Thursday, December 28, 2006

Postcard From The Edge

One for the trouble, two for pussy and foreign carz....

What up, kids? It's ya boy, Uncle Zed, the future of the funk.

Well, I've been in Florida since Saturday. The weather hasn't been ideal and the family is on my gotdamn nerves, but I've tried to relax in between the bullshit.

The high point of this trip has been meeting my brother's kids. I've sent them presents and talked to them on the phone, but this was the first time I got to meet them. The kids are 6 (the twins) and 5. All three of them are the best thing he's ever done. Quite honestly, I think he was lucky to have a babymother like her. That cat has a substance abuse problem. Before that, he had a kindness abuse problem. Fuckin' idiot.

My nephew Bugaboo, my sister's son, is quite possibly high strung, or quite probably an asshole in training. Four years old and he's a prodigy at getting his ass whupped.

I think I've witnessed the last year of innocence and sweetness from my niece. Next year she's going to be a teenager.

My cousins and my brother in law, ProSocial, have been steppin' up the game as far as the drinking goes. I promise you, the next vacation I take will be a REAL ONE. An entire week, with no family. I can't take this shit as my only vacation stops every year. I'll fuckin' pay to relax.

I'm leaving Florida tomorrow and I'll be hangin' in Detroit for a couple of days. I'll talk to y'all then.


Friday, December 22, 2006

Large Professor

"I'm comin home to you, wear something see-through, so I can see your heart/For night can never come soon enough for me/I watch the sky all day" - Raphael Saadiq, "Still Ray"

Time can't pass quickly enough. I wanna go. My boss took off today, so I gotta be at the office until 5:00 just in case some shit rolls downhill. I need a fuckin' break from this place for real. I know I just got back, but shit, I need a real break. No sessions, no classes, no lectures, just relaxing. The truth of the matter is, I need a break that doesn't involve seeing my family.

Every vacation I've taken since I got here has involved my family. That's not a stress free environment. I love 'em, but it becomes the fuckin' inquisition. No question is off limits. Not one. I'm a private dude, outside of tellin' y'all all my biz, I don't talk about myself to people just for shits and giggles. It's intrusive as all hell.

Right now, anything is better than sitting in this office while a parade of disgruntled fuck heads traipse through my door. "You're sick and tired? Try listening to your ass!" To bring back one of my favorite old phrases, these muthafuckas can suck a fat baby's dick.

I'm looking at the front door so tough, I must think I can mentally teleport the fuck up outta here.

I hope all of you enjoy yourselves this holiday season. I'll be holding down the Sunshine State for a minute, eating crabs and hopefully not catchin' 'em! I'm bringing the laptop, so I'll post when I can.

Stay Real,

Thursday, December 21, 2006

This Week On The Phone

KZ: I really would've done right by her.
Slish: What about the distance.
KZ: I would've made it work. I would've found a way.
Slish: You think so?
KZ: Who knows. Fuck it.

Meli: You ready to see your girlfriend?
KZ: I don't have a girlfriend. And if she ever heard you say that shit, it would make me look like I was lying about the nature of our relationship.
Meli: African, that's your girlfriend.
KZ: I'm serious, don't say that shit. If she meets you, I'll be fucked if you say that. If she went on a date tonight, I couldn't say shit about it. That's not a girlfriend.
Meli: So you don't think she likes you.
KZ: I think she likes me like she likes the mildly retarded boy who works in the mailroom. I'm a nice, harmless dude. Does she like me, like me? I can't let myself believe that shit. It's presumptuous.
Meli: You are a fucking idiot.

KZ: I just thought of something. If we're 36, that means Santa Black* is 40.
Three: Damn, that's right! Santa Black is 40!
KZ: Are you old yet?
3: Oh, hell yeah. I was thinking about this the other day. I think I'mma off myself at 39. I don't know if I can take 40.
KZ: If you need help, I'll pull the trigger, word to muhvuh.
3: If you take me out, who's gonna take you out?
KZ: Father Time.

Stay Cool,

*Santa Black was one of the members of me and Three's clique in college. One of the coolest cats you'd ever wanna know. He called himself alternately Santa Black and Saint Ni.gga. We asked him why and he said "Cuz I'm young, Black and gifted." He was in grad school getting his PhD in Physics when we were still in undergrad. We haven't been in contact with him since 1996.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Bee Mee...

for just one day. Step into my shoes and I swear, you'll never wish for anything like it again.

We got this super disgruntled, delusional cat. He's pissed. Always. "Clocktower" as I'll call him, is always ready to blow. Everyone in his classification is in cubicles. He keeps "demanding" an office. He complains about being underappreciated and overworked. Clocktower pushed that overworked angle so much, that his supervisor started looking for ways to move some of his work to other people. That was Clocktower's mistake.

Clocktower had been making up phony appointments, leaving the office and was always gone for hours. How do I know the appointments were phony? Because each appointment he made should have had a subsequent report associated with it, whether something was actually done or not. For months, only 1/8th of the shit he's done has had reports associated with them. Let me go back further: for at least TWO YEARS only 1/8 of the shit he's done has had reports associated with them. The kicker is no one would have ever checked if he had just shut the fuck up.

We set up an appointment for today to basically suspend this muthafucka. He goes into panic mode and sends us all (management) an email saying "I'm tired of being singled out and nitpicked. This is a prime example of management cornering a good employee and trying to make him miserable through micro-management." Right, muthafucka.

So now he's going over to the union heads to stave off his execution. And the fucked up part is HR will probably cave and that muthafucka will have a long fuckin' career here in Satan's Anus. I got a gaggle of half-assers up in this bitch. Clocktower is just the latest example.

Be Easy,

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

The Vacants

When one is shopping for real estate, a person has definite ideas about what suits them. For most, it's location, location, location. Thoughts eventually turn to appealing features, what makes the property unique. How's the exterior? What's the interior like? Usually if either of these things is not up to snuff, you either move on or you consider the property a project. A place you'll be working on for awhile to make it livable.

Sometimes you wonder how anyone could ever leave prime real estate like this. How could somebody not see the value in this property?

You could live near a property for years and see constant turnover, people moving in and out all the time. By all accounts, the place is beautiful. It's a nice place to visit, but not to live. It's just something about the place that doesn't feel comfortable and never will.

No matter how much money and time you put into the place, it's destined to be vacant. It's getting older and older, the curb appeal ain't what it used to be, the interior was poorly thought out. Sometimes it's time to bulldoze and start over. It's not worth the money or time you'd have to invest.

Sometimes you just gotta let some other cat get his "caveat emptor" on while you wash your hands of it.

Whatever the case, you gotta know some property should remain vacant.


Monday, December 18, 2006

...And You Will Know Me By The Power Of My Thrust...

Easy, people! What's what? I'm in the office digging myself out from under every email under the sun. I got somebody calling me as a reference for LoLo on my voicemail and my staff is half awake, waiting on the holidays to arrive.

Should I get them anything for Christmas? I'm a pretty half assed boss, sittin' around blogging and whatnot. They cover my non-attentive ass quite a bit. So I'm figuring I should be trying to give them some small token of my appreciation. I just don't know what it should be.

I was walking around the mall on Saturday trying to shop for my parents when I ran into "Susan". Susan and her sister work for the City. I can't remember what I called her before, but Susan one of the people that introduced me to that bland chick, her cousin. When I saw her she was with her husband. She said "Hey Gordon, this is the guy I introduced to Blandette." He had a knowing smile on his face when he shook my hand. "Pleased to meet you" he said as he smirked. Everybody gets a kick outta the idea of that "break even" chick on my arm.

This week is a study in paradox. I'm extra nervous about flying to Tampa so I'm dreading Saturday. But I'm anxious to see T.A.D., so I can't wait for Friday to get here.

It's supposed to be rainy the whole week I'm in Tampa. I hope it's that Florida rain (quick!) and not like that Midwest rain (lingering!).


Saturday, December 16, 2006

Crib Notes

Ahhh, New Orleans. When I first arrived I questioned the emotional elasticity of the residents to such a horrific event. I was still questioning it when I left. It was the elephant in the room when I rode in the cab to the hotel my first day there. I was quiet and the cab driver was quiet. I wanted to ask about the Hurricane, but I'm sure they had to be exhausted talking about it. It permeated the city.

When the cabdriver finally talked about it, he pointed out the particulars, the "wheres" and "to what extents". I didn't know how to register it. I still don't.

When I was out in the community talking with residents, I got a lot of venom. I understood it, no matter how misplaced. I looked like I was taking pictures and fucking with them. The people on my team, the group of people from the conference that were talking about neighborhood revitalization, were all out being nosy do-gooder muthafuckas. It was a mostly white group that I was in. When this old cat told me I oughta get the fuck away from there, I already wanted to.

Muthafuckas was tired, man. I was tired too. At first drinkin' to be drinkin', and then like I was asking somebody, what if your livelihood depended on acting happy when you weren't? After I thought about it for a minute, I realized it does. So that had me continuing to drink.

