government. "What can we do to help?" I'm Mr. "Let them muthafuckas fend for themselves except in cases of extreme distress". He's prudent and I'm a fucking loose cannon. That shit works like a charm.

I still don't like authority figures. When I give orders to staff I even find myself thinking, "Are you just gonna take that? Pussy!"

That's another one of the things that makes me tick.

The Mighty Underdog,

Monday, September 19, 2005

Jayne Kennedy

Hey slackers, what's crackin'? It's on 1:30 pm and it's already the best day I've ever had here. Because today, I met HER. Let me explain.

I had to do some community outreach type of thing today and speak to grassroots groups as well as other government representatives. That's where I met HER. She was from another gov't entity. Beautiful, tall, THICK IN ALL THE RIGHT PLACES, and seems to be interested in a brotha. I swear she is the spitting image of Jayne Kennedy back in her late 70's/early 80's heyday except she has green eyes. I felt like a nigga hit the jackpot. She's smart, seemingly level headed a good replacement for Batshit.

Here's the issue: For the first time ever, I get a couple of phone messages from Batshit this morning, expressing herself. She is very guarded and standoffish most of the time. But on these phone messages, she's expressive as fuck. "I miss you, I can't wait to see you again." You know, shit like that.

Today I felt for the first time that I'd really hurt her fucking feelings if I dipped. Usually I don't care about such shit, but she was really the welcome wagon when I came to this piece of flotsam. So the question is, "Zed, are you going to pursue Jayne Kennedy?" And my answer is "Nigga, haven't you been reading this blog?" The next question would logically be "What are you gonna do with Batshit?" And the answer to that question would be "I'll cross that bridge when I have to stick my dick in it."

Always Climbing Everest,

Friday, September 16, 2005


Aren't you happy it's Friday? It don't mean much to me these days. I work through a lot of weekends and I don't get paid on Friday anymore. To top it off "Big Fun" won't be able to make it this weekend, so it's all downhill. All Friday is to me is an opportunity to dress down in the office, which I hardly ever take advantage of. I think it's important for these cats to see me in a suit all of the time, so they'll know I'm about business. Sometimes it's hard to reconcile in the simple mind wearing dreadlocks and being professional, but I try to pull it off. I believe if staff sees me relaxed, they'll think it's o.k. to relax. But I forgot to get my shirts from the cleaners yesterday, so guess what? Yep, hello casual Friday. So now I'm walking around the office looking like a rastafarian golf pro. These assholes are walking up to me saying shit like "Is that what you look like without a tie on?" and "Hey, sporty!" I hate small talk, I really do.

I'm just getting around to writing about Katrina, and not because I didn't care. I just wanted to soak up as much info as I could to write something informed. But I guess I'm pretty late because everyone has pretty much written and said most of the stuff I would have said anyway. There is, however, one avenue that has been marginally discussed.

I got an email the other day sent by an acquaintance with accompanying powerpoint of the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. Throughout the powerpoint there are various quotes of scripture that narrate what we see. The point is made that the Hurricane is the foreshadowing of the end of time and it is a sign of God's divine punishment for a wicked nation. At the end of the powerpoint, the statement is made that Jesus is coming back soon, so we better get right. At the end of the email, it admonishes us for sending jokes and other stuff to each other, but not stuff as important as this.

As devastating as Katrina was and as emotionally draining watching footage of what she wrought, nothing pissed me off more than this email and I'll tell you why.

1. Who the fuck are you to be saying "I told you so" about something that God did, you judgmental asshole?

2. If this was God's divine punishment, why strike the least of us with such a vengeance when they have the least to do with the direction of this country. You wanna punish the country and you fuck with BLACK PEOPLE? Squo? (that's "really" in old school Detroit slang)

3. The truth is the truth. A version is someone's side of a story. Don't quote to me from a "version"(King James, et al) quote the source. If you cannot read the source, i.e. Hebrew, then learn, oh so wise biblical scholar. Then send me what the fuck it really say.

4. Hey, bitch in the glass house! Stop throwing rocks and shit! Didn't you suck my dick on Belle Isle two months ago when your man was out of town?

