Monday, October 31, 2005

A Bathing Ape

Say Niggas, what's words? I just wanted to reflect on some shit. This blog is for me, not you, so you just gon' hafta deal as I talk about something you probably don't wanna hear. File this under T.M.I.

I take baths about 3 times a week. I'm not Rev. Run and shit, I hate them. I love showers, but sometimes a nigga gotta soak. My main reason is that I'm fucking two "squirters". Do you know what I mean? Women who have squirting orgasms. Your fucking bed looks like a pool when you're done. I'm constantly washing sheets. You gotta take a bath to get the smell of pussy completely off. That shit goes everywhere. Squirting is some disgusting shit, but it's like tangible proof that you're putting in work.

The first time I ever hooked up with a "squirter" was in 1995. I had just graduated from college and I was visiting campus to see some friends. I ran into one girl that I used to know (that I never had sex with)I'll call "Squishy". My boy Three had hooked up with a girl and he wanted me to wait for him. I had no place to go, so I ended up at her crib waiting for my boy. Squishy asked me why I never stepped to her. I told her I thought we'd be better friends. One thing led to another (doesn't it always?) and we ended up in the sack. So I'm eating the pussy, right? She's grabbing my 'fro yelling that she's about to come. "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" and roooosh, I almost fucking drown. I got up mad as fuck. "Did you just piss on me?" "No, that's the way I cum." "Get the fuck outta here! Who cums like that?" She wasn't lying though.

I'm in a situation now where I'm having sex with two squirters and it's a trying assed time. It takes a lot of extra hygiene and a lot of washing to stay on top of the situation, but I'm managing. It's hard being a 6'3", 300 pound nigga sitting in a standard tub. So far, it's been worth it.

Stay Dry,

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Turn Off The TV

Hey y'all. I'm always complaining about these yungstas, saying they watch too many fuckin' videos. These young niggas imitate everything they see and think everything they see is alright. Well, my hypocritical ass just found an old photo of me from December 1993/January 1994. I was near my apartment just off Michigan State's campus (Cedar Village for y'all Spartans). My whole style was stolen directly from Q-Tip and the "Award Tour" video.

Lousy nigga. I think I'll shut the fuck up now.


Friday, October 28, 2005


S'up Killas? I'm recovering from class last night, which I hate dearly. My boss asked me to attend this primer on government's internal bureaucratic workings with some of our city commissioners. The class started about six weeks ago at a university extension center. It is both an insult and a burden.

I have a master's degree in Public Administration. Have had one since 1999. Why in the fuck do I need an introductory course in bureaucracy? This class runs from 6:30 to 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. The commissioners insisted on carpooling. That means when all is said and done I'm commonly not at home until 10:00 pm. From taking a class I don't fucking need or want to attend. So in a situation like this all I do is watch people.

When we get to class each week, they have a local caterer supply food for everyone. I can't believe they actually pay this bitch. Every week it's like a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Popcorn and peanut butter sandwiches, cookies and chili, ham slices and apples. Shit with no nutritional value or complimentary tradition. How the fuck cookies and chili go together? This non-meal building hoe is collecting a check for this shit.

I heard a lesbian comedian say this once, but I didn't know how true it was. Do you think you can tell the difference between a midwestern farm wife and a "butch"? Not that they're mutually exclusive, but I'll bet you couldn't the difference. All these women were looking like Davy Jones circa 1967. Broads giving me hard looks and shit. We're already out in farm country, I'm the only black man out here on pitch black roads. If I go out, I'm going out with a fight.

My Thursday nights are shot. I still haven't seen "Everybody Hates Chris". And it opens me up to a multitude of probing questions by city commissioners as we ride there and back. I'm not that fucking social. Mercifully the last session of this class in next Thursday. If I get tapped for another one like this, unlike the first time, I'll gonna have ask my boss to pick again. I've already done my time.

Fuck the Farmers,

Thursday, October 27, 2005


Yo, munkees! I rarely dream about aspirations. When I dream, it’s usually about one of two things: fighting or exams. I fight in every other dream I have. I’m usually much slower than my opponent, and he hits me much more often than I hit him. I wake up frustrated that I wasn’t able to beat this muthafucka. The other dream is a common one. I’m late for an exam that I haven’t studied for. I run to the classroom, sit in my seat and await my fate. The teacher places the exam in front of me and I don’t recognize any of the questions. It sucks.

Last night was a rare occasion. I had a dream about another subject. That subject was Elyse. Elyse is a woman I went to college with but I didn’t realize it. I used to see her around Detroit at various spots, always with a different guy. She is beautiful, even when she had adult braces a few years back. She’s about 5’6”, medium brown, high cheekbones, the prettiest (braces-enhanced) smile and she's got a “fatty”. I saw her this past Saturday at homecoming. My boy “Brundlefly” introduced me to her formally. I was like “She’s beautiful. I used to see her around the ‘D’ all the time”. Brundle told me “You don’t remember her from our dorm back in the day? She was a loud, ghetto assed chick.” I couldn’t recall at all. I just knew her from the here and now.

Anyway, last night I dreamt that she was at my house and sprung. She was strung out on dick and didn’t wanna leave. “Please Zed, let me stay.” I was accommodating as hell. “Relax, you don’t have to go anywhere.” She was holding on to my leg and shit as I tried to walk away. “Where are you going? Don’t leave”. Niggas, I wish I had it that bad with that broad.