I met a lot of cool people from around the country: Spartansburg, New Haven, San Jose, Nashville, Pueblo, Opalinka, Seattle, Louisville, Columbus, Chicago, Miami. A bunch of knowledgeable drunkards.

A lot of people were not so cool. There was a real stuck up contingency at the conference, broads mostly. I understand that, I guess. There's a real "lack of pussy" type smell I'm giving off. They front now, but if I was to shove "Big Fred" up in 'em, they'd be chasing my truck like Rerun during the opening credits of "What's Happenin'?"

Actually they got much better when they saw me with other women in the conference. They got chatty as fuck. Why do chicks do that shit?

I can't say I learned anything at the conference, but I gotta take a test on the principals taught. I learned one thing they didn't teach. These are the last days of this Bodhisattva shit. I'mma about to leave y'all to y'all own devices.

I gotta get over this seafood jones, man. It ain't the same in Satan's Anus.


Friday, December 15, 2006


I appreciate all the birthday wishes that were sent to me via email and text. Y'all are all right. Most of y'all, anyway.*

My Second Home

Oh my gosh, there is so much to talk about. I'm telling you, even in my most boring days, there is never a dull moment.

Let me just say first that I may have alcohol poisoning. If I don't, I probably will by tomorrow. We have had training sessions at daiquiri bars. I start drinking daily around 4:00 pm and don't stop until morning. This shit ain't healthy.

I know I'm' on seafood. I eat seafood at every meal. Prawns the size of a baby's head. Yesterday I was slurpin' down raw oysters like Da Brat at a Missy Elliott pajama party. I've never eaten raw oysters before. This shit is a form of mass hypnosis, every idiot from out of town walking around drunk as fuck.

The best part about this thing is it is essentially a Black conference. It's as evenly mixed as I've ever been to for something that's not specifically Black oriented. That's the fun shit.

I took a pic of this chick and afterwards she told me I should've asked permission. I say it's easier to ask forgiveness.

You're walking around half fuckin' naked on a public street. Welcome to the internet, you $2 Mudwhore!

I got one more day to try to kill myself with undercooked seafood in a bacteria infested mold breeding ground that smells funny. I'mma make the most of it.

*I got an email from one of my ex-readers. She told me that I'm acting funny nowadays because people read my blog and I think I'm popular. I apparently wasn't so ready to blow her off when I only had 3 commenters. She also told me that she thought I was cooler than that.

Dear reader, you're wrong about many things. I'm the same asshole I always was. I don't give a fuck who reads my blog. Believe me, I don't give a fuck. I started this blog because Robyn thought it would be an outlet for my goofy train of thought. If she stops reading, I might quit. I know I'm not popular. Popular muthafuckas translate blog traffic into pussy. I got no such luck. People send me emails all time that are extremely critical. They can feel free to move on. And oh yeah, I'm not cooler than that. I'm petty and bitter. I don't get un-pissed off.

Stay Solid,

Friday, December 08, 2006


By the next time I post, I will have had a birthday. I'll be ending my 36th trip around the sun. I know what you're saying, aside from "gotdamn, you gettin' up there!". You're saying "who gives a fuck?". I completely understand. Fuck your birthday, too! Allow me a moment to ride my own dick, won't you?

On 12/10/1970 in Detroit, Michigan, Marilyn Zednanreh gave birth to a beast. A muthafuckin' animal with a voracious appetite and an unquenchable thirst for knowing the trivial. Improperly instructed and miseducated completely, he ambled his way to a party school and graduated at the bottom of his class, after seven years with only a bachelor's degree. He went on to wallow in the troughs of inadequacy until he became the man you see before you today, King of the Molehill, Mister Mediocrity.

On Sunday, I will be at the age where if I had a child on the day I legally became an adult, that child now would be an adult. That's grown fa real.

18x2=36. Until you're at least 36, I'm twice the man you are! (I'm just fuckin' wit' ya, Mack).

In other math related news, what's one big Black man times (in parentheses) one frightened white woman, plus one all white management staff divided by one big Black man? Give up? Well the math heads know that the two big Black men cancel each other out, so all we have left is fear and power. Feel me? Long story short, this cat is fucked. Sorry, Fuck-o, I tried.

Bloggers plus goodwill divided by lies = Current fucked up situation.

Stay True,

Thursday, December 07, 2006


Ahhh! The blog is bubblin' today, Africans. Everybody is so full of vim and vigor, SO FULL OF LIFE!!! LOL! Oh shit, my side is hurting!

But seriously folks, what it be like? What have we learned today? This shit is faker than lesbian dicks. Read cautiously and remember we don't know what we don't know.

On to my daily essay: After the love is gone.

Most men (pimps excluded), have a hard time seeing a woman in distress. More specifically, they hate to see women cry. Men alter their behavior, apologize even when they believe they're right, and generally kow-tow to a crying woman. It's what we do. But when you're done with a chick, you're done. And there's nothing she can do to bring that soft spot you had in your heart back.

I always know the relationship is finished when I can look at my chick cry and all I think is "shut the fuck up and wipe your face". It takes a while for me to get to that point, but when I'm there, there's no turning back. I've watched every relationship I've had deteriorate to that point.

I'm a dude who's often admonished for not having a feminine side. No matter how much I feel for a woman internally, I don't often show it externally. But crying, that's the exception. I go out of my way to comfort a crying woman, trying everything I can. The day I can look at a woman crying and walk away, she or I should be packing our bags.

I reached that point with my ex-wife about six months into the marriage. I fought like hell to get back to the place where I gave a fuck. No such luck.

So when I'm on the phone and a woman starts crying and I say "Look, I'll talk to you later", I'm advising her that she should be packing those "emotional bags".

Stay Cool,

Wednesday, December 06, 2006


"Unwarranted" is fast becoming one of my favorite words. In my line of work, there are certain buzzwords that professionals in the field always use to express certain ideas. We talk in terms of feasibility, scale, appropriateness, and aesthetics. In certain firms doing the same type of work, some words come up more often. In Detroit, we'd talk about "access", a euphemism for affordability. "The price points for that project make it inaccessible". In my current workplace, the word is "unwarranted". It's a euphemism for blowing off your stupid idea. "The placing of gun turrets on City Hall is unwarranted. Who wants to terrorize Satan's Anus?"

The basis of me even thinking about this word is the attention I get from people who wanna put me up on something. How often does this happen to you? Someone of very limited intelligence trying to, as we used to say, drop knowledge on you? It seems like it happens to me once a day.
"You know them big semi trucks? They be callin' 'em 18 wheelers cuz they be havin' 18 wheels. Ain't that a trip?" That's where I get to slip my new favorite word in. "In the big scheme of things, this discussion is unwarranted." And I get to walk away.

I've talked about this before, I think, but who really likes a kiss up? Co-workers hate kiss ups and behind closed doors, managers hate kiss ups. Kiss ups probably fuckin' hate themselves. Not me, though. Kiss ups let me use my favorite word. "The time and attention you're giving to make me comfortable is unwarranted. Work on something else." Ahhhh! That shit's like yoga.


Tuesday, December 05, 2006

The Day Is Made

I'm online trying to check out stuff to do next week on my business trip to New Orleans. I've been half-assing all day, doing crosswords and reading political articles and shit. My boss comes into my office. "Can I see you for a second?" He has a blank look on his face.

The Director is a funny dude. Unreadable in most cases. You know how it is when you've done a ton of shit wrong and you're not sure which thing it is you got caught doing? Is it all the long distance phone calls? Is it the internet time? Shit, is it the blog? I'm tensing up.

He begins. "I was just over at HR." He's speaking slowing and he pulls a sheet of paper from a manila envelope. I'm sitting there like "FUCK!!! Online log!" I'm trying to look cool.

"It seems that when you were hired, HR made a mistake." Yeah, I lied a lot on my resume. And yeah, I was convicted of getting head in a public park when I said I hadn't had a felony OR misdemeanor conviction. Which thing am I getting busted for?

"HR forgot to figure in the three years of supervisory experience you had prior to your stint at the City of Detroit when they made you an offer. The City of Satan's Anus has been underpaying you."

I laughed. "Really?" I replied. Underpaying me for blogging? Surfing? Calling my friends?

He said "You just got yourself a $4,000 raise in time for Christmas. Congratulations!"

Today I'm smiling.


Monday, December 04, 2006

When The Pot Boils Over

So I'm at the crib on Saturday and I get a call reminding me that it's Karen's birthday party. Karen is one of the women from the group that keeps me sane here in SA. She's been nothing but cool so I'm definitely gonna make the gig. One problem: It's at the Vice Mayor's crib.

I picked up one of the other women from the group that lives near me and we go to the little get together. It's very small, only seven of us in total. We lost one member that moved away. I'm in the living room and I hear a shout from the kitchen. It's the Vice Mayor. "Come on back here and say 'what's up'!" To quote my friends from Mobb Deep, "the bitch called, my blood curdled".