5. Don't tell me what the fuck I send to other people via email. I don't send you shit. I don't really care for you that much.

You really want people to be more religious? What did Elijah say to Malcolm? Show them the clean glass, muthafucka, let them compare it to the dirty one. They'll choose to drink from the clean glass. Clean yo' glass, trick!

If I've offended anyone reading this by my outburst, please accept this in the vein it was written, as a salvo in the ongoing culture war written by a pragmatist hoping to improve on the free exchange of ideas. If you can't accept that:

Fuck You

Hopelessly Devoted to Talking Shit,

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Shot Calla

"Rap is like a grilled cheese sandwich/betta bring the butta or the bread'll get damaged" - MF Doom

Hey Young World, what's poppin'? Everyfuckingbody's crazy, that what's poppin' with me. Why is every woman I'm dealing with talking about babies? Why? Are they deliberately pushing me away? Bloggies, don't they know me? Hunh? Answer me, dammit!

I'm presumably a good catch, from the outside. I'm o.k. looking, I got a pretty good job, a couple of degrees, I'm kinda tall and I'm from a decent little gene pool. From the outside, it wouldn't be a bad thing to hook up with me. As the catchphase from American Beauty says "Look Closer".

    Bad Traits
1. I will cheat on you.
2. I will fuck a girl you know and trust.
3. I will come home smelling like gasoline to mask the smell of pussy.
4. I will hate your goofy family.
5. I am anti-social unless I'm chasing ass
6. I won't get jealous no matter what you do, because I don't care.
7. I am steadfast in my beliefs so compromise is nearly impossible.
8. I am a constant worrier especially about shit I can't change.
9. I am notoriously bad with money.
10. I'm immature (see items 1 - 9).

    Good Traits
1. I have really broad shoulders

And there you have it, me in a nutshell. But I keep getting in these discussions about procreation and when I wanna have kids. I think about it alot. Maybe some niggas just ain't meant to have kids. If the fucking government wants to regulate some shit, maybe it should be that. Every crackhead-pedophile-pervert-jackass has children and I decide to hold off. I'm pretty fucking bad, I suck, but I'm not crackhead bad!

If these women who know me and know me well think it would be a good idea to have children with me, then I know their judgment is fucked up in general. I'm asking women to please do more than investigate the package, check the muthafuckin' contents. 'Cuz if I have kids with a broad all I'm good for is a check at this stage in my life. Most of these cats ain't good for that, so choose wisely. The next thing I'd say is "know thyself". If you think you could bear being with a nigga with a horrifically flawed personality, knock ya self out. It just won't be this cat.

Be easy,

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Munkeefood, Part 1: Endorphins

Hello sportsfans! Keepin' it clean? Good. I'm trying hard to be good, but it's work. Part of the problem is my unhealthy addition to that feeling. You know, that feeling. When you meet somebody new and everything is good. You don't know how her breath smells in the morning, whether or not she pops her gum, how smelly her farts are, you know the bad stuff. All you know is she's pretty and you wanna be around her a lot.

That feeling wakes me up some mornings. It is overpowering. If you're not careful you mistake it for love. I meet a woman, we kick it, I bone her once or twice, and the feeling is gone. Can't find it for the life of me. Then, I'm off to meet another woman. That's my cycle. I, Zed Zednanreh, am an endorphin addict.

Does this addiction make for a bunch of unhealthy relationships? You're fuckin' A right it makes for unhealthy relationships. Being this way sucks, ask the Disco Diva, she used to be just like me. We used to commisserate on how unhealthy this shit was. We'd dump perfectly good mates to chase that high. And it is an unbelievable high.

I thought I was over it once. I got married in December 2000. I was miserable, pissed off at her for being exactly who she'd always been. So we split up in July 2002. Every woman I met after that got the flux. I wouldn't get excited over any chick, and I ran through a bunch of them. I met "Thelma" at the end of that year. Bingo, endorphin fix. It had to be my longest sustained period of giddiness over being with a broad, a good 8 months. The feeling waned and I was back out on the prowl, cheatin' like a muthafucka.