When I woke up I had that same frustrated feeling I have when I dream about fighting. It was the strangest feeling. I’m completely non-plussed. As beautiful as she is, I’m not stupid enough to think that the dream is about getting her. In this instance, Elyse is a “MacGuffin”. The dream is essentially a question: What does it take to make you happy? I don’t know the answer, but whatever it is Elyse would make a good stand-in in the meantime.

Au Revoir, munkees

P.S. My condolences go out to Ms. KeKe for the loss of her beloved fish "Jake". That muthafucka will be missed and shit.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Lost One

"Propaganda/save it for Sevanda/Joe and Amanda/Zack and Alexandra" - Main Source, "Live at the BBQ"

Hey Illmunkerati, what gives? I'm comtemplating the worth of my existence in this organization. And it only took me 3 months! Daily I'm in my office listening to muthafuckas bitch and moan. They line up one by one and come in looking for my help and/or guidance. And it's not even my daughter's wedding day! You can't imagine how it feels to hear bullshit tales of woe and grief from these crackas who ain't seen the half.

Lately the point of contention has been Poppins. I think I told y'all before that these women hate her. I've been getting pretty sick of these muthafuckas impugning her rep. That is until yesterday. I watched some Machiavellian shit unfold before my eyes.

I was in a meeting that I was monitoring because I got some reports from attendees that Poppins was doing some ill shit. She has a tendency to take over meetings that community residents should be in control of. Earlier that day I told her to stand down. Let the people run their own agenda and if they fail, it's their failure. They'll be more willing to listen to outside advice after they fail. I saw her prep two "community members" (two friends of hers incognito) to push for an item she wanted to be a priority.

The residents smelled a rat immediately and literally ran those people out of the meeting. Literally. I'm not one of those niggas that uses a word like "literally" when I really mean "figuratively". THEY RAN THOSE FOLKS OUT OF THE MEETING. The residents then started to attack city staff. My people and myself. They accused us of setting the whole thing up.

To make a long story short (too late, right?) the city spent an enormous amount of time building community credibility and she was willing to try to tear it all down in minutes just because her ego wouldn't let her acquiesce. She had to get her way.

Because I had a personal relationship with her I wasn't willing to see what a bunch of different people were trying to tell me. That's not all. Poppins was planning the big community outreach event. She came to me saying that she needed my help to talk to the chief of police to get his cooperation. She told me that my boss signed off on the idea. Luckily I put that shit on the backburner, because he hadn't signed off on it. She would have put my livelyhood in jeopardy with that lie. Like I went behind his back to go forward with this expensive undertaking.

Nobody's perfect, but I feel betrayed because I went to bat for her a lot. That's a fuckin' understatement. Everybody here hates her ass EXCEPT me. I don't hate her now. I just wash my hands of her.

Still bobbin' and weavin',

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

A Lazy Assed Sneak Thief

Hey y'all! I'm sure you don't wanna hear about the continuing battle for my soul with Batshit, so I'm stealing from one of the three frickin' twins I know on this blog. Enjoy this self indulgent shit while I go cry in a corner. Sorry about Homecoming, Twin. I owe you one.

A - Age: 34
B - Best Friends: Three, Robyn, Ke-Ke
C - Choice of Meat: Virtually meatless
D - Dream Date: A jar of Miracle Whip, two Payday candy bars, mineral oil, and Sheryl Lee Ralph in a red licorice thong.
E - Exciting Adventure: This one time, me and my boys went to this abandoned warehouse and ....naw, I'm drawing a blank.
F - Favorite Food: Lasagna.
G - Greatest Accomplishment: Talking my way into this butter assed gig.
H - Happiest Day of Your Life: Let's just say it involved a test that read "negative"
I - Interests: women, pornography, geography, architecture, and women. And pornography.
J - Joke: "Nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga, nigga. I'm gon' keep saying it. It keeps my teeth white." - Paul Mooney
K - Kool-Aid: Lemonaid/cherry mixed.
L - Love: Virginia. Damn, I spelled that wrong. I meant "Vagina".
M - Most valued possession: Material shit is not all that important to me.
N - Name: Zedediah X. Zednanreh
O - Outfit You Love: The one she just took off.
P - Pizza Toppings: Black olives. That's it.
Q - Question Asked To You the Most: "Have you ever measured that thing?"
R - Radio Station: No black radio stations here.
S - Sport: Football
T - Television Show: Futurama/The Daily Show (tie)
U - Umbrella in the rain?: Sure, why not.
V - Video: Tip Drill by Nelly
W - Winter: I hate the cold.
X - X-rays recently?: None
Y - Year Born: 1970
Z - Zodiac Sign: "Smooth cool brown Sagitarian. Two types of marryin'/very thick or very thin." - Treach on "1,2,3"

Saturday, October 22, 2005


Say niggas, how's the weekend going? I almost took my ass to a cybercafe to post, but instead I brought my ass home. I was preparing to go to homecoming this weekend and Batshit (ya girl) was basically badgering me the whole time. She was irritated I was leaving the Anus for another weeked. We'd been getting on each others nerves for a little while now. Arguments galore. We'd had disagreements since we met, we've only been having arguments this week.