I walked back there, warily. "What up, dude." I said it just that flat. He's consistent in his soft ass ways, trying to give me a hug. Not a man hug, mind you, the one armed thing we do, but a bitch hug. I used to give him the benefit of the doubt for being a corny ass, now I just give him the benefit of liking dick. I do what I always do, pat that cat on the back and stay clear. Who the fuck wants to give a man a "dick touching" hug?

I immediately start drinking, reminding myself that Karen wanted me to be there. So somehow, as the night moves forward, I become the center of attention. I'm the guy that is regularly a "no-show" because of something else I have going on, frat business or "frat business" or something. They start talking about my abysmal dating record and I tell them Slish's favorite story.

They're having a good ol' time at my expense when the VM says "See that's what happens when you start chasing these women." He's steadily piling up evidence that he's a dick-monger. I think it was a combination of the alcohol and the comment that made me snap.

"Muthafucka, why'd you throw me under the bus?" "Hunh?" "This fuckin' report I gotta do for the muthafuckin' city council and shit. It was your doing. That's was fucked up shit. Why the fuck didn't you just call me and ask me for the information. Why the fuck did you ask my boss for it? You shitted on my fuckin' weekend is what you did!"

Everybody in the room is quiet and looking at me. I'm looking at each of 'em then I look back at the VM, who's now actively trying to laugh it off. "Man, it's no big deal. Don't sweat it."

"Oh, I ain't sweatin' it. Y'all will get what you get." I tossed back the rest of my drink and went for more. I knew I'd tore my ass on this one, but I was gonna enjoy the weekend, regardless.

Be Easy,

Friday, December 01, 2006

That Kind Of Day

We had a pretty heavy snow overnight. When I left home this morning, I drove downhill to a busy intersection. Since the light was red for me I hit the breaks. The truck continued sliding into the intersection and into oncoming traffic. I turned the wheel to stop my forward progress and began to spin around. When the truck finally came to a stop, I put it into 4 wheel drive and headed towards work. The day couldn't get worse, right?

The first thing that happens when I came in was that my boss had just left a meeting with the City Council. They had an issue with this thing that I proposed. The Vice Mayor, that's right, the Vice Mayor, the Black dude that's always trying to get me to hang out, threw me under the bus. That muthafucka pressed the issue so that I gotta make a full fledged and detailed presentation to the Council on Monday. Today is fuckin' Friday and I gotta prepare all this analysis and shit by Monday. I knew that fuckin' Vice Mayor was gay!

Second is that the union rep, a Black dude, sent out a email to one of my managers and some staff threatening a work slow down/stoppage situation if he didn't get his way on some shit. The way he worded it (badly!), it looked like he was physically threatening one of his co-workers, a white woman. You know what happened next. The director and all the managers are trying to build a case against this muthafucka to get him out. This cat hates me, but if he only knew I'm the only muthafucka behind closed doors fighting for his simple ass.

Everything in the city is closing down because of the snowfall and I gotta be here all weekend because of frat business.



Thursday, November 30, 2006

When Y'all Don't Write...

It leads to me creating my own fun. Like collecting bullshit events that have happened in the past few weeks and making a "Shepherd's Pie" like post. This is the scrapple and bullshit of my life in the last couple of weeks, condensed in a single place for your consumption. Enjoy!

You ever notice how you get the most attention from the people you want it from the least? That, my dear bloggers, is the story of my life.

Email from Charlize Theron:
We haven't been able to hook up in months. Either you're too busy or I'm too busy. In any case, I believe that our inability to connect speaks to a greater meaning. I think it's time we stopped "messing around" and took our relationship to the next level.


Voicemail from Carmel:
If you're here for Thanksgiving, I'd really like to see you. You need to stop being so mean and keep in touch in with me. My girl Punkin had a sex toy party at my house a few days ago and I wanna try some stuff out.


Discussion with Batshit:
Bats: I know you'd be the perfect donor. I'd have you sign a contract relieving you of all your fatherly duties. I'm serious. I'm ready to have a baby, with or without a husband.
KZ: Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?
Bats: I'm serious.
KZ: I'm not the man for that job. You need to pick one of those other cats. That'll never be me, man.
Bats: You know you want a baby.
KZ: I want a sane baby.

Text message from Ivana:
You'z a buster! Why you running from the pussy?

Ummm...forward to Three with LOL addendum.

Email from FIFA Booty:
Hello Mr. Zednanreh, I was hoping we'd be able to see one another again before the year ends. Sincerely, FIFA Booty.

Squo? Ummm....*delete*

Voicemail from Flakette, a one date chick:
I can't believe it's been over a month since we went out. You were on my mind and I was wondering if you were busy this weekend. Give me a call when you get a chance.

Bitch, was I on your mind when you flaked out on the second date we made? Ummm...*ghettoredhotdelete*

Wanna trade? Anybody?


Wednesday, November 29, 2006

A Personal History of Dredlocs, Part I

I'd been contemplating it for awhile. I'd been walking around with this uncombed afro (I never called it an "afro" for the record, it was a "natural") for the better part of 3 years and I couldn't pull the trigger. I read this article in the Metro Times about locs in the workplace. Sistas were getting snide comments here and there, but the men in the article seemed to be catching hell. There was this one dude that worked in the same building as I and who had really mature locs. He was quoted in the article as saying, "I just came to grips to the fact that when I got locs I had pretty much sealed my fate. I basically gave up any upward mobility that I may have had in the company." That was the day I knew I'd get locs and defy the odds.

Now I'd had "faux locs" before, during my college years. See?:

This time it was gonna be the real deal.

My thinking was simple. I was going to be a man of the people and everytime they looked at me, they'd know it. No matter how high I rose or how much juice I got, I was always connected to the most maligned of us. People fuckin' hate dredlocs. Nobody knows that more than people that have them. I think Black people hate 'em more than white people.

So I went to this loctician and got them started. This was 1997. I spent $100 bucks to get them done. The next morning I woke up and panicked. How was I gonna go to this ultra conservative place I worked all loc'ed up? I spent that morning cutting my hair off. All of it.

It would be two years later before I tried again.


Tuesday, November 28, 2006

For A Reason

Epiphanies are rare occurrences, but when they happen, maaaaaaannnn....

I was at work today and I smiled. I never fuckin' smile at work. What for? But I start smiling because after a hundred muthafuckas have said it, I finally get it. I get it. All you advice giving muthafuckas with your unsolicited bullshit, I finally get it!!! After I threatened to drive to Detroit and beat Three within an inch of his life, I get it.

I'm am here, in Satan's Anus, for introspection. It has been made apparent that I'm am supposed to spend my time not reading or writing, but thinking. Everything else has been used to blunt my tools of reason and my connection to the divine. I'm supposed to be fuckin' thinking!

I formulate thoughts and perform actions, but I haven't been thinking worth a damn. My brain is clogged. Not just with minutiae, but with the mundane, going through the motions type of shit. How many times have you driven home and forgotten how you got there? It's like you're on auto pilot.

This was a mental exhortation to live in the moment a little more. Live in the moment or be doomed to repeat it.

One Half Ape...And The Other Half Munkee

I talked to my boys this weekend, but I didn't head to the D. I was afraid of all the "Dupreeing" that would be offered, you know couches to crash on. I wasn't trying to Dupree, just hang out a little, so I declined and stayed put.

I Loc Nessed instead. Laid low and attempted to be introspective. Negatory. I didn't read a lot. I watched TV. I went to the movies and saw Ca.sin.o Ro.yal.e. I loved that shit, this new Bond shit. Extra grimy like a laundromat on the Eastside. I even fucked around and ended up watching shit I never wanted to see in my life. I mean, this one cat Heathed this other muthafucka all up in his Gyllenhaal!

I was ready to Yeti, but the snow never came. It was in the 60's all weekend. So I Sasquatched and watched my hair and feet grow under sandpapery, low thread count sheets as I laid on my back trying to make out the images on my dusty ass TV.

The best laid plans of mice and men...
I was supposed to spend all this extra time cleaning up and shit. I didn't wash clothes, scrub, scour, mop, vacuum, or otherwise improve my home. My house is likely worse for the shit I messed up by being home an extra couple of days. I got shoes to shine and suits to steam.

Part Gorilla
I'm feeling this extra aggressive thing whenever I get ready to go to work these days. This real "punch a muthafucka in the face" sorta thing. What is that? Life?

Delusional defined
LoLo: You comin' to my birthday party?
KZ: Naw. Imma, uhh, be visitin' my parents. Imma be in Florida.
LoLo: I bet your parents would love me. You should give me your mother's number. She'd love talking to me and she'd probably invite me down for Christmas.


Monday, November 27, 2006

Newy Tagged Me!

I thought my "nerd reading" would be off the charts because of this meme. But I think it actually confirms what most of y'all already know.

This is how it the list was achieved:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)

2. Put it on shuffle

3. Press play

4. For every question, type the song that's playing

5. When you go to a new question, press the next button

6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...