All this brings me to present day, Thelma's my ex, Batshit is my present and that shit is waning. I'm bringing in "Big Fun" this weekend, beautiful, dark skinned, slim, 6 feet tall with all of her weight in her hips and ass. We used to fuck around 10 years ago, then the endorphins wore off. But if you leave something alone long enough, it's all brand new again. Fuckin' endorphins.

Stay High,

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Stop Judging Me!!!

Hey nigritos, what's happening? It's a Tuesday morning and everything's peachy. "Why the chipper disposition Zed?" Well, I'll tell you, munkees, I just pulled an all-nighter up in Batshit's guts. Yeah, I know. But she's the only game in town, kinda like the Packers in Green Bay. My boy used to tell me "Crazy pussy is the best." I laughed and laughed. Now look at me. I'm really looking forward to hittin' again.

I neglected to tell y'all that this weekend my ex-girlfriend, "Thelma", came to visit. She looks like "baby girl" from Good Times only better if you can fathom that. She and I parted on very good terms when we broke up. As I was job seeking all over the country at the end of last year, Thelma broke up with me because she didn't think I was committed to our relationship. Apparently I didn't consult her properly in pursuit of my scrilla around the globe. We're still cool and yes, we still fuck. I stayed with her the last time I was in Detroit, but Aunt Flo was visiting so no haps.

One issue I had with her but was never a relationship killer is that she is a boring fuck. I mean boring. I have been around the block once or twice but she is sleep inducing in the sack. But she was gorgeous, so you put up with shit to be with a broad like that. Currently, I'm not in a position to turn down Confederate pussy, so I kept my dick in her for the weekend. Thelma would have to do.

Batshit was out of town this weekend. She got back yesterday. I picked her up from the airport, took her to the crib and banged out. All night. Wild, uninhibited shit. Broke a bed, two tables, an ironing board and a vacuum. My dick's still throbbing, like a damn heartbeat. Outstanding.

My question is: Is it better to keep fucking with the sane, beautiful, sack-corpse or the insane, insatiable, cute, cock-demon? I know y'all go through similar shit and all y'all munkees got opinions, so help a nigga out.

Hypocritically Consistent,

Monday, September 12, 2005

Rat Nipples

What's up, Fam? Just getting over my kickoff weekend hangover. It's always a good weekend when the Lions win and the Wolverines lose. This work shit is generally a breeze, but it's the little things that get me. The devil is definitely in the nitpickiousity of crackas. I've been getting assigned Executive Level Busywork. If you don't know what that is, it's the stuff that gets done, everyone knows it gets done, but it doesn't matter if it gets done or not because it doesn't affect 99.9% of the lower level staff. "Did you make sure we have enough polish for our gold encrusted Palm Pilots?" You know, shit like that.

We have a minor issue bubbling up to the surface here. One of the managers, a black woman, is getting the flux from her staff. She's the only other black person in management here aside from me. Anyway, she's got a Mary Poppins type of bubbly assed personality. Like 50 and dem said you either hate it or love it. She's cool with me since she was the one who introduced me to "Batshit" and if you get me laid in this here 'burg, I'm forever in your debt. So "Poppins" got a staff that's hating on her. And since she reports to me, it becomes my problem. These white broads are clowning on her personality, her gear, her alleged pomposity, all types of shit via EMAIL!!! That's right, via email. I didn't know about this. Another manager, a white chick, got an email blind copied to her from a staff person that got it. She went to my boss with the goods. My boss just talked to me about it saying "Let's pull their emails for the last 6 months. If there is a tinge of racial edge to any of the emails, they're gone."

Just like that. I've got to talk to I.T. to retrieve the emails and if I find that shit rubs me the wrong way, I gotta run 'em. In general I hate I.T. people, 'cuz I know they're snooping around reading everything I write and monitoring everything I do. But it's good to know they're there in case some shit goes wrong. That email retrieval hookup is even more scary. More shit I don't like to think about, like rat nipples. I know they exist, I just don't like to think of anyone utilizing them.

So I guess today I'm ridin' for Poppins and other "sunny-side up" sistas. Don't let 'em steal your shine.

