Thursday, May 31, 2007

The Etiquette Of Hostility

Hey peoples, what's new? Same ol' shit with me, as always. I just know I'm enjoying the warm weather. We deserve the beautiful weather as a whole, but it hasn't been a picnic in the midwest. This shit is necessary! The change in weather also opens up that same old internal dialogue I have: am I insane or just overly sensitive?

So I was out enjoying the beautiful weather the other night, walking around downtown, pre-dusk. I had some checks that I needed to deposit so I stopped at my bank's ATM. As I'm making the deposit, this cat of slight build, in his early 20's rolls up behind me on a bike. I stopped and turned around so that I was facing him.

"Sir, could you please choke me to sleep?" "What?" "I would appreciate it if you would grab me by the throat and squeeze until I lose consciousness."

Now I'm thinking, what the fuck is this? Why is this kid inviting death? Shit it was either that or he was a sexual fetishist. *Sidenote: yes, ladies, I've met y'all that like to get choked while you getting boned and y'all are creepy to me. That's right, I said it!*

It turns out, I misheard him. He asked me if he could have $1.25 to buy some food. I only thought I heard him asked to get choked out, because if he had done the same thing in the D, that's basically the outcome. How the fuck you come up behind anybody at an ATM at dusk and say anything to them, especially pertaining to money? That shit will get you killed, seriously. I think these motherfuckers live in some sort of idiot bubble that protects them from what's really going on. A different type of muthafucka, same origin, woulda shot him in the neck. Fools and babies, man. "Man, hell no! What the fuck you doin' comin' up behind me askin' for shit? Get the fuck outta here!" That's all I could muster.

Yesterday, minding my own business, eating lunch outside, an acquaintance asks "You mind if I sit with you?" If we spoke, I saw you and you saw me, and I didn't invite you to sit, the answer is "yes, I do mind if you sit with me". But say that shit, and you're a dick. So you say "Sure". And the idiots regale you with tales of daring and whimsy for the rest of the hour. Except the tales are really mediocre and not funny. If you ask to sit and fuck up my lunch hour of zoning out and people watching, you better make damn well sure the stories you tell are entertaining enough to pass muster.

Damn, I need a drink.


Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Memo To Rose Royce

You bastards! How the fuck is "Car Wash" conducive to making people work at a car wash? I was seriously considering trying to get a new car wash off the ground. I was even gonna use your music to highlight the grand opening. Then, out of nowhere, the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks.

Right off the bat, "You might not ever get rich..."
Fuck you, Rose Royce. How am I gonna attract potential hand dryers with this shit blaring out of my system?

"But let me tell ya it's better than diggin' a ditch..." What the fuck? What the fuck isn't better than digging a ditch, you assholes!

"There ain't no tellin' who you might meet/A movie star, or maybe even an Indian Chief..." I'm no statistician, Rose Royce, but I'll be damned if the odds ain't stacked against either one of these events actually occurring. Talk about false hope. You guys are jerks!

"Come summer the work gets kinda hard/Ain't no place to be if ya planned on being a star..." OK, that's it! What the fuck am I gonna use to attract the young and dumb to vacuum out Pintos all June, July and August if they can't bank on that shit makin' em famous. Gotdamn you!

"Let me tell it's always cool/The boss don't even mind sometimes if you act a fool..." One cotton-pickin' minute. Time is muthafuckin' money. I would INDEED mind if my employees acted a fool! Who the fuck do you think you are telling them otherwise? Do I know you, Rose Royce? Hunh? Answer me! Pussies!

"Work and work/My fingers to the bone..." This shit becomes less and less appealing everytime you open your fuckin' mouths. Please just shut the fuck up.

"Fill up and you don't have to pay.." That's some wishful fuckin' thinking, scumbags. No one gets a free car wash at my spot, bitches.

Just so you know, I'm out to ruin your careers! No more El Dorados and double knit slacks. No more Afro Sheen endorsements, no more lunches with Don Cornelius. Your asses are history!!!


Friday, May 25, 2007

If I Have To Suffer...

so the fuck do you. It's 4:00 on Friday afternoon before a holiday and I'm in charge. The boss dipped on my ass and now instead of sneaking out, I have to leave at 5:00. So now I'm making lists! Now, muthafuckas...