Opening Credits:
Get Down, Craig Mack

Waking Up: I Got It Made, Special Ed

First Day At School: We Run Things, Bush Babees

Falling In Love: The Gas Face, 3rd Bass

Fight Song: Change The Style, Son of Bazerk

Breaking Up: Ante Up, M.O.P.

Prom: Ego Trip (Part Three), De La Soul

Life is good: Fuck Tha Police remake, Jay Dee a.k.a. J Dilla

Mental Breakdown: I Know You Got Soul, Eric B. and Rakim

Driving: Stick 'Em, The Fat Boys

Flashback: Dominoes, Donald Byrd and the Blackbyrds

Getting Back Together: Peg, Steely Dan

Wedding: Lyte As A Rock, MC Lyte

Birth of Child: SuperThug, Noreaga

Final Battle: Peter Piper, RunDMC

Funeral Song: Are We Cuttin'?, Pastor Troy

End Credits:
Bitch Betta Have My Money, AMG

I ain't taggin' nobody. If you wanna do this, do it.

Friday, November 24, 2006


I had a dream in which I was an amnesiac. I wandered around in a mental fog, seeing people I knew but couldn't place. I ran into a woman I'd never seen before. She had a kind face and a gentle demeanor. She took my hand and proceeded to tell me who I was. I smile when I think of this dream, because I understand.
Everyone deserves an opportunity for happiness. They deserve an opportunity for passion in their lives. I would never begrudge anyone who sought out beauty and perfection. The desire for quality in one's life is admirable. I read that somewhere once. I hope no one resents my journey.
My youth is burned onto five inch disks scattered throughout my living room. Everytime I play one, I'm there again. Today I'm 28, yesterday I was 23, tomorrow I'll be 19, 33, 14. I listen and I am transported.


Thursday, November 23, 2006

Thanks For What?

It took a little while to write this because I'm motivated by, no, INVESTED in my negativity. These are the things I've thankful for in no particular order:

My parents: my father for the gift of skepticism, my mother for the EDGE.
My brother Zach: to be fed the same food and live under the roof, we couldn't be more opposite. I wish you the best.
My "brother" Three: gon' to Cali, African. We built for this shit.
Both my sisters: Ugh, y'all somebody's mothers? Unbelievable!
My general good health
Every Muslim girl/woman I've ever dated
June, my loctician: the voice of dissent
Kenneth Cole: I'd still be arguing with bouncers in Downtown Detroit if it wasn't for you.
The B.O.B.: more fun to watch than a Simpson's marathon.
The job: as much as I beef, the opportunity is tremendous. Time to take the next step.
The personal computer: a.k.a. the porno machine.
The spirit of hip-hop
The desire to do better


Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Musings On The Day Before Thanksgiving

My Blah Blah Blah Inspired Pic

I had a meeting this morning with Wispy and her union rep. She wanted to talk about how she's not getting the support she needs from her co-workers. At 8:00 am. First fucking thing in the morning. Wispy maintains that she's the best employee in the department and "the others" are highly intimidated by her. She needs her own office to get away from the hustle and bustle of the front office. Speaking of delusional women...

I was over Batshit's crib playing Scr.abble last night. I know what y'all thinking, but the nature of our relationship has changed since I used to write about her all the time. She's basically the only friend I got in this city. So we hang out once in a while and I was in a particularly shitty mood yesterday, so I kinda needed it. So we're playing Scr.abble and she asks me if I ever think she'll get married. "Fuck, anything is possible. We could have a Black pope one day." I was trying to be funny, but it came off mean. I left soon thereafter.

When the fuck am I going to be grown? When the fuck am I gonna be the patriarch sitting at the head of a table carving the turkey in my fucking house? Actually, the bigger question is "Do I want all the shit that comes with it?"

My ex-girlfriend Thelma is 37 today. I dodged that gift-giving bullet. My oldest sister will be 42 tomorrow. I got next.

These muthafuckas are actually gonna make me work today. I can't believe it.


Tuesday, November 21, 2006

What The Fuck Ever

Just as I started to write this post, I got this feeling that I'm writing the same shit over and over again. Not that that's necessarily so, but I got the same variation on the same theme. I think a lot of us are like that. I think I need to find the "unified field theory" on my blog. Maybe it's insecurity, or desire, or pain. I don't know, but there's something there. Anyway, let me talk about what I'd planned to talk about.

So I'd just finished jackin' off right? Using my secret two handed technique. I learned it from the Mayans during that summer I spent backpacking in the mountainous regions of the Yucatan Peninsula. So anyways, I'd just finished, right? And it was quite productive I might say. I got a muse now. Anyway, so I'm cleaning up and I realize I have a Netflix movie that I should watch because I wanna get to the bottom of my queue and cancel they ass.

Yeah, so the movie I'm watching is called Ame.rican Sp.len.dor. The movie is fantastic, weird in places, but it's about weird people. It's about this dude, Har.vey Pe.kar, who decides to make a comic book about his life. His dull ass, ordinary life. He's just a guy that works as a file clerk in a VA Hospital in He's isolated, bitter, lonely, and has some weird assed co-workers. By most accounts this dude is a loser.

I watched it and saw a kindred spirit. I identified with this cat in so many ways it wasn't funny. I thought about it afterwards and I keep thinking about it today. Damn, I gotta admit it's got me shook. I don't wanna be a fuckin' loser, man!

That's all I got.


Sunday, November 19, 2006

Road Worrier

I spent Saturday and Sunday in Detroit. I had to get my CD changer re-installed and of course, to see my peoples. I hooked up with Three and we had an interesting talk about his immediate future. He's likely about to move to L.A. in the next few months. The dude is jonesin' for this chick. I think as talented an artist as he is, that may be a good move for him. I just suggest that he not move to be with a chick that makes goo-gobs more dough than he does. Ask Ryan Phillipe or Chad Lowe.

Later that night, me and T.A.D. went to this neo soul thing. It was tight up until the end. We were deeply ensconced in the belly of the Black bohemian beast. More dredlocs and African musk oils than the law allows. It was my kinda crowd.

I gotta ask my Philly peeps to help get Jaguar Wright to a detox center, stat! Her set was all cussin' and smokin' and drankin' and shit. It was a bit MUCH. And I really don't give a fuck about any of those things in and of themselves. But it was like watchin' a bootleg film of Redd Foxx at the Kit Kat Club circa 1962 . Tighten that shit up, Jag!

Everytime I see T.A.D. I'm like a sponge, trying to soak her up. I need more time with her. I gotta find a way to see her more. It's fuckin' depressing when we have to part company after basically short periods of time and I've thought about seeing her for days. I was open to this shit happening just like I was afraid of.

On Sunday morning Robyn and I went to breakfast. That was the fucking ticket. It's the shit I needed. We both vented alot. We're both extra frustrated about shit. I didn't even have to do a lot of talking for her to understand what I was feeling. To paraphrase Jay-Z, Robyn and I go back like T.yra Ba.nks' hairline. She knows me, period. More so than even my boy Three.

And that drive back to Satan's Anus doesn't get any less depressing.


Friday, November 17, 2006

Hi, Gene!

Ay folks, I got a little situation to talk about. This is kinda graphic so bear with me a minute. It gives me ammo for my already skewed belief system.

I was in the restroom at work today, working out some issues and whatnot. Using the facilities. Making a "boo-kee" as my moms would so eloquently put it when I was 3. This dude that works with me comes in. I'm tense because there are only two stalls in the restroom, and I don't wanna sit next to nobody when using the facilities. First off, it grosses me out. If you're cool sitting next to a dude on the toilet, your orientation rhymes with "domorexual". Second, I'm "boo-kee" shy. The only time I use it outside of my home is when I absolutely, positively have to go. So you know this was a minor emergency.

He stops short of the stalls goes to the urinal. I'm saved. I look at his shoes and recognize who it is. The cat does his biz and leaves. What did I leave out? That's right. He didn't wash his fuckin' hands.

This cat was one of the main ones touting his wares at the POTLUCK WE HAD YESTERDAY. You know how I hate potlucks!!! Luckily I'd only eaten shit like pretzels and chips and shit. No homemade items. Nasty bastards!


Thursday, November 16, 2006

Closure Fo' Sho'

Hey y'all! What's up? I'm writing this post for Slish, who apparently thinks I don't humiliate myself enough on this blog. I didn't have much to write today anyway, so I'll give y'all the conclusion to the story on me and the infamous Grilled Cheese. Ready? Cool.

I'm thinking this was about 3 to 4 weeks ago. Grilled Cheese and I went out to this place to play pool. It was a good date. Everything flowed smoothly, conversation was good. After we left the billiards spot, we went to Red Lobster. It was packed in that place, but there is no other place to really go to get seafood in the city, and we were both sold on seafood. We sat for about 30 minutes waiting to get a table. Lots of room for conversation, no?

We were finally seated, perusing the menus. I was feeling good. Feeling like myself again. A regular cat doing regular things. It was almost like I was at home again. During the lull, GC decided to open up.

"I've got something to tell you and I don't know how to say it." I freeze. What's coming? Does she have a disease? A dick? A tail? I brace myself for the worst.