Milk This,

Friday, September 09, 2005

My Longest (and Least Fulfilling) Relationship

Hey Munkees, keepin' it clean? Good. I've been entranced by the Kanye West's new shit. Naw, not those facile assed political statements the idiot media seems to find so intriguing, but his CD, man. I think it's called "Constant Masterbation". The theme is an MC that can't seem to pull himself off his own dick for more than two seconds. The friggin' beats are incredible. I wish they made an instrumental version of it. That nigga's choice of topics makes me sick. This fake ass introspection reminds me of the movie "Scream". Yeah, you reference all the typical cliches and shit to let me know you're aware of them, to let me know you're smart enough to know better, and you do the same cliche-ridden shit anyway. Nigga, please.

My co-workers at my old gig used to joke and say I didn't listen to anything made after 1995. They might have a point. I think that might be a quality watershed in hip-hop. My basic problem is that I'm a "head", hip-hop head that is. And the shit they keep cranking out ain't for heads. Heads love beats and rhymes. I heard a nigga tell me he likes "aggressive music", so that's why he's not checking for most underground cats. What was more aggressive than "Criminal Minded" or "Enter the Wu-Tang"? That shit is the marriage of beats and rhymes. I've heard every gangsta boast in the world. You can't shock me, muthafucka, I'm 34 years old. I go to work every day and that shit is hard. Stop telling me what the fuck you own and how carefree you live. I'm 34 years old. I'm a grown assed man who cannot relate to or does not aspire to your ideals of "the good life".

That's why I think my longest relationship is probably coming to an end. That relationship is with mainstream hip-hop. My ass is old, my brain is old, my taste is old. Blame that shit on De La Soul, I just like my music a little more challenging, more complex, more thoughtful. I think I'll leave this stuff for y'all to sort through. I can't really take it anymore.

"I used to love H.E.R., but now I fuck H.E.R." - Common

Lord of the Underground,

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Epic Levels of Horseshit

Yo peoples, what's crackin'? I'm tellin' y'all, we are not built the same, us and white folks. We are not. I got this know it all assed staffperson. This bitch is brimming with brilliant thoughts and shit, just bubbling over. Can't contain herself type shit. I had a presentation today and this broad handed me a critique of my performance, like I asked for the shit. And that's how arrogant white people are. I told her to keep the critique, I'm pretty astute. I figured out where I could polish the performance. Rank ass smelly hoe.

A little later this broad tells me she's bored. She doesn't have enough to do. Niggas, have you ever? Unless that shit was an internship, I don't think I've ever asked for more shit to do. But she needs her little mind stimulated. I started to give that broad my taxes. I worked for the City of Detroit before I came here and trust me, you would not ever ask for more to do, cuz nigga, you'd get it! And how! They'd make your ass Mayor if you wanted the job, just so they wouldn't have to do it. Do you realize how much work it is to supervise a busy ass? That shit is work! Assigning and checking and providing guidance and shit. Bitch, I'm trying to sleep!

All this plays into my fatigue with THE GAME. No, not that hip-hop muthafucka, I mean the upward mobility game. You have to look like you have a lot on your plate and handle a lot to get recognized for promotion. The problem here is, the plate's not that fucking big. There's just not a lot of shit to do. I don't have time to make up work for this broad, because I'm busy with administrative shit, like the fucking budget that pays her overeager assed salary. That's the important stuff. The shit you have to do in a small town to look like work is being done is exhausting. And ultimately this pushes me toward California daily. So yeah, I'm looking forward to this interview. Actual achievement, not playing the game, always feels better. So I'll take the chance if it's afforded me.

Take the plastic off before you eat it,

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Fuck Peace

Yo, Munkees, what's the deal? I've spent a couple of days introspecting, navel gazing, meditating and other shit like that so this entry will be a little......drier than usual. Please bear with me as I go through some stuff.

I pride myself on being a pretty humble and relatively quiet guy. I listen much more than I talk and I remember the memorable. I had a talk with a friend of mine, I'll call him "Dream Crusher", this weekend and he kind of let me have it with both barrels. I didn't quite understand it, but after some thought, I think I get where he was coming from.