I left. I was making my way on the short trip to MSU and she called me as I was looking for the freeway exit. I was talking to her and the exit came up quick. As I tried to change lanes, I almost got hit by another car speeding up behind me. I yelled "Shit!" as I swerved, missed the other car and exited the freeway. She says to me "Why do you have to cuss?" I said "I sorry I offended you but I was almost killed. It was my initial reaction." She says "You don't respect me." "Please, let's just get off the phone." "No, tell me why you'd cuss like that when I'm on the phone?"

I lost it at that point. Honestly I can't believe I didn't lose it before then. I have a pretty quick temper anyway. "Are you fucking insane? Hunh? How the fuck can you turn me almost getting killed trying to talk to you into some sort of victimization? Is it always about you? You must be out yo' fuckin' mind." Batshit responds "Look you are taking this way out of proportion. You need to calm down." Now, I know I need to calm down, but the last thing an upset nigga wants to hear is "calm down". She asks "Why are you always so angry?" I hung up.

I got to my hotel, checked in, and got to my room. I sat down for a minute and my celly rang. Batshit starts "I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you..." I interrupted "I almost got killed and you made it about you. If you wanted to have a fight about how much I respect you, you picked the battle at the wrong time." She says "I'll let you go."

That incident colored my whole weekend. The little Greek basketball tourney, the party, the tailgating. It all sucked because I was mad the whole time. I couldn't enjoy myself. The topper was seeing Jayne Kennedy. I was talking to my boy Three and he saw one of his friends. They were talking and JK walked up and hugged me. "Hey Zed!" "What's up, Jayne." Three's boy turned and said "Hey Three, this is my woman, JK." And I was introduced to her man.

Well, there you have it. My weekend in a nutshell. I didn't even stay Saturday night. I came back home. It fell far below my expectations, but sometimes you just can't predict these things.

Keep Doing Whatcha Do,

Friday, October 21, 2005

Halcyon Days

My people, my people. Can you feel it? The electricity in the air. Not really but I'm trying to convey a mood. It's Homecoming weekend at MSU and I get to go back to the stomping grounds. Now, it is what it is, a big white institution with limited luv for blacks. Homecoming ain't exactly what people like SJ are used to. It's corny at times and a little stiff, but when the Black Alumni get together, the shit is fantastic.

My love for my school is a direct reflection of what I became there. I started college in 1987 when I was 16, valedictorian of my high school. I was a virgin and generally an uncool nigga. A big ass bookworm with limited social skills and an oversized ego. When I was interested in a woman I would leave notes on her dorm room door asking if we could go to the cafeteria together (damn, that was painful to write). Mind you, I came from the 'hood and hood circumstances, but I was still a little sheltered.

By the time I graduated, I had been kicked out of school twice, been in several fights, helped take over the administration building for eight days, had 4 majors, made a baby (she didn't keep it), stole test answers for money, stole anything that wasn't nailed down on every job I had, and managed to graduate at the bottom of my class. My boys used to take bets daily on whether or not I'd go to class that day. I only read for leisure, only about overthrowing the government. I was a disillusioned nutcase. In general I went from nerd to scuzzball lunatic.

In the years since graduating in 1994 (yes, nigga, seven years after I started), I had to reconcile my two selves, the square and the delinquent. I've done a pretty good job of not being too square or too much of a miscreant, so I guess in general the school did me good.

I would not be the man I am today without the experiences good and bad at MSU. I luv the school for the WAY I learned shit. I was a stuck up wanna be preppy from a desolate ghetto. I was thrown in with the people I thought I wanted to be like and learned how empty it was. I thought I knew it all and found out there were better lessons to be learned. This weekend, I'm celebrating the journey.

Go Green,

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Origin of Tha Munkee

Hey kids, whatcha know good? Now that I've brought you into my sick, little world, I thought it would be a good time to let you know how a few things got started. The first thing I'll address is Munkeespeak, also known as Munkeecode, Munkeetalk or just plain Munkee.

It started in 1989 (my third year in college) with me and my best friend "Bugz". We were huge fans of the comedian Robin Harris. We listened to his comedy tape over and over. To this day I have every line memorized. You know how some comedians say a standard word or phrase that they deliver like no one else can? For instance, for Dave Chappelle the word is "bitch". For Wanda Sykes the word is "bastard". For Robin Harris it was "munkee ass". "Go sit down wit yo' munkee ass".

Me and Bugz said it relentlessly, imitating his drawl. "Look at her munkee ass. All pretty and shit." Munkee ass was the phrase de jour.

Of course as time passed I used it less and less, especially since me and Bugz didn't go to the same college. Occasionally I'd dust off that ol' chestnut when I was in the mood. It was the perfect storm when me and Robyn became GOOD friends around 1995. She and I had known each other a little bit in passing on campus and back home in Detroit. She was the fly chick in the black Altima. I got to know her pretty well in 1993, but '95 we were pretty tight.

Anyway somehow she and I started to shorten "munkee ass" to just "munkee". "Hey man, sit yo' munkee." "Wash yo' munkee." Just stupid shit. If I call her on the phone the greeting is "Hey munkee!" If I got a problem she'll say "Uh oh, what did your munkee do?"