"Go on. Spit it out." She's looking at me with the saddest eyes. "Well, I had a housewarming party a couple of months ago when I bought my house. And I invited a lot of people, one of them being my son's father. Well..." The waitress came back to the table to refill water glasses.

When the waitress left, I finished GC's thought for her. "You're pregnant."

"Yeah, I'm pregnant. Two months." "I see." I took a long swig of water. At this point I'm thinking, what would my brother do? What would my boys do? What would Joe Nut from the Eastside Nutty Boys do? For some reason, I'm thinking of the most ignorant Africans I can think of, because this chick played me. She had all the opportunity in the world to tell me to push on. Shit, the incident that gave her that nickname would have been a good break off point. She knew she was pregnant then!

"I really like you and I'd like to keep seeing you, but if you don't want to see me again, I'll understand." Oh, I'm damn sure glad you'll understand I'm not trying to see a chick that's swellin' up with some other cat's seed in her!

Did I clown her? Did I grab her and say "let's go"? Did I show my ass? Nope. The food came and we ate. Then I took her home.

In front of her house she asks "Am I gonna see you again?"

"You just dropped a lot of shit on me at once. This shit is crazy. At this point, I can't answer that question."

She got out of the truck and I left without looking back.

Fuckin' Satan's Anus!


Wednesday, November 15, 2006

The Hat Post

Well, it's winter in North America, fuck what the calendar says. So that means one thing: I'm trying to find a suitable hat to wear on my big fuckin' head. It's hard to hat shop when you're cranially endowed. It's like having a giant casaba attached to your neck. Even if I shaved my hair off (which is forthcoming) my head is fuckin' too huge to buy a hat off the shelf. Right now, I'm wearing scullies. Scullies and suits? Uncool, brotha!

I checked out the ethnic haberdasher (a.k.a. Suit N!gga) in town and he flaked out like most of Satan's Anus does. I went and got sized for a custom brim, he took down the order, and he said he'd call me in a few weeks. I went back a few weeks later and he said "So you want me to order a hat for you?" "Dude, you measured me for a hat weeks ago. Didn't you place the order?" "I musta forgot." OK, Roy Jones, you win this round.

So now I'm running around looking like JFK and shit, all hatless and whatnot.

There are a few simple truths you must know about hats:
1) Any muthafucka that wears a cowboy hat anywhere other than a cattle ranch is an asshole. A certified, unredeemable asshole.
2) Any woman that wears a big hat anywhere but church or the beach is a bitch. A unsatisfiable uber shrew.
3) Unless you're under 30 or in one of those fancy hip-hop bands, there is no good reason to be walking around in a ball cap with an unbent brim.
4) For men, any hat that is not earth toned should not be worn. Period.

That's all I got.


Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Days Like This

I've had two women in my office today before 9:00 am crying their eyes out. I know what you're thinking. "What did you do, Zed? Did you smack 'em? Long dick 'em into a state of uncontrollable ecstasy? Steal their purses? What ever did you do?"

The short answer: nothing. All I am is their bosses' boss. Dey leapfroggin' folks to make complaints about dey peoples.

The first woman has been off work for two months on stress related leave. Her job contains no real stress, just like Tang contains no real juice. But she got a gullible ass doctor to buy into it and was off for a good long while. I wish it was me.

Anyway, she came into my office crying just as I carried my cup of coffee from the kitchen area. "Look at my calendar! It's ridiculously full!" she screeched as she waved the printed pages from MS Outlook. I sipped, bored and barely awake. "We're trying to ease you back into things. It's not as full as your regular calendar would have been. We were expecting you last week. If you would have come in then, you would have had nothing but office work to do." "I couldn't come back last week I had bronchitis!" she spat, fresh nicotine staining her wretched teeth. "I'll see what I can do" which as all women should know by now, means I'll do nothing.

Next came Wispy. Good ol' Wispy. She was hysterical (Yeah, I know this is not a politically correct term. And no, I don't recommend that she get a hysterectomy). Wispy claims that she was being menaced by her Black co-worker. I'm sure her co-worker is sick of her whining about everything under the sun, but I can't let her walk out of my office into a "dangerous" situation. So I ask for a rundown of the shit Debbiee (yes, that's the way she spells it) is doing to her.

"She makes me ask permission to use the printer. And she doesn't answer the phones so I have to do it. When a customer comes in and needs assistance, she walks away from the front counter." Yeah, she's pretty much made you her bitch, Wispy. This is Wispy's first legitimate complaint ever, so I'm writing shit down and she's bawling like she can't breathe. I'm really not good at consoling people, so I'm letting her ass hyperventilate. I tell her I'll follow up and she crawls her ass out of my office.

I really don't like this aspect of my gig. It's days like today that are pushing my ass out before my plan is done.


Sunday, November 12, 2006

Learn French

I drove to the D this weekend for two reasons. One of which became a bust. The other reason turned out much better.

I came back to get my cd changer put back in, but the place that repaired it forgot to send back the accompanying wires to the stereo shop. In short, I was fucked. Driving across state and they drop the fuckin' ball.

The other reason was to re-up with T.A.D. She just don't know. She think she know, but she just don't know.

We went to the movies to see "The Departed". Yeah, I saw it dolo a few weeks ago. Yeah, I'm a sucker, I went back. Me, the non-movie going muthafucka. I liked seeing it again. Especially liked the company.

After the flick, we went to this Cuban restaurant downtown. The ambiance was cool. The place was crowded and loud. Everytime I'm around dyed-in-the-wool Cubans, I realize how half-assed I am about that particular part of my cultural background. I don't speak Spanish, I've never eaten most of the staples of the Cuban diet, and I hate Miami.

So anyway, we wuz eatin' and talkin' and drinkin' and shit. Everything was good. I saw one of my boys in there and now he's officially suspect for reasons I ain't discussin' here. We talked a lot after we left. A whole lot. Today, I realized I wasn't on my P's and Q's at all. I was thrown off my square and dropped a gang of cool points. I know better next time.

Anyway, I think it's time I took French. I think it's about that time.


Thursday, November 09, 2006

What Am I Doing?

I'm writing on my yellow pad, not cognizant of anything being said of which I need to be aware. Most of the words are dark from the multiple times I've outlined them. The boldness is mildly exhilarating, which tells you just how bored I really am.

I look over at Cindy, the recording secretary. She's got blond highlights in her hair. They're not all that becoming on her, but it's different. At least that's something. Now Rick's talking. It's an overlong explanation of something that doesn't need to be explained. When he gets to talk uninterrupted, I tell you, he glows like a pregnant teenage hillbilly.

I'm looking down, happy to have found my glasses yesterday, which had gone missing for three weeks. I start trying to make anagrams. I'm no good at that sort of thing, but I always try.

The room gets eerily quiet. That can only mean one thing. I've been asked a question and I don't realize it. I look up and everyone is looking at me. I look at Mike, the coordinator of this particular meeting.

"What part of this do you need me to clarify?" I'm looking at Mike directly in the eye, like my ol' man taught me so many years ago. But Mike has one of those "googly" eyes. You know, when you're talking to a person and you don't know which eye to look at 'cuz one of 'em is, ummm, googly. I'm trying to concentrate on the question and figure out which eye is the "live" one. Curse you, father!

Mike helps me pinpoint the subject matter I'm speaking to and I go forth, bullshitting my way to the goalline with no blocking, a la Barry Sanders. My functional purpose at the meeting is over and I go back to darkening letters on my pad.

Repeat five times and you have my day today.


Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Mourning In Michigan

Hey Happy Campers! What's good? I'm just glad to be here, quite frankly.

I hate politics. All politics: organizational, office, local, national, you name it. I hate politics. To me politics are an underhanded, dirty business. It's a way to finesse how you really feel. That's my ultimate beef with politics. It's inherently deceitful.

There were 5 proposals on Michigan ballots yesterday, two highly controversial ones: Prop 2 and Prop 3. Prop 2 called for the end to all race and gender based assistance to be outlawed in the Michigan state constitution, effectively ending affirmative action in the state. Prop 3 called for a prohibition on hunting mourning doves. Apparently, this being a HUGE hunting state, hunters didn't have enough shit to shoot at and now wanted to blast the international symbol of love out of the air.

The interesting thing that greeted me this morning wasn't surprising at all. At least not if you live here. The compassionate people of the State of Michigan decided that Blacks were being treated mighty fairly. Too "fair" in most cases and rejected "race based preferences". So there will be no leveling mechanism, no matter how poorly constructed, to counteract the long standing tradition of "I know his dad, he's hired".

Those same people also felt that killing mourning doves was a bit much and overwhelmingly voted against letting hunters have at it.

It's been long understood that some people will protest fur-wearing and cruelty to animals, and those same people will become alarmed if a Black person moved on their block or dated their kids. I've seen bigots let their dogs lick them in the mouth.

That's the nature of compassion and empathy in these United States. Save the animals, let the human condition grow worse.

Man, I hate politics.