"You're the most arrogant muthafucka I ever met. " That's how he started. "Nigga, you are arrogant. Just because you don't hardly say shit and you try to be all bohemian and shit don't mean you not arrogant. Nigga, you arrogant." We had a back and forth for a while, me arguing that I work hard to be as accommodating and humble as I can. I work hard (mostly) and try to be as cool and non-judgmental as possible. "All that fucking effort to deal with us mortals. You muthafuckin' self righteous bastard" he retorted. Dream Crusher was spitting venom.

"You talkin' to me about being unhappy about your social life, get over it." I couldn't understand the source of this talk until I really listened to him. "What are you 6"5'?" I said 6"3'. "About 280? Nigga, how come you not in the NFL? I know why. You had to prove to muthafuckas that it was more to you than just brawn, so you decided to concentrate on being a scholar. Just to be contrary, you arrogant muthafucka." I just looked at this cat and laughed. He continued. "You wear dreads and you tryin' to climb the ladder and run a big city department. You don't look like the director of shit. But you arrogant enough to think you can look like you do and let your brains take over. That humility shit is fake."

I had never thought about it this way CONSCIOUSLY. I believe subconsciously I'd gone through all these iterations in my mind to make me who I am, thinking I could have everything I wanted on my own terms. Ultimately I think that's why I got divorced and why I don't plan on getting married again anytime soon.

I told Dream Crusher, "I really think it's my fear of success that takes over sometimes." He said, "Then just kill yourself now and save yourself the trouble. You are wired to run shit, nigga." So ended the scariest fucking conversation I've ever had about myself.

That conversation made me want to reassess the way I do things. All the people pleasing, the accommodation, the relative moralism, all of it. I'll let y'all know how it goes.

Yo, what happened to peace?

Fuck Peace,

Sunday, September 04, 2005

Home Free

It's ya boy, Munkzilla back in the Boonies after a short trip to Detroit to recharge my batteries. Man, it was the most surreal feeling in the world. As soon as I arrived in the city I got a phone call from this chick I used to see. She's about 6 feet tall, beautiful, and dark chocolate just like a nigga like 'em. I'll call her "Big Fun". Big Fun says "I sensed you were here. I just felt it." It was a spooky assed thing for her to say. But I'd rather have her making that call than Eggy or some other chick, so I enjoyed the conversation. I couldn't see her though. I made plans to stay with this other chick, my ex-girlfriend in fact. So I declined. I spent the whole weekend declining pussy. I can't get that "Batshit" scenario out of my mind, and thanks to y'all (yes, y'all!!!) I'm scared shitless about Glenn Close type activity, STDs, and general psychotic episodes. Thanks niggas!

Anyway, Friday night when I first arrived I ran into one of my frat brothers (no, I'm not telling which frat) downtown at the Detroit Jazz Festival. He wanted me to play "wingman" all night, i.e. distract the one broad while he talked to her friend. That role is easy enough, no pressure. I ran into so many exes and almost exes it wasn't funny. And all of them seemed to be handing out coochie coupons. It was tough sticking to my guns but I was cool. I ended up at my ex's house that night and slept like a baby.

Saturday was non-stop phone calls from women I hadn't been in contact with in ages. Phone call after phone call. I went to see the lady that maintains my hair or as they tend to refer to themselves my "loctitician". To y'all she's "Dreadlady". She's 43, locs down to her ass, pretty as all get out with a beautiful body. Yeah, we used to fuck, but that was a long time ago, during my older woman phase. I had to get my shit tightened up, so I went over there and she answered the door wearing a sports bra and spandex pants. My pants got tighter.

She's doing my hair standing in front of me to get the top as I sit. I'm looking at her camel toe, right? I look up at her face and she's concentrating. So I say to Dreadlady, "Are you ever gon' let me fuck again?" Where did that come from? Damn! What did I just do? "You fucked me and threw me away. You never took me out, you never did anything. You just came over and fucked me. All the time." She never even looked at my face. "Ahhh, Dreadlady, you know it wasn't like that. I was a busy nigga and shit." My vocabulary steadily declines the longer I'm in Detroit. "No, you did as little as you could get away with. As little as I let you get away with." People if y'all haven't guessed, I'm kind of a people pleaser. It's a major fault, but I don't like to disappoint people. That shit makes for great kudos at work and in social organizations, but functionally it sucks. "Listen", I say, "after you finish my hair let's go out. Let's do something you want to do." She smiles, "I'm not fucking you. Don't expect to get any." I smile, 'cuz I know better.