Then it was more or less generalized. A "munkee" for the most part is a person, but it can always be used to talk about a situation or an object. "Whose munkee is this?" "Where's my munkee?" Is there a big crowd? "Who released the munkees?"

Robyn, not Bugz, is the true co-creator of Munkeespeak. We can talk forever in Munkeetalk and amuse ourselves for hours. One time we were out at a bar talking and we sucked an unsuspecting eavesdropper into our sinister web. We ended up talking to her for a couple of hours explaining to her the ins and outs of Munkee-ese.

It's stupid, we invented it, and it's our shit. Nah!

Munkeetionally Yours,

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Munkeefood, Part 3: Fear of Success

Hey Killas, did ya miss me? I hope not. I've been spending the work week getting thoroughly immersed in otha folks problems. That shit has been soaking up my soul. I listen and I attempt to solve staff issues, but these niggas is just babies most of the time. Why do you give a fuck if that bitch don't like you? She's not your boss, you don't even have to interact with her on a professional level. Why bring it to the Director level? Idiots.

Mostly, this week got me ta thinking about this unbreakable tether tied to my ankle known as "the fear of success". That shit is as big a part of my makeup as anything. I've known forever that I'm good at everything that I try. Usually very good. I'm not bragging, it's just the way it is. But it hardly ever manifests itself into how good I'm willing to let people KNOW that I am. Let me explain: If you see me do well, you'll be expecting it over and over. That brings pressure, which causes me to worry, which I do a lot of anyway. That's why I'm reluctant to do well publicly. The spectre of expectations looms ominously in the background.

Now I know what y'all niggas are saying. You're saying "Zed, that's some ol' loser shit." Well munkees, I'm saying "Kiss my ass!" I half ass almost everything I do (I said "almost everything" ladies, so don't worry) with better results than most people that really try. I'm afraid of what would happen if I really went "balls out" and did something spectacular. Then, the world would beat a path to my door. Niggas, do not come to my door. I hate that shit.

There's always comfort in failure, too. If I fail, I can feel solace in the fact that I didn't try hard in the first place. That, my friend, is some loser shit. But I can own up to it.

One day I know that I'll be considered the cream of my profession and it won't take a lot of effort. It's honestly a waste of a gift and I hate myself for it. I could be doing so much more. That's just one more part of me that I recognize and that I'm trying to improve.

Make Peace Not Whore,

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Quid Pro Quo

Say y'all, how's it hangin'? Lean and mean I hope. I just got back from the Metro area, doing my thing, checking out "Thelma". It was a quality control thing. It let me remember the shit I'm used to instead of the shit I'm actually getting in Satan's Anus.

I forgot about the fuckin' home improvement projects I end up embarking on when I'm at her house. It's always something. It was painting last time I was there, now it's yard work. Women always tend to do this to men. Pack mule 'em when they get a guy over to the crib so they can get something for the "put out". Good ol' fashioned quid pro quo.

Thelma told me she's got a problem with my arrogance. It's not the first time I've heard this, but it's the first time I ever heard it from her. It's probably better that I just keep it movin' and not think ultimately I'll end up with her.

Over the fucking weekend I got 16 calls from Batshit. 16. From Friday night to Sunday morning. Voicemails like "I miss you. When can I see you?" I can't wait to leave this fucking place. I got a love hate relationship with the "D" but I'd definitely take that over this assbox.

I'm meditating today. Trying to focus and be ready for the week.


Thursday, October 13, 2005

If Ballsacs Had Nostrils

Say hey, Munkeelitos! This day has been really fucked up! Extremely fucked up! And I can't really event go into details. Some shit y'all just can't know. I'll let you in on a little of this shit.

The women in my office are going haywire. They beefin'. Tough. They fucking hate each other and are at each other's throats. Guess who's gotta stop the age old feuds and shit like a backwoods Farrakhan? Yep, ya boy ol' Knockout. One secretary hates another secretary because she's getting over by finagaling an office. Another secretary somehow got a handicapped permit and gets to park in the pay lot for free (how dare that arthiritic kneed bitch!) and the other one's are hating. One receptionist has gotten siddity and high falutin' since she got that fancy fuckin' degree from Satan's Anus University. It's all one big melange of bullshit, my nigga.

So I'm the nigga dealing with all the emails, snide remarks, the abuse of position and any other shit they can think of. On top of having a million meetings to go to and listen to whitey sing the blues. Half long, twice strong muthafuckas. Brevity. Conciseness. Unheard of concepts. Shut the fuck up you half witted ass-drone.

I went to this Young Professionals networking gig at the little art museum here with Jayne Kennedy. Instead of being able to get to know her better, she brings her girl with her. A gotdamn buffer. You rotten bitch. Anyway, I'm there with two beautiful women which does me not fucking good. No other black women there, so I got a monopoly. Her girl, as I've stated, is a dime. She got a man too. So I'm listening to these chicks talk about their men. Where's the fucking exit? I had been taking classes from 6:30 pm to 9:30 pm on Thursday nights. I blew it off to come check out JK and this is the shit I get? I didn't invite her to this shit, she invited me. "I don't want to be there alone." I chilled for a while then I left and caught half the class. I wash my hands of that 'ho.

