Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Safe At Home

Hey y'all. I'm back at work, sick as a friggin' dog. I got a cold this weekend and I'm feeling miserable. I'm writing 'cuz I owe y'all that, seeing as I built up what I was gonna do when I got home. The bottom line is this, I got laid but only once. I know y'all like "Hey African*! You said you wuz gonna bone all these women. What happened? Did you get dissed?" OK, nosy. I'll tell you what happened.

The first thing I did when I got back was go out for drinks with my platonic friend. I figured I'd catch the broads I 'd be bonin a little later. That was cool. We were in a new spot that had a good atmosphere. But she asked me something that I keep getting asked by people, "Do you ever smile?" She doesn't know this (well she does now), but that got me in a reflexive mood. What the fuck does make me happy? I mean, I'm outta the Anus, back home, and I'm about to rack up a body count comparable to Rambo. Happiness is relative. I wasn't really upset, I just don't smile a lot.

When she left, I called Fiona. Fiona was supposed to be last, but she got moved up because I changed my mind about Torina and Pinky, Lillie, Big Fun, and Tonya were all otherwise engaged. So Fiona came to my hotel room. And we fucked. A lot. In the middle of it she had to hop up. "I gotta go to the bathroom!" So she got up peed and came back. And we kept going. And going. And going. Then I came. And it happened.

A man's interest escapes from his body from his vans deferens. I came and I wanted her to leave so bad, you could feel it in the air. We're laying on the bed and hear this young African* and his broad walking past my room. "This African* is fuckin' the shit outta some bitch." His woman responds "I heard that shit! 'Oooh, I gotta go pee!' heheeheehee". Now I wanna curl up and evaporate. She starts licking my fingers, sucking my nipples and sucking my dick. Every molecule in my body is screaming "Leave me alone!". She continues. I start to think about the rest of my time in the city. It's gonna be like this every single day. I start out horny, I buss, then I hate the chick.

"Hold me!" she demands. "Stop touching me" I respond. "You wasn't saying that a little while ago." "Touche, African*, touche" This was around 1:30 am. She stayed until 5:00 am. I walked her to her car and sighed relief. There was no fuckin' way I was gonna spend the rest of my time home like this. I talked to Big Fun, Lillie, Tonya, and Shelly when I was at home, plus Daisy, a woman I hadn't mentioned before, just to touch base with them. Shelly and Daisy gave me carte blanche to come through whenever I felt like it.

I went over Pinky's house on Monday. She was wearing a silk robe with nothing underneath. I cracked her for the ass and she said she wanted to cuddle. I was pissed. Then I realized I just asked for the ass out of habit. I didn't wanna be stuck there with her silly ass all night, all obligated and shit. I was over there for a while and she started talking about us as a couple again. And I left. Women sure know how to get a man the fuck up outta their faces! Relationship talk is dick-kryptonite.

When I left on Tuesday, I felt confident that I'd gotten "Homesick fever" outta my system. I'll be OK in the Anus for a minute.


*I've found that you can offend more black people by calling them Africans than you can by calling them Niggas. Sad but true. Walk into a room and say "Hey Niggas!" you'll probably get a smattering of responses. Replace Niggas with Africans, cats will be like "Who you callin' an African." It's a funny little study in sociology.

Friday, December 23, 2005

The Inevitable

Hey y'all. It's a beautiful day in the Anus. (Never thought