We went out and she got to hold on to me and feel good. I got to take out a beautiful woman with a beautiful ass. And everything was cool. I brought her home a few hours later, walked her to the door, kissed her on the cheek...and walked away. She waited for the sales pitch and I declined. As I said earlier, thanks niggas.

I came home earlier today to get a jump on budget issues and other things for Tuesday, so I disappointed a lot of people. But not myself. (How's that for a Doogie Howser assed ending?)

Peece and Wuv,

Friday, September 02, 2005


Hey good people, what's poppin'? It is 5:14 am right now and I'm blogging. Why would I be doing such a thing at such an ungodly hour? You know it's gotta be good, right?

Well, I just got kicked out of "Batshit's" house. Just like that. "I need some time alone." I know what you're thinking, "Zed, what the fuck did you do to warrant such a response?" The short answer is I fucked the shit out of her and she was feeling guilty about giving up the ass, but let me flesh it out a bit.

I guess you've all read the previous post about how she gave me the ol' 68. I was pissed but I kind of just put it behind me. I live so far off in the boondocks that it was going to take me at least a few months to find another single black female to even be cool with. She called me yesterday and asked if she could come to my office to see me. I was pretty bored having just left a series of meetings, so I told her it was cool.

"Batshit" came in looking good, all made up with a pretty dress on. She closed my office door behind her and came to sit on my lap. This was a first. She began to kiss me all over my face. Another first. She started talking dirty to me, "My pussy is sooo wet". Yet another first. In fact, so many firsts, it was beginning to look like an Ebony/Jet Black History textbook. She stood in front of me and lifted her dress to reveal she wasn't wearing panties. Then she came back closer to me to rub my dick. It was a tremendous display of freakiness for a woman who just a couple of days prior I couldn't even tell found me sexually attractive. When she finally left my office I was determined I would fuck the next time I saw her.

I had to preside over an advisory board meeting in the evening, so I talked to her late, around 10:00 pm. "Batshit" invited me over. I brought condoms.

I came in and almost immediately had a face full of pussy. Again. I am kind of partial to eating pussy, so it's hard for me to say "Fuck that, I'm not eating her pussy". It just sort of happens organically. So I'm sucking the clit, right? "Batshit" says "Did you bring condoms?" I nod. I don't talk with my mouth full. She smiles, "Come get some then." I rise and fly over to my discarded pants, fish the condoms out of the pocket and put one on.

So I'm tearing the pussy up, right? This shit feels great, and plus a nigga's ego is soaring 'cuz it's all about the hunt and the capture for niggas. We finish. She's holding me. Then, slowly, the "Batshit" I remember comes back. "I need to tell you something." Oh shit. "You're not the only guy I'm seeing. I'm seeing two other guys." In reality I'm thinking "That's it? Stop being so dramatic about that shit." But there was something else at work with me. I had put in so much time just kicking it with "Batshit" I really did like her more than as a potential fuck partner. I started to feel a little upset, kind of betrayed. So now, in my mind this broad becomes "Nola Darling" and I'm that big headed light skinned nigga "Jamie" and this is a scene from "She's Gotta Have It". I start feeling like a chump and I realize that I've let my guard down in this little city. This shit don't happen to me. None of these little difficulties would have happened to me in Detroit. But I've let my guard down in this city, so I'm really mad at myself for being a sucker. I tell her "I really have put you at the forefront of my social circle. I don't really appreciate being one of three like this", I say hypocritically. "Batshit" also tells me that what we did violated her pact with God. She feels she has betrayed Him by breaking the promise that she'd only have sex again with husband. Yeah, folks, I know. She not only invited me over after what happened last night, she initiated the sex. She is really living up to her name, but I'm really too tired to argue and I fall asleep.