Tuesday, November 07, 2006

The MeMe by Me For Me

1. Favorite Water - ice
2. Favorite Foot - the left, my sex foot.
3. Weirdest relative - Randy (R.I.P)
4. Vastest Wasteland - Idaho/Utah (tie)
5. Wackest Lyric - "Scooby Doo, whoopie doo/Scenario's ready yo, rates more than four"
6. Golden Time Of Day - 11:00 pm
7. Best Ape - Cornelius
8. Favorite Parent - That one, you know the one, with the advice and whatnot
9. Sleaziest Tactic - Omission
10. Most Inappropriately Named Thanksgiving Accoutrement - cranberry sauce
11. Best Whatsaname - Uh, ol' boy. From around the way. You know, from the spot.
12. Favorite Website Password - sweetdetpussy
13. Favorite Crayon to Have my Nephew Ask For - Bwown/Gway (tie)
14. Most Bestest Pornography -
15. Coolest Sibling - That one, with the kids and stuff.
16. Favorite Dolemite Movie - The Human Tornado
17. Most Coveted Chick, 1983 - Charron
18. Most Dangerous Place for People Allergic to Horses - Belmont, NY/Flavor of Love set (tie)
19. Greatest Alias - Hugh Jorgan
20. Darkest Bodypart - right asscheek


An Election Day Problem

OK, let's say you have two candidates for one office. One candidate you have issues with because of his involvement in a political cover-up that affected you personally (financially). The other, you know one of his immediate family members that gave you the scoop on his maliciousness many years prior to his foray into politics. The office they are running for is a highly important one and shouldn't be simply skipped when voting. What would you do? I'll be voting this afternoon.


Monday, November 06, 2006

Rollin' Thru

I been in a weird musical place for a few days. I just bought the new John Legend CD, though I haven't opened it yet. And I've been listening to the first BDP album, Criminal Minded as well as the only Anttex album, Suburban Etiquette. I don't know what the fuck is going on in my head. So anyway...

Last Friday was a doozy, my African. I didn't write about it because I was still steaming about it when I posted. I told y'all about my issue with union here. I had a meeting with the union president and the grievance officer on Friday. They insisted that their member didn't call the resident an "idiot" but instead said his actions were "idiotic". I started in on the G.O.

KZ: The resident heard himself being called an idiot. It was at the very least a poor choice of words.
GO: I don't think it was a bad choice of words. The resident was doing some idiotic stuff.
KZ: The root word of "idiotic" is "idiot". He felt like he was being called an idiot. I think rightfully so.
GO: Just because someone is being called idiotic doesn't mean he's being called an idiot.
KZ: How about I just call your line of reasoning asinine? Do you feel like I'm calling you an ass?
GO: (quietly) I think we'll just have to agree to disagree.
KZ: So now we're agreeing on things. See, that's progress.

That muthafucka was heated the rest of the meeting and so was I. Don't play semantics with me. I'm the master of that shit.

I went to the movies (again) this weekend and saw Bo.rat. I can honestly say I've never laughed so hard at a movie in my life. It will make you uncomfortable as all get out in many places. You wonder about the sanity, level of committment and balls to do most of the shit that you see on screen. I went to the movies TWICE all of 2005. I've been five times that this year. That, my friends, is telltale.

Be Focused,

Friday, November 03, 2006


"Homicide wanna meet you."

I hardly ever reminiscence on the blog, but I gotta write this down 'cuz it just hit me like a ton of bricks.

Back in '87 I was a freshman in college. I was young, newly de-virginized, and highly corrupted, but all in all, still a really nice boy. I had a lot of female friends in my dorm. Little did I know at the time that all of them wanted to fuck me. I couldn't see the signs, but one by one, they let me know by my sophomore year.

Anyway, one of my friends was this girl from Detroit named Rosalyn. Rosalyn was beautiful, a short, large breasted, flashy dressing, gold digging hoodrat (in the parlance of the era she would have been called a "Sackchaser" or a "Mica Babe") . She had a little beef with the girl I lost my virginity with. They lived next door to one another. "Texas" hated that Rosalyn was always in my room and Rosalyn hated Texas' clingy ways. Rosalyn used to spend the night with me on several occasions, saying her roommate was always entertaining. We slept in the same little twin bed, spooning. I never even tried to bone, it didn't occur to me that I could. I thought she was out of my league.

Rosalyn had a boyfriend back in the D nicknamed "Homicide". He was a drug dealer on the Westside. She showed me a gang of pictures of her and this dude. Had to be at least 50 pics, no smirk, no grin. Lots of money and guns. In every picture she looked like a million bucks, tax free. Dressed to the nines, big fuckin' smile. She'd go home every other weekend to see this murdering gangster muthafucka.

After one such weekend trip, she came to my room. She had a funny little look on her face. We talked about what she'd done when she was at home. And then, out of nowhere, she leaned in and kissed me. Long and deep.

I was stunned. I can't even say I was happy. My overwhelming emotion was surprise. "What did you do that for?" was the only response my feeble sixteen year old mind could come up with. She then said the one thing that I least wanted to hear in all my life, "Homicide wanna meet you."

Panic set in almost immediately. "Why Homicide wanna meet me? I didn't do nothin'! Awww, man! You just kissed me! I didn't do nothin'!" You could almost hear the onset of bubbleguts.

"I told him I wanted to break up with him. I'd been tellin' him about you the whole time. He just put two and two together."

"Two and two? You don't wanna be with me! How is that puttin' two and two together?"

"You're the only fool who doesn't know I wanna be with you. Everybody else knows better."

"So now he wanna meet me and I ain't even do nothin'. You tryin' to get me kilt!"

I never met Homicide, nor did I ever kick it with Rosalyn. All those emotions came rushing back to me today. I went to lunch and I saw this woman that looks like I imagine Rosalyn would look today.


Thursday, November 02, 2006


The list of shit I hate grows...

Grown men that use the word "co-inky-dink" or "anywho"
Actually PEOPLE that use the word "co-inky-dink" or "anywho"
Muthafuckas who talk to you at urinals.
Gospel Hip-Hop
Staunch advocates of anything
Election season
Chicks without a hairstyle. Long hair ain't a hairstyle.
Uneven drafting boards, crooked t-squares
The 90's
The Satan's Anus Municipal Employee Association
Frat business (the real stuff)
Anger management classes
People who forget the first rule of "Fight Club"
"It won't fit"
Buying milk in the smallest possible usable quantity and still having it go bad, unopened
Being wrong
People who say shit like "Hate is a strong word". Not as strong as your fuckin' breath.

Stay Bitter,

P.S. Gotta luv "The Onion" though.

Killin' Me

On the phone

Three: What you been writin' lately?
KZ: Fuck you mean? You don't read 'em?
3: Fuck you! I'm busy.
KZ: OK. (silence)
3: For real, what you been writin' about?
KZ: I thought you might be too busy to hear about it.
3: What kinda bitch *African* is you? Stop bein' so damn sensitive.
KZ: If you read the fuckin' blog, you'd see I'm in a bad place right now.
3: Well, you got your health. What the fuck else you want?
KZ: Ehh.
3: I got an idea for a new blog.
KZ: I don't need your ideas.
3: I'm tellin' you, you'd have a buncha muthafuckas commentin'. You'd own that bitch.
KZ: What's the idea?
3: You and a few of them blog *Africans* need to get together and have a shared blog called "These Bitches Kill Me".
KZ: "These Bitches Kill Me"? What the fuck would we be writing about?
3: The various muthafuckin' ways in which, umm, various bitches and the like, umm, you know, effectively be killin' y'all *Africans*, and so on and so forth.
KZ: Hunh?
3: You know with the shit they do. "Three get my nails done", "Zed come over my mama's house with me". You know, that shit.
KZ: I already got a blog like that. I call it "Babee Munkees and Clams". Ever heard of it?
3: Well, this way it wouldn't just be you! Everybody got different ways they get got. Y'all need to compile that shit into one giant finger, the finger of blame, pointin' at hoes. "Does this shit sound familiar?"
KZ: I'll think about it.
3: You better do this shit before somebody else take it.
KZ: You think there's an audience for that?
3: There's an audience for that bullshit you be writin'.
KZ: Duly noted.


Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Knockout And The Art Of Secks

Hey folks? What gives? I went to the movies last night. I'm not much of a moviegoer, but recently I've been trying to counteract my boredom. Also it was Halloween and I live in a complex where I don't control the external porchlight. It automatically comes on, so I would have spent all night answering the door saying "No, I'm not giving away shit, little vampire."

So I went to the movies. I saw "The Pr.estige", a pretty good movie. Yes, Sc.arlett Jo.han.ssen has big titties. No, I don't see the big deal about her acting ability. I also think Christian Bale might be lightweight evil in real life. I see a common thread in all his roles that lead me to believe at the very least he's an asshole.

Anyway, so I'm in the movie and my phone vibrates. It's a text message:
I miss that dick! I had a dream about us last night. Too bad we didn't tape that shit!