If It Wasn't For Her Pussy, She Wouldn't Even Be A Woman
  1. Keira Knightley
  2. Joan Rivers
  3. Liza Minelli
  4. Jodie Foster
  5. Ben Wallace
Saying This Might Get You Punched In The Mouth
  1. Vis a Vis
  2. cakewalk
  3. What's the magic word?
  4. heretofore
  5. boondoggle/humdinger (tie)
Words To Describe Cake or Potential Names For Cutting Edge Clothing Lines
  1. Moist
  2. Creamy
  3. Exquisite
  4. Heavenly
  5. Obscenely Decadent
Jack Palance's Favorite Grandchildren
  1. Molly
  2. Franklin
  3. Menachem
  4. Elohim
  5. Eleanor/Jack III (tie)
Rachel Ray's Favorite Things To Say While Climaxing
  1. Delish!
  2. E-V-oh oh oh my God!
  3. (insert audio of uncomfortable, irritating, inappropriate laughter)
  4. Baste it! Baste it, you motherfucker!
  5. Cum-o!
Yeah, I'm bored. I'll talk to y'all later.


Thursday, May 24, 2007

My Dick Is Amazing

I couldn't wait for the warm weather, and finally it looks like it's here. I'm really feeling this, the beginning of the summer season. Beaches, grills, sunshine and water! If it wasn't for work, everything would be great.

Oh, yeah. Work. That thing that keeps me paid. Now I remember.

Walking into that gray building everyday and trying to apply and vita my way into another gray building that I can grow tired of quickly. I keep wondering if it's worth it. I've only had one interview since I've started applying in March and it went poorly. I just submitted for another gig. It's a great gig, pays a lot and I'd be the Director and not the second in command. They were genuinely excited that I was interested in the gig. But ultimately I know I'll be in the same place I'm in today, miserable about my job.

The best things and worst things about my lifestyle are identical: I only have to worry about my student loan and Gretchen as recurring bills. Living virtually debt free means I can revert to my half assed underachieving self at any time and not go under. Plus I'm landless. Not a good look rolling up on 4-0. But I can also go anywhere at anytime, location is only dictated by my preferences, without worrying about the saleability of my property. All my property moves with me.

Hopefully I'll find my way out of the desert and into the oasis by the end of the summer. Wish me luck.

Be Good,

Monday, May 21, 2007

The Silver Platter

I'm writing this, and I don't fully expect you to believe it. It'll be the truth. And it's not outside of the realm of reality. But it's really out of character for me. I've been here for a minute, so people who read my archives might not get it. Here goes:

I was doing my Fourth Frid.ay hosting duties, this past week on a third Friday so's not to conflict with the coming Memorial Day Weekend. We had a decent crowd, a little lighter than usual, and everyone was enjoying themselves. So much so, that they stuck around for an hour after I made the announcement that the event was officially over. I told them that the Brothers would be heading to Mario's, this martini bar that had been our official post-Happy Hour haunt. I saw her, but I didn't see her, just like everybody else. Yeah, all the women were focused on me, I had the fuckin' microphone. No big deal, right? She was about 5'8" in flats, long curly hair, light-skinned with a face dotted with freckles. Her eyes followed me.

So when I left to go to Mario's, I didn't expect much of a turnout. We usually have around 15 people who come out to the "afterglow" thing. Most of the regulars weren't there. Sam was in Gh.ana, the DSTs had a conflicting event, so it was just me leaving for Mario's.

I sat there for two minutes when they started streaming in. We had a total of seven, one of them was her. Kali had her girl and two of her cousins with her, one of which was celebrating a birthday. She also had came with one of her extraneous girls and the VM ended up joining us. The extraneous girl demanded attention and I gave it to her. Mainly because Kali sat near my right side, staring at me, and the extraneous girl was on my left and extremely non-threatening. So I gave her my full attention.

Drinks flowed and I indulged. So much so that I retreated into my customary shell and I let them talk to each other. I was fairly lit when the former Mayor/current state representative came up to me and introduced me to one of his colleagues. The birthday girl being attracted to "power" bounded from her seat and chatted up the two politicians.

I sat drinking slowly and silently until I felt my calf being rubbed. I looked to my right and Kali stared me in the eyes, smiling. I leaned over and whispered, "Don't do that. Please" as I took her hand away. She started rubbing it again. "Why not?" "Because I got a girlfriend." "That sounds like your problem not mine. Where is she?" "She's in Detroit." "If y'all all like that, why ain't she here?"

I grabbed her hand. "Kali, you don't know me, so let me say something to you. I've been the African you want me to be. I've fucked without a conscience, I've treated women like pure shit. I've been married before. I wasn't a particularly good husband. But I'm trying to do something, one time, the right way. I really am. Don't try to make me that African. I don't wanna be that African. I wanna be better. For my girlfriend. For me. OK?"