I'm awakened a couple of hours later by "Batshit" grinding her pelvic bone on my thigh. She's moaning and putting my hand on her snatch. Dick is at attention. I grab another rubber and I'm in it. This time it's a little more in synch, a little wilder, a little rougher. This shit feels great. Again we finish. It is 4:46 am according to her alarm clock and she gets up to run a bath. I lay there for a few minutes and then I get up to see her. She's sitting in the bathtub looking straight ahead. I go back to the bed and fall asleep. "Batshit" comes back to the bedroom wrapped in a towel and asks me to leave. "I need some time alone."

So there you have it, one more episode in the Boondock Chronicles.

Take it easy,

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Clam Dinner

Hey Negritos Frio, how you been? Me? I'm just chillin'. I had a little movement in the "Batshit" relations last night. I thought you'd like to hear about it.

I had to attend a BBQ last night with city officials. I spent most of the night talking to a city commissioner who was curiously interested in the eating habits of black people. Under the auspices of concern about hypertension and diabetes in the black community, she asked me a host of questions. "Do you eat okra? How about grits? Fried chicken?" After that highly offensive littany of inquiries, I was about ready to get home. Upon leaving the barbeque, I called "Batshit" because she asked me to call after I left. Yeah, I know, I'm pitiful. Anyway, she asked me to stop through. Me being alone in the boonies with nothing else better to do, I obliged.

I was kickin' back at her place sitting on the floor in front of her while she lounged on the couch. Her feet dangled off the couch over my left shoulder. After our little fucked up discussion yesterday, I tried to keep it cool with her. But sometimes a nigga is just a nigga. So I pops some toes in my mouth. She gets very quiet. Very quiet. I'm still sucking toes. "You a freak", she says smiling seductively. I pull the toes out of my mouth, "Why would you say that?". "You know you makin' me wet." I smile, "Heaven forbid you let me eat your coochie." I hate that euphemism, but most women hate the word "pussy" to come out of a man's mouth. She ignores the comment. "I'm going to go take a shower."

I sit on the couch and wait. Most women reading this know the deal, but I am absolutely clueless as to what she's thinking or what's going to happen next. She gets out of the shower with a nightgown and a satin robe and returns to the couch. "Would you rub my back?" "I think I can do that", I manage to say while grinning like an idiot. As I'm rubbing her back through her nightgown and robe, it rides up revealing panty-less cakes. After a while I stop. "I'm getting sleepy. I think I'll go home". "Are you asking me to stay?" she says. "Do you want me to stay?" "Are you trying to spend the night here?" she says. "Stop playing. Why can't you just admit you'd like me to stay?" "Why don't you just ask to stay?" She's holding my hand now. "Alright, I'll stay." I say making sure it's a statement and not me asking permission.

We go to her bedroom, she takes off her robe, I get undressed and get in the bed. She asks "Are you tired?" I say "No", clearly contradicting my very reason for spending the night. "Could you finish my back rub?" I start rubbing her back again, this time lifting up her nightgown so that I can feel her naked back. I rub steadily, getting sleepier by the second. I look down at her ass, naked in all it's glory and then I get focused. I began to kiss her back, then lick it, starting at the top and going down. I pay special attention to the small of her back, then I begin to kiss the cheeks. "Batshit" is very still and breathing heavily. I go down to the back of her thigh, softly kissing it. And then...the tongue, right on the clit. She moans softly and opens her legs. Voila!

So I eats it, right? Tears it up. She wants to fuck. "You got any condoms?" "Yeah, in my truck. Let me go get 'em." "Naw, don't go get 'em. We don't need to be doing this anyway. I'm trying to live right by the Lord." And that my friend is the anatomy of a 68. She got hers and I was left with a mighty hard hard-on.

She called me this morning and told me that she didn't think we should get in that situation anymore, that she wanted to save herself for the husband the Lord was going to bring her. I hope that nigga at least gets a hand job 'cause I didn't get shit, but a mouthful of pubes! It sure was convenient to remember her religious leanings after she got her clit sucked on. I will never eat another pussy again without a sworn oath of reciprocity from said recipient. You can bank on that.