When I came back from class, I called Batshit. She was sounding down. "What's the matter with you?" "I'm about to be 33 and I don't have a baby." "Yo, I'll call you back." That's the very last thing I fuckin' wanna hear. I ain't havin' that discussion, not tonight and not with her.

I don't like dwelling on shit I could've done better, but I made a major mistake recently and I can't take it back. That shit is compounded on all this other little shit. I'm not gonna dwell on if and buts. Shit, if ballsacs had nostrils, fragrant nuts would be the norm. But that's not the case.

Keep Risin',

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

There's No "i" In "Buttfuck"

Hey niggas, just reloadin' and shit. I went to lunch today with the Deputy City Manager. She's a black woman, extremely professional. Good ass person. If I ever descend into the dark cavernous abyss of Beelzebub (i.e., get married) again, it would be to a woman like that. Real sharp and shit. Hannibalette (that's what I'm calling her) asked me to lunch because she found out I was friends (and frat brother) to her favorite nephew. So we kicked it.

She squoze (is that a word) me for every drop of information on my department she could. The inside scoop. I did the same from her on a citywide basis. Her insight was amazing. She let me know where all the pitfalls would like and who I was likely to clash with. Hannibalette told me to watch out for the fall of Poppins, 'cuz she always wears out her welcome very quickly. She told me I should be running my department in a matter of months because my boss has a distaste for the day to day dealings (shit, so do I !!!).

Hannibalette also told me that she wants to retire soon. "You should be readying yourself to step into my shoes", she said. Fuck that, I'm going to the Big fucking Apple, I thought. But I listened politely. The one thing she did that was invaluable was to run down every there who has fucked black people over every chance they've gotten. Some were crackas I suspected that hate niggas, others flew under the radar. It was a good long list. I made a note of it but by no means did I think it was comprehensive.

She also gave me a heads up on HR. "Don't tell them any shit you wanna keep personal. They talk to everybody about everything." I figured as much, I don't trust HR muthafuckas in general (right, shemunkee?).

The bottom line is to watch out for the fuckin', 'cuz it's-a-comin'.

But you all knew that, didn't you?

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Unfounded Arrogance

Hey Kids, what's shakin'? I'll try to follow up last night's/this morning's ramblings with some coherence. Do any of y'all know an extra patriotic muthafucka? I don't necessarily mean black, and I don't necessarily mean toward America. Just a muthafucka completely down for his/her country of origin? What about a braggin' muthafucka that might flex on how much dough his/her family got? Or a broad who always talks about her "husband" like the nigga don't have a name? I'm talking about unfounded arrogance, puffin' out ya chest over shit you really have no control over.

Why the fuck walk around "proud" because an incidental thing, like where ya moms pussy was when you was born happened to be in America? On NYC? Or LA? Or Cleveland? Niggas, you had nothing to do with it. Where's the pride in that? Stop boasting, bitch.

What about the nigga who hasn't done SHIT and his mother/father is a doctor or some shit like that? Do you know this nigga? 'Cuz I know about a dozen of these jackasses. Niggas that will inherit money someday, but haven't done shit to earn their own keep. I grew up in a two parent home. A lot of my friends didn't. Should I be proud because my daddy didn't leave my momma? Why? Is that shit brag worthy? I didn't have shit to do with it. I've heard niggas brag about the fact that they're parents are still together. What the fuck did you have to do with that?

I know women who exasperate their single girl friends. Every word out of their mouths is "My husband is husband is that." Trust me, that broad knows that nigga's name. She probably fucked him before you did. Just say his fucking name. My ex-wife used to do that shit. I'd ask her to stop showing out. Just say my name. She thought I was overreacting, but according to women I know, that shit is kinda showy. They likely only do that to their single friends, too. What are you gonna call him when he leaves you for that big titty broad in Accounting? "That nigga Jerome", that's what.

You got a big ass? Genetics, likely. A big dick? Genetics, again. Petite? Likely genetics. Seven feet tall? It's in the genes muthafucka.

Read a gotdamn book. Exercise your fucking mind. Show some will power. Improve yourself. Identify things you'd like to change about yourself and change them. But for goodness sake, stop bragging about stuff you had no control over. Get a fucking life and stop imposing your mediocre ass personality on the rest of us.

Improve Your Mind, Nigga,

Up Without Smoke

What's up Hottentots? I'm tired as fuck, but I'm not sleepy. I can't sleep. I was lying in bed just thinking about shit and I had to get up. I wish I could smoke. Yeah, I smoke occasionally, but just Djarums and shit. I actually feel like getting lifted. I haven't "smoked" since my wedding day.

I got married in Negril, Jamaica on December 24, 2000. It rained most of the week I was there. Me and my best man bought some stuff on the beach one night. We smoked it 3 hours before my wedding. That was one of the stupidest things I'd ever done in my life. We got so high we were giggling like little girls and shit for the next 3 hours. That nigga's nose started bleeding onto his white shirt as my wife started walking down the aisle. As we were reciting our vows, I actually had to fight an urge to run at full speed into the Carribean Sea. Needless to say, that was a fucking precursor to things to come.