She looked at me intently. She pulled her hand away voluntarily, got up and walked to her cousin, who was still kickin' it with the politicians. I got up and went to the bathroom and pissed out rum and diet coke. I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands, looking at the gray hairs peeking out from under the newly dyed brown ones. I dried my hands and walked out and there she stood.

"What's wrong? You lookin' for the bathroom?" She walked up and kissed me square in the mouth. I stepped back and wiped my mouth. "What was that?" "Something to remind you how far away Detroit is." All I could do is shake my head and walk away. I went and paid the check and I left.

The next day I drove to Detroit.

Be Easy,

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Three, The Hard Way

How are y'all doing? Great I hope. Last night was a doozy for me. Evening meeting with the community. My department has been working on something the neighborhood asked for 5 years ago. I've personally worked on this project for 2 years. Last night the neighborhood told me resoundingly "nevermind". They don't want the thing they've bugged me about at least once a week my entire time here. I oughta bug them about it until I leave. It doesn't seem fair that I can't even come home to vent and unwind with anybody. My good thang's way across the state.

On top of all the misery and fuckeduptitude I'm in the midst of, the spectre of my best friend leaving the state is hitting me like a ton of bricks. I got to hang with him a little bit on Saturday. It was really the first time in months that we've even seen each other. I feel bad about it because I'm in Detroit all the time, I just get caught up in being caught up.

Three has been prepping to move for a minute, but I'm finally feeling anxious about it. It's like a relative you have that is old and sick and has been for years, you do what you can, basically you just help to sustain their lives. Then when the doctor tells you it won't be long before they pass, you tense up, and rue all the shit you should have done with them. Thing is, jackass, you had that chance. You knew they were old and sick for years. Did you think that would last forever?

So, I hung out with old and sick Three, and all it did was make me angry. I'm miserable because on the friendship level, I gotta do the exact shit I railed about in the last post. I'm here in Satan's Anus making lemonade and I'm fuckin' sick of it.

Most of the shit you probably had to be there for it to be funny. But this is really just kinda for me anyway.

Random Three Quotes

Referring to one of my female friends (in low breath): "I bet she got some sweet pussy."
On my voicemail: "Ay, Knockout. I just called to let you know, every kiss begins with 'K', n*gga!"
His famous impression, The Wild Whore: "Whooooooooooooooooo!" (while swinging his arm above his head, cowboy style)
At the mall: "You always think somebody is looking down on you, not thinking you measure up. Always with the imaginary beef."
Looking at two attractive women walking side by side: "You think we look like that when we walk together? You know, like two friends?"
About a prissy chick in frilly clothes (in a feminine voice): "Look at her. She's a girl."
On how to cure my sleep apnea: "Have you tried a plastic bag tied tightly around your neck?"

I'm Out,

Monday, May 14, 2007


Lemonade (lem-on-ayde) n - 1. a drink made from lemon juice, sugar, and water; 2. a sham relationship.

Hey peoples, what's crackin'? I hope everbody has been well, doing what y'all do, achieving and what not. Me? I been bored. When I'm bored, I think. A lot. Think about places and spaces, where I'm going, what I wanna do from here. It's tough. I hate my gig thoroughly, I'm dying socially, working out half assed, but I don't have a clear vision of my next steps. I know what I wanna do, but I don't know exactly how to get there. Make no mistake, I'll reach my goal or else. It's the way I was raised. I can't lose. I won't do it.

The way I operate is everything I truly want, I find a way to get it. It might not be exactly what I wanted, but it's a reasonable facsimile. Living with it doesn't make me feel like I settled for second best or I'm somehow "short".

It's always been hard for me to respect anybody who doesn't go all out for the shit they want. My take is either make a legitimate try for your goal or stop talking about it. Motivate, or shut the fuck up.

It's been that way with women, too. I want who I want, and if she doesn't want me, I keep it moving. That's the way it should be. You shouldn't have to feel as though you're being settled for. There are times, my people, when you are that proverbial lemon. And your mate has decided to make lemonade, 'cuz fuck it, it's something to do.

Now, mind you, if that shit is cool with you, be all means, enjoy the journey. Enjoy being a part of that lemonade. Be the tastiest, tartest, coldest fuckin' lemonade in the world. Just understand that you are that lemon. You'll forever be that lemon. After kids, mortgages, hard times, good times, grandkids, you are that fuckin' lemon. For better or for worse.