I closed the phone. This is the third message I've gotten like this in the last two days, from three different women. All I could do is laugh to keep from crying. Still the King of The Desert.

I think women send these messages just to fuck with me. If I wanted to follow up, I can't. Two of the texters are from out of state. One from earlier that day:
I know good girls don't ask this, but when can I have you again? I'm getting wet just thinking about you! Don't you want me? Tell the truth! I can handle it.

WTF? I guess it's easier to write this shit than to say it over the phone. They oughta know better. I'm not responding to a text like that, even if I was interested. That shit is EVIDENCE, my African.

This shit frustrates me to no end, even though I think I might be turning into an asexual being. Lack of actual, bona fide oochie-coochie over a long stretch of time does that.

My advice for the sex texters out there: key phrases, one or two words can do the trick speaking. Also, it becomes less appealing for the object of your affection to post your shit on his or her blog. And try not to torture a muthafucka who can't get laid. That's another important facet of this story. It was pretty pathetic to look at that text while sitting in a movie theater alone.

Be Cool,

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Go See The Doctor

What up, hottentots? Hope everything is good with you. I had a meeting this afternoon with one of my old professors from St.ate. She was interviewing me for a paper she's writing on Blacks in our field that came through the program at State. It's funny, she once gave me a 0.0 in one of her classes and here she was talking to me about the status of the profession. The curriculum I was in was hella small, so the professor/student relationships were pretty tight. Except if you never attended class. *ahem*

Talking to her was some cathartic shit. She asked me some questions that surprised me and I think I surprised her with my answers. I told her I'd never tell another Black kid to come into this profession. Not one. It will crush your enthusiasm.

Afterwards, Dr. Henry asked me if I ever thought about pursuing my Ph.D and becoming a professor myself. I laughed. "After what I just said about discouraging kids to pursue this as a career? Dr. Henry, do you remember me as a student? I had the lowest G.P.A. allowed to graduate. I was an awful undergraduate."

Dr. Henry insisted that I have what it takes to do it. I don't know if I do, but I wouldn't do it. She said I had more practical experience than any other graduate of the program she's talked to. I was also the highest ranking one. All I know is books be makin' me sleepy.

All in all, it was good to see someone who knew me way back when see me doing OK.


Monday, October 30, 2006

Stupidity Is Free

I'm sitting in my living room. It's dark and I wanna go somewhere. I have no place to go. I've been here, in this city since July 2005, and I don't have any idea where to go. I just finished this book I was reading and I wanna do something other than reading.

The boredom is overwhelming. I can't talk to any of my co-workers, because I don't really have any. Some of my best friends in Detroit were the dudes I worked with. These corny dudes around here are murder. I can't talk to these cats, not that my circle was extra large at home.

The women here aren't really what I'm used to. There is something underneath the surface I can't put my finger on. It's frustrating talking to them, so I don't.

I'm beginning to hate talking on the phone. Everytime I hang up, I hate it here even more. I talked to my mother today which is always a bad discussion. I called her because I was feeling bad, thinking it would be a cool conversation this time. It was torturous, dog.

I was leaving work today and it was beautiful outside. The only thing I could think of is that I got approximately 30 more years of this shit.

Man, fuck this.


The Flake Mistake

Excuse me for going off on this little tangent. It actually felt like it was gonna be a tangent, co-tangent, cosine and a secant for minute, but I think I've made it managable.

How many times have you given someone the benefit of the doubt when they don't come through? Or don't do the things they say they're going to do?

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the spot around 9!" "Dude, I'll watch your dog while you're away." "I'm gonna drop it in the mail after work."

When you count on someone to do shit and on a consistent basis they don't do it, when do you separate the person from the deed? I contend that you don't.

A muthafucka who does flaky shit is a flake. It's time to call a spade a spade.

We are surrounded by flakes that we explain away by saying shit like "That's just Johnny". Maaannn, fuck Johnny! Grow up, Johnny! Do what the fuck you said you'd do, Johnny!

"Yeah, I got your message, but shit kept coming up. Sorry."

I'm ready to purge all flakes before the new year. If we're cool, you'll return that call in a timely fashion. If we're cool, you'll show up when you say you're gonna show up. If we're cool, you'll fuckin' follow through. I'm not asking you to do any more than WHAT YOU SAY YOU'LL DO. If you're not gonna do it, don't fuckin' say it!

"I just flaked out". Word, bitch? I'm sure there are many areas in which you're downright dependable and efficient. I'm sure those are the things that benefit your own flaky ass, which means your overall flakiness is an act of aggression.

So, I contend it's time to stop separating the flaky act from the person and call it like it is. Fuck the flakes.


Saturday, October 28, 2006

General Rambling on a Saturday Afternoon


Thanks for everything, Tigers. It was unexpected and fun while it lasted.

The Spirit has now worn the jersey of every major sports team in the city EXCEPT ONE. Guess which one?

Coming soon...scalp liberation!

Friday, October 27, 2006

Forest Man Vs. The Tree People

"Culture Cypher Cypher Love is all I need/I'm petty, can't see the forest for the trees" - "Big Fish", Flavor From The Eastside Basement, 1991 demo tape

What up, Negroes? I'm trying to hold down the fort whilst being shot at with crossbows and having trojan horses left at my doorstep. To paraphase Dubya, playing "the man" is hard work.

The non-union people, my professional staff, are pissed. They want a raise across the board. What'll happen if they get one? Well, that means at least two of 'em will be laid off. Who squawks the loudest? The most expendable ones with the least seniority. Michigan has a high ass unemployment rate AND the City of Satan's Anus is about to double employee costs for health care, effectively giving everyone a pay cut. Good luck with that, jackholes.

For my union staff, calling them pissed is an understatement. We, the professional staff and managers, sit around in climate controlled offices while they go out and do the dirty work, which includes confrontations with property owners. They are underappreciated and underpaid, they contend. I say they don't realize how utterly replaceable they are. The union is also beefin' because of some discipline we handed out. You see, one of the staff made it a point to call a citizen an "idiot" because he added a component to his property that was some non-compliant with city codes. The staff person admitted he called him an "idiot" and was given a verbal reprimand. The union feels that the punishment was too harsh. Really? A verbal, not added to your written record, reprimand for calling one of our "bosses" an idiot is too harsh? I came from a heavily union family and these fuckers are making me hate them.

The real issue is that I'm here to be a Forest Man. The big picture is everything. The nature of people in general is to be Tree People, looking at the short term immediate needs of themselves. You can't reconcile this shit, it is what it is. I get what it is to be a Tree Person. Shit, essentially I am a Tree Person thrust into the role of Forest Man. I have to be more concerned about their jobs than they do. I have to make sure the work can be performed before the money runs out. I have to protect the city against money sapping lawsuits. They get to sit around and bitch about how it feels like management doesn't care about them and complain they we don't bring in donuts for them on Fridays. This shit would exhaust a young man, let alone my ass. That's why I need the weekend!


Thursday, October 26, 2006


Yesterday around 4:30 pm

Knockout Zed: Look, bump ol' dude. You don't need that hassle. Forget 'em. I'm goin' straight to the top and I'm taking you with me.
Blah Blah Blah: You're going to the top?
KZ: Most definitely.
BBB: Where are you now?
KZ: The bottom.
BBB: You're not at the bottom!
KZ: Yes I am. I'm at the top of the bottom, but I'm at the bottom all the same.
BBB: You're not at the bottom. You're in the middle.
KZ: If I'm in the middle, I'm at the bottom of the middle. My ass is touching the top of the bottom.
BBB: Where am I?
KZ: You're at the middle of the middle.
BBB: I can take being at the top of the middle.
KZ: Bullshit! You wanna be at least at the bottom of the top and you know it!
BBB: No, the top of the middle is fine.
KZ: I don't believe that shit. My next step is the middle of the middle. Hopefully I'll be there soon.
BBB: Anything's better than the bottom of the bottom.
KZ: I was born at the middle of the bottom and look at me now, at the bottom of the middle.
BBB: Yeah, look at you.


Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The First Kiss

Adam stood in the shower as the hot water streamed down his face and on to his chest and stomach. Standing there thinking about the last 8 hours, he couldn't help but smile. He calculated that he'd had a total of 37 minutes of sleep. Non-contiguous, fragmented, stolen minutes, but 37 minutes nonetheless.

The bathroom door opened and closed. The shower curtain was abruptly thrown open. She stood looking at him, naked and smiling. "Good morning." The steam dripped off those words as they hung in the air. "Do you have a shower cap in here?" He gestured towards the cabinets under the sink. Adam couldn't remember her name for the life of him. She grabbed the cap and put it on, looking like the world's sexiest lunch lady or jheri curl victim. She stepped in and handed him the black and gold packet. "You forgot this."

He took the condom from her and put it on the soap dish. He closed the shower curtain and turned so that she could have the benefit of the warm water. They soaped one another up, for the first time examining the bodies that gave each other so much pleasure overnight in full daylight. Slowly caressing one another, his hands holding her rear, hers stroking his front.