I don't really have shit to talk about but I felt like blogging and shit. I'll be a little conversational. E.T. was texting me all fucking day long. About little shit. I talked to Jayne Kennedy on the phone for about 40 minutes and shit. Feeling her out. It was unproductive. Batshit is in her rare ass form. She invited me out for coffee after work. She's as beautiful as she is crazy, so you know she's a dime. She spent a lot of time talking about her favorite subject: money. I hate that shit. I'm always broke, but I hate talking about money to people. Can you tell it's late for me? Friday I went to the dermatologist and she insisted on going with me. What the fuck was that all about? Bonding? Fuck that.

Did I tell y'all about the Training Specialist in HR? I don't think I did. It was a little embarrassing. This chick is like a 40 year old white woman. Anyway, the day I went home to Detroit, the week before last, she called me in the office and asked me out to dinner. Now, what kind of arrogance have black men given to white women to make them believe that we'd take any piece of shit broad out because her skin is white? This broad is old looking and used up looking. Anyway, I declined. I saw her when I got back at Target. I was there trying to replace toiletries and shit that got stolen. I only had two things in my basket at the time: 2-twelve packs of Magnum condoms.

She stopped to talk to me and shit and she kept looking in the basket. I honestly forgot what I had in the basket until she walked away with a stupid look on her face. I felt like an ass. Do you think she'll leave me alone now?
What the fuck ever.

Anyway, I'm about to go watch ATHF.

Peace out niggas,

Monday, October 10, 2005

Ass Scratchin'

Hey y'all, what gives? As the title implies, I'm not doing a damn thing worth mentioning. I am however observing a situation that bears noting. The staff here is overwhelmingly white, which I've mentioned before. There are about 7 black employees here (not counting myself) out of 56 total in the department. And there is a feeling by the black employees that they are not given as much leeway when SNAFUs or FUBARs happen. So they sulk and piss and moan.

This little town is a liberal island in the midst of conservative thought. They've had a history of racial flare ups that they've sought to solve as opposed to bludgeoning black folks into submission. So I gotta give these hicks a little credit with that. What they don't see from the management end is that I see these cats bending over backwards to diffuse shit black folks have started. Shit that would be fireable offenses every where else I've ever worked. They exercise zero tolerance for white people, wide assed berths for black people. At least that's what I've seen in the little time I've been here.

The union guy that represents the staff level employees comes to me. He's black. He tells me I gotta do a better job in looking out for black people that work for me. I listen to this nigga, right? Let him finish his spiel. Then I lay into this muthafucka. "If it was up to me the rules would be laid out equitably for everyone. No one is above rules agreed upon by the union and management. If we were to follow those rules, we probably wouldn't have any black employees. You need to stress professionalism to all of your members across the board."

This cat was livid. Accused me of being every type of sellout in the book. What this idiot failed to realize is that (1) I'm definitely going to look out for black people every chance I get. It's in my makeup, no matter how much shit I talk to the contrary. (2) What the fuck do I look like givin' this nigga ammunition to throw up in my face when he's got a union ax to grind and he's talking to white folks in administration? "Zed told me he'd look out for us." That ol' nigga!

Bottom line is most of these cats do be (I said "do be") fuckin' up. From coming in late as fuck, to extending their lunch hour and going home to get dick and/or pussy (and coming back smelling like it!), to wearing low cut shit cut down to their navels, to re-selling city provided perks (parking passes, etc.). These muthafuckas try it all and we accommodate them.

I'm a pretty conservative thinking nigga (I said "conservative" NOT "Republican"). If it was up to me these cats would be, at the extreme, fired, or at the least, made to go to professionalism training or something. But they will understand, if it's between my job and your job, nigga, it's your job!

Ease Back,

Saturday, October 08, 2005

The Innateness of True Self

The Weekend At A Glance

Yo folks, what's happening? I just came back from the movies. I saw "A History of Violence". I know cats are supposed to derive a deeper meaning from the movie, but trust me I didn't. Fuck depth, that shit was fun to watch. The only thing that caught me as having any weight was that when a crisis arises, we revert back to the shit we know best. The shit that comes natural to us.

Anyway, I'm fucking rolling solo 'cuz I'm dodging women. Last night I was out with Poppins and E.T. at this bar. A really white bar except for the occassional sista strolling through and the occassional brotha with his white chick. I didn't see one black couple. I was drinking Guiness and talking shit all night. Man, was I drunk. Poppins and E.T. were having a contest to see who could tie the most cherry stems together with their tongues. They asked me to try, but I declined. "I can't find the clit on a cherry stem, so why bother?" When the evening was winding down, I walked to my car with these women following me. "Let's do this, let's do that." I was fucking tired. I just wanted to sleep. So I left and I slept Friday night away.

I told Batshit that I had a friend coming into town to see me. She was pissed. At least she kept saying she was pissed. She told me to move on and then she got pissed when I was telling her I did. Eggy told me she was coming to town this weekend, too. I told her I had a friend coming into town to see me so that wouldn't work. She was bothered by that. I can't blame her, I guess.

Of course, that shit's a lie. There is no friend coming to town this weekend, but no one wants to accept that I just want a drama free weekend for once. I wanna fucking be alone and I think that the first time it's really been that way since I've been here. So the crisis arose and I went back to what I know best: lying to women. It's been a good weekend so far.