Stay Steady,

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Dub Technology

This week at work has been a chore to say the very least. It has been disappointing in ways that I could not have imagined. Of course I've been looking for another gig, but that, my friends, won't do it. That's not enough. That is the least of my issues. I need a career overhaul.

I'm quite positive I hate people. I truly hate small talk, as has been well documented. It's manifested itself into me showing up at least five minutes late to meetings just to avoid the "pre-meeting" meeting. The little bullshit recaps of people's lives. The bigger part of my job, though, is community interaction and outreach. That's where the real idiots come out to play. Everybody in this college town is a pseudo-erudite. Daily, it has become a battle of the wits with the witless. Half researched counterpoints, entirely made up statistics, specious logic, connecting non-existing dots, marijuana enhanced paranoia, along with barely concealed contempt for Africans have made it an exhausting gig. I've found one thing. The old adage is true, "Never argue with an idiot. Someone walking by won't be able to tell the difference."

Yesterday was priceless. My boss put GPS on all the housing inspectors cell phones for tracking purposes. I'm not a fan of this shit, but my boss has a surveillance jones. He put cameras throughout the department already and this is his phase two. I know what you're thinking, and frankly I don't care. If he's watching me, he oughta man up and say something about it. So we're getting a primer on how to track the staff from this dude from He's breaking down how to track people, their speeds in the cars, how long they stop someplace, et al. And I feel myself getting physically sick. I'm sitting in my seat and I'm sweating. It's getting hard to breathe. One of the reasons I'd never be good at poker is because my face tells my story all the time. I'm pissed that the inspectors, who really do have a lot of shit to put up with and are for the most part extremely conscientious and professional, now have to be concerned about being watched by this gotdamned voyeur, this fuckin' fetishist. I'm sitting here for two hours with this fucked up expression on my face. The Director turns to his Deputy Director and asks, "Zed, what do you think?" And I respond, "It does what it's supposed to do" and I leave.

I could fuckin' explode. But that's what we've come to, it's where we are. Where our jobs become more and more invasive in our personal space, places where it has no real business. It's so much bigger than that. This shit is everywhere, from banks (where it has legitimate security purposes) to the fuckin' corner of State and Main Street, the only purpose is to be nosy and violate you. You? Today, you're somebody's Truman.

Be Careful,

Sunday, May 06, 2007

Six Questions

1. If your significant other is quick to point out the attractiveness of an actor/actress, an athlete, a model, a person on the street, or his/her sibling's mate, and has never expressed an opinion about your attractiveness, is it safe to assume they don't think you're attractive?

2. Are women happiest when indulging in what I call the "cult of deprivation", when they derive pleasure from denying themselves pleasure? Isn't taking that pleasure in denial a form of indulgence?

3. Do you think you're getting the best part of your mate? Why do you think so?

4. What makes up a healthy sex life?

5. Is foreplay an important part of sex? If your partner doesn't perform oral sex, what constitutes foreplay from them?

6. To paraphrase Donald Ru.msfeld/Gin Rummy (from "The Boondocks"), is the absence of evidence the evidence of absence?

Take a stab at whatever ones you wanna try.


Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Botch Slap

Life's highway is littered with roadkill. My road is no exception. My first year here, I was a madman. I gamed every chick I saw all the time. I was trying to set this town on it's ear. As y'all know that didn't happen. In retrospect, it was a good thing, but at the time, I was inconsolable. There is one unfortunate lingering side effect of my first year. Everytime I look up in this town, there is a reminder of lost, fumbled, or unwanted relationships. Ill thought out, or ill-conceived pairings that for whatever reason didn't work out. I call them "botches", botched relationships.

I had mad botches when I lived in Detroit. But the difference was scale. Here everybody literally knows everybody else. In Detroit, it just feels like they do. All my botches knew each other. All my boys had botches, too. You had to make sure you didn't mack on anyone's botch. As crazy as it seems, dudes are mad protective of their botches.

Here in Satan's Anus, botches are plentiful. I had my Fourth Friday event last week. I ended up trying to introduce my botches to other cats, to no avail. It's not like they don't have their fair share of botches, but they say a new botch is better than a old one.

I tried to hook my boy Curly up with this botch named Coco, to no avail. He was diggin' this new chick that showed up, potentially his future botch.

The small circle reminds me that I have to treat my botches well, cuz you never know when you'll see 'em again or where they'll show up. And talking to my female friends I know this to be true: some of you dudes are botches, too.

Be Cool,