As he became fully erect, he reached for the condom, ripped the package open and rolled it on. They stared into each other's eyes as Adam lifted her, her legs wrapped around his waist. As he entered her, they shared their first kiss.

Be Cool,

Tuesday, October 24, 2006


As I scraped the ice off my car this morning, I realized what I was in for: 6 months of abject misery and darkness. It's basically winter, baby, and ain't nuttin' I can do about it. My ursine tendencies tell me it's time to hibernate, to let this shit envelop me until April. Yesterday I went to sleep at 6:00 pm, woke up at 10:00 pm, went back to sleep at 1:00 am and got up for work at 7:00 am. That's entirely too much sleep and I don't even feel bad about it.

It's not like this shit is the Siberian Peninsula, but sometimes I think it might as well be. It feels like I'm sleepwalking most of the time. It's definitely rut related. I'm physically exhausted because I'm mentally understimulated. Once I get mentally stimulated and I go back to my everyday shit, I feel like I just crashed.

The saddest shit I do every so often is drive back from Detroit to Satan's Anus. It's an anguishing trip. It's counterintuitive. I'm driving away from everything I want and driving towards everything I don't want. The drive is symbolic in more ways than one.

My drive towards achieving success in my professional field has taken me further away from my desire to achieve in any other way. In short, I'm getting lazier, which I didn't think was possible.

That's all I got.

Stay Rested,

Monday, October 23, 2006

A T.A.D. Bit Better

I spent Friday in Detroit getting my locs done before I headed for Toledo. I was talking to my loctitian, June, (no, not this one) and we were talking about travel. Or in my case, lack thereof. She had me thinking about broading my horizons. June has me determined to get my mind right so I can go to Ghana next year. That's a lot of flying, yo!

As soon as I left the loc shop, I went to this car audio place to get my CD changer fixed. As I walked towards the door, I could just make out the stunned gaze of my ex-girlfriend Pinky. I smiled, about to give her a hug when she quickly took a step back and tapped this cat behind her. "Marvin, this is my friend Zed. Zed this is Marvin." I start smiling, "Hey Marvin, good to meet you." I shake his hand and then she gives me a hug. "Funny seeing you here." "Yeah, funny." A week ago she sent me an e-mail asking if she could come see me in Satan's Anus, so I guess it would be funny seeing me there. They handle their business and leave. Less than 15 minutes later as I remain in the shop, Pinky calls me. She's making general conversation. I don't mention ol' dude and neither does she. I wondered if she stuffed that cat in the trunk or something.

After they take my CD changer out of the truck and leave me without a gang of my favorite CDs, I drive to Toledo. Fuckin' Toledo.

I don't wanna go into too much about Toledo, I just wanna say that two things were evident: Undergrad cats hate Alumni cats, and the feeling is mutual. One group is sucking the fun out of the frat, the other is stackin' lawsuits against the frat by damn near killin' "candidates"; and my Satan's Anus brothers think I'm an arrogant asshole. I didn't see the city much at all. I left Toledo on Saturday afternoon heading back to Detroit instead of staying through Sunday.

I'm getting ready to go on this date with a newy, Thoughts And Dreams, T.A.D. for short. Mind you, it's Sweetest Day and I realize this sorta late in the game. If I'm out with her on Sweetest Day, any other cat in the picture is not up on his shit, so I'm feeling good about this first date thing.

I'd met T.A.D. before, but it wasn't in a date situation. This shit was spectacular. Mind you, T.A.D. is a friend of Robyn's and she's read this blog (and is likely reading it now, aren't you?), so she had a pretty good handle on who I am. I was able to get some insight on what makes her tick. A lot of insight. Plus I got to look at her, think about suckin' her bottom lip, all that good shit. I think we might team up to go out and fight crime or something. She's the type of chick that makes me wanna write a check or build some shit by hand. You know, do grown folk shit. That's rare, at least it is for me.

She's funny (no matter how serious she thinks she is), intelligent, well-traveled and BANGIN'! If we could just move this other cat completely out of the picture. Word to Boo: You can't be callin' during my time, dude!

Anyway, I'm owed a follow-up date so we can come up with some logistics for me to transition ol' boy out so I can be that "rebound" cat.

On Sunday, I called my boy Three so we could hit the Detroit Breakfast House and try to soak up a little Tiger Fever while I was home. Overall, a very good weekend, significantly assisted by my Saturday night.

Be Easy,

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Nothing Much

I was starting to post just out of habit and I realized I didn't have much to talk about. I can't complain, shit is looking up in general. So I thought, should I do a meme? All the good ones have been done. Should I allow you to ask any question you want and act like I'm answering truthfully? Naw, there's been enough of those shenanigans. Should I spend more than 10 minutes thinking about something worth a damn to write about? No, why fuck with success.

I've probably pissed off more than my share of friends these past two weeks by not following up on phone calls. Chalk that shit up to exhaustion due to a burgeoning social life, chronic masterbation, and a renewed interest in kujichagalia. Sorry about that. We still cool? Good!

I'll be off work tomorrow, out of Satan's Anus for a few days and in Lucifer's Bubble Guts, aka Toledo, OH Friday through Sunday. Mandatory fraternity leadership conference. Good ol' "actual" frat business. I'd wager that Toledo is a thousand times worse than SA. And that might be an understatement. Revenge is a beast. I'll have the laptop, so I won't be completely out of the loop.

Stay Cool,

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

The One-Eyed Man

“In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.” - Irish Proverb

Yesterday was pretty cool in Anusland. I got a lot of half assed attention for the half assed job I'm doing from the half assed staff. It was Boss' Day, a half assed holiday. It was fantastic in a real half assed way.

They all let me know that I was no longer an oddity, that big Black usurper from Detroit who came outta nowhere to make their lives miserable. I was just a regular old jackass who was in management here to make their lives miserable.

Among staff I know they have come to see me and the things I do as "regular". "That's just Zed". That's the point you always hope you can get to with people. When my staff comes to me look to me for solutions instead of trying to get around me to my boss, I know something's going right.

I went on this lunch date too. It was with a woman I met in February, actually on the same day I met Carmel. We just hooked up after all this time. Once again, my taste is impeccable. She made me wish "clam" was on the menu.

A lot of women want to know if they can "church you up". That was her thing, too. I guess that's a valid question if that's the litmus test you use to judge if a Black man is good or not. My beliefs tend to lean towards the shit that Mos Def said on the Blackstar CD, most of us are "not good, but well-behaved". So, no, I'm not necessarily a "good" brother, but I won't steal, slap your ass around, or fuck a man. And I make a decent living. With so many blind brothers as my general competition, my one eye is looking pretty good right now.


Monday, October 16, 2006

Rotten And Lousy

A.K.A. The Robert Mack Jinx

I went to this function this weekend at Satan's Anus University. It was homecoming weekend and the Black alumni association was having a scholarship fund raising event. Being a bored ass lame cat, I decided to crash the event.

I went to the entrance and was told it was $25 to enter the event. I gave the elderly lady at the door a $50.

Lady: Is this the smallest you got?
KZ: No, I'm trying to break it. I need change for the cash bar.
Lady: (looking at my money clip) You carryin' around that much money? You must be from Detroit.
KZ: Ummm..
Lady: I can tell you're from Detroit. You wearin' gators?
KZ: (laughing)
Lady: Oooh, you got a nice smile. You oughta let an old lady teach you some thangs.

So after I finished fuckin' her, I went into the party. It was a cool event. There was an older alumni set on one part of the building and a young alumni event on the other. I was pretty much smack dab in between age wise, but the young alumni were fuckin' wildin' out. The line was so long, I couldn't even get into the door.

At the older alumni set, I was being shadowed by Poppins and mean mugged by her husband. Poppins is probably clinically insane. If I could just get her to go to a clinic and prove it. Damn that free will!

After the gigs, people were streaming out of both alumni events. Man, the young alumni shit was fulla babes. I saw two of my old co-workers, Shan and Ra, from the City of Detroit, proving once again that Detroit is stacked. How I ever worked around such hotness without batting an eye proves just how deep the Metro area is.

I was kicking it with them and they're trying to get me to go to this after party at some dude's crib that used to be very popular when they were in school. Turns out the guy is Carmel's ex. This is the same dude who was calling me and hanging up like a bitch. So I decline, citing beef with that cat. Shan asks me to explain. I tell her it's over a girl. She says "It's not Carmel is it?"

And I laugh.

She begins to tell me story after non-stop story about the drama of that couple during their school days, right up until the point where good ol' Carmel walks in with some dude. (That damn Robert Mack!)

I return focus back on Shan and Ra. Carmel walks up. "Hey big daddy!" and hugs me. I give her the ol' buddy hug (three back pats). "It's good to see you!" "Yeah, you too." She continues to make small talk for another minute and then she's off.

I left shortly thereafter and went home to bed. I woulda slept pretty much straight through the night if it wasn't for the sound of the phone ringing at 4:30 am. Yep, it was her.