Do you many heterosexual black men that use the word "supper" on a regular basis? "Hey baby, I'm starving. What's for supper?" Shit, or black women for that matter? It's a pretty gay ass word, but if you heard it come out of a white man's mouth you wouldn't give it a second thought. This white guy was talking to me the other day about some shit he saw on TV. He said the that the shit was funny, but he didn't say it like that. "I'm telling you man, it was a hoot." A hoot? What type of bitch are you? A hoot? You fuckin' homo!

The reason for me bringing this shit up is I'm trying to compile a list of words like this and get brothers to use them in conversation to gauge the reaction of people. It's a little social experiment for a bigger purpose. Please give me as many of these words as you can. I'd appreciate it.

Hiding Out Like Salman Rushdie (circa 1994),

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Education Means Nothing

Hey y'all. I was reading an article the other day about Fantasia from American Idol and her struggle with illiteracy. Actually the struggle is with literacy, 'cuz illiteracy is in charge! Anyway I'm here to tell ol' Boot Mouth, formal education don't mean shit. Ig'nant muthafuckas with degrees proliferate.

I was on a date with E.T. last night. We went to the Olive Garden. Yeah, I know, but this passes for upscale italian food in the boonies. We're sitting down and the waiter comes up and asks for our drink orders. E.T. tells ol' boy she'd like some Pinot Grigio. Sounds cool, right. Hell naw, she pronounces it Pee-NOT Gree-JOE. I start laughing and shit, 'cuz I think she's being funny. She was dead serious, looking at me like "why are you laughing?". So I said, "You must be a connoisseur, hunh?" She was like "Yeah, I always be throwin' wine tastin' parties and stuff."

The rest of the night she was talking about her gig, her friends and family, and her MAN (I'll get to this). Let me tell you all something you might not know about me: I stay on an anti-bullshit crusade. This broad was talking about her "playmama" (WTF? older woman she admires, maybe?) and her "godsisters" (not even close to a church sanctioned designation) and her "playcousins" (friends?). I abhor that shit. It makes you sound like a fucking 10 year old. I would say that this is a major reason I don't regularly date women under 30, but that would lead you to the assumption that women over 30 don't talk about this same dumb shit. This chick has a B.S. in Biology and a M.A. in Education. Them degrees don't buy you shit in the way of actual intelligence or sophistication.

Anyway, she starts talking about her man, this dude she met online from Chicago. She's been kicking it with him for a few months. Actually I would have been upset had I liked her at this point, but I just rolled with the flow. What I take to be the gist of this situation is that the dick is a little too far away and she wouldn't mind if I picked up some of the slack (pun intended, yardies). She didn't put it on the table like that but, shit, she asked me out, I didn't ask her out. She didn't want me to leave that cold ass restaurant (judging by her nipples, it was damn cold!). E.T. extended that date as long as she could. But I jetted as soon as I could.

The bottom line is I think she's a bit of a "gump". I'm not feeling her, but the colder it gets here, the more likely it is that I'll hit. That's the story.

Viva Fantasia,

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Things Can Only Get Better

I am a child of 80's pop music. I'm a fan of music that a hardcore nigga should get slapped for even knowing about. I came up on Human League, Duran Duran, Thomas Dolby, ABC, a whole host of soft soap assed music that niggas in my hood let me know was unacceptable. One of my favorite artists during this period was Howard Jones. He had a few hits, one of the most notable was "Things Can Only Get Better". This song has been running through my head all night. I think I know why.

Scene 1
Yesterday I went to lunch with a bunch of people including E(xtra).T(itties)., the chick from that dinner thing I went to last week. Afterwards, as people were leaving, she and a friend of hers stuck around kicking with me about investments. Just chatting and shit. Then it's like she and her girl are tag-team interviewing me. My likes, dislikes, who I'm dating, what I do for fun, stuff like that. I'm being kinda blunt with them. I can't explain why but I was saying some off the cuff shit. "Man, my credit is fucked up. I ain't investing in shit. I love easy women. Leave the hard work for smooth niggas." Just talking shit. As we were leaving, ET asked if I'd like to go out for drinks tomorrow after work. I said cool and the date was made.

Scene 2
I was working on a document for staff yesterday when I got an incoming e-mail from Jayne Kennedy. I had no contact with her since we went to lunch that day. She was inviting me to an art exhibit/young professionals networking event next week. I emailed her back, "It's ok if you just wanna go out with me. I won't tell. We don't have to act like it's just a networking event." She emails back, "You're so silly. :-) I just want someone I know to be there." Folks, I'm the muthafuckin' stranger in town. She's from here and lived here all her life. You don't think she could've gotten someone else to go with her so she wouldn't be alone? I wrote back, "I'll go, but only so I can see you." "I'll see you Thursday!" she responded. Is she just using me to look like she got a date? Probably, but that won't be the first or last time someone underestimated my determination to get into their pants. You just started some shit I gots ta finish JK!

Scene 3
Batshit got back from Asia yesterday so I went to check her out. We kicked it, went to Mongolian Barbeque (to give her flashbacks of her trip) then when back to her crib. A little relaxing, a little lingerie, a little massaging, and a lotta fucking ensued. After we finished, she told me she couldn't keep trying to separate the sex from her emotions. She said that it was putting her in a bad place spiritually and that was the last time we'd have sex. I said "OK" and fell asleep. She woke me up twice to ask me how come I wasn't more upset. I told her, I said "Batshit, " cuz that what I calls her, I says "Batshit, we knew it would come to this. I told you a long time ago we were incompatible. You know we're incompatible. Why try to fight it? This wouldn't work out long term anyway. " I slept horribly for 3 hours and got up to go home.

All in all, yesterday was a damn good day. I got two potentials and a bad seed might be off my team. It's definitely better than my weekend.

Y'all Keep It Clean For Me Next Time,

Monday, October 03, 2005

What's In A Name?

Hey peoples? This post is sooooo lightweight it'll blow away in a stiff breeze. I'm sick of talking to my boss about where my budget shit is, to my cell phone company about getting a new phone, to my bank about stopping payment on a series of checks, and to the auto glass people who are late coming to my job to fix my window. My shit is gone and I'm sick of talking about it. So I'ma do what most bloggers do: talk about a pet peeve.

My shit's not really a peeve, it's a piss. I don't get peeved, I get pissed. So my pet piss for today is non-evocative names. I mean names that don't call to mind a damn thing. I hope I don't offend any of y'all, but then again you don't pick your own name so why get offended?

The shit I hate is a name like Gary. What the fuck? Is that a strong man's name? No, it's just a name. Gary. It's pussy as all get out. Kyle is another one. Kyle. Is Kyle coming to rescue you? Nope. Kyle is too busy sucking his lover's dick.

There are a gang of them: Joel, Josh, Jayce, and that's just the damn Js. These names are nonstarters. You don't know what the fuck you're gonna get when you see that name written down. I guess some people like that bland shit but it's a cowardly assed way to name your seed.

I'm not calling them soft names. At least a man named Stacy, Tracy or Leslie makes you think of something. You think, this cat may be soft. But I guarantee a nigga with any of those names is either really soft or really hard. It won't be some ol' noncommittal shit like you'll get with Jayce. A nigga like Gary will stay out of your way and not bother anybody. A nigga named Carol will crack your fucking skull just for looking at him.

I'mma name my seed something offensive or something deep and shit. Either O.J. or Ghandhi.

And that's my little non sequitur. I'll go back to the usual staples of office politics and sex tomorrow.


Sunday, October 02, 2005

When Bad Things Happen To Bad People

Say niggas, what's percolatin'? I'm back from Detroit earlier than I expected, once again. It's always something in that muthafucka that I idealize when I'm away and then when I'm back I'm like "Now I remember why I fuckin' left". I got there Friday night and my fuckin' nerves were on edge. Everything seemed busier and faster than I was used to. It was very chaotic. I had a bad feeling almost from jump. I was born and reared in that city, I had never been like that before. I felt I was getting too used to this pastoral setting out in the boonies. I told myself to toughen up and shake it off.

I went to see the Dreadlady. As usual, she was looking good, wearing tight shit. I relaxed and sat back, watching a rerun of the BET Comedy Awards. I really fucking hate awards shows. I hardly ever watch them and I was reminded why on Friday. They are a cultural barometer. Our "culture" is base and anti-intellectual. But that's the subject for another blog. Dreadlady's ass was bangin'.

She stood on the side of me. I grabbed the ass with one hand. "You been workin' out?" I asked. She gently brushed my hand away. "Why you playin'. You know you wanna fuck me." "And all you wanna do is fuck" she rightfully replied. I continued to try to paw her as she was working on my hair. It was around 11:00 pm when she finished. Dreadlady was about to go clubbing with some friends of hers so went upstairs to get ready. I told her I'd wait to walk out with her. When she came down she was looking fantastic. I started hugging her and kissing on her neck. She began to grind against me. My dick was getting harder. She sat down and moved her dress around her waist. I started playing with the pussy, kissing her and shit. She asks me to pull out my dick and I oblige. She's stroking it and telling me she's GOT to sit on it. Right then, her girl pulls up in the driveway and blows her horn, all ghetto fantastic and shit. She gets up to leave and says to me "I wanna see you when I leave the club." I'm like cool, call me. And I jet over to KeKe's crib, 'cuz she let me crash while she was out kickin' it. KeKe is the shit!

So that night at around 3:00 am while I'm sleeping on KeKe's couch and the phone is ringing. It's Dreadlady. I look at the phone and lay back down.

The next morning when KeKe got back we kicked it a little bit and I left to pick up my boy Three so we could go to the Black Alumni tailgating function. I grabbed my stuff and left, just in case I ended up in a different place to crash Saturday night. Me and Three got there and it was a cornucopia of bitches and whatnot in the place. I was in my element. Loving it. I got to see a bunch of my people including Twin and in general had a good time. I even finished up some unfinished business with a woman I'll call "The Lean". It was productive as fuck.

When me and Three left the spot I was feeling as good as I'd felt in a long time even thought the wrong team won. I got to my car and had a sick ass feeling. Bluey was sitting there with the driver's side window bashed in. All my shit was gone, cell phone, digital camera, overnight bag, briefcase, gone. All I could do is shake my head. It's broad fucking daylight on a busy street and just like that my wealth was redistributed.

I went to file a police report with the slow assed,non-essential Detroit Police Department, dropped Three off, and left town. Wind in my fucking face, back to safe, sound Satan's Anus. Happily.

Will Someone Please Steal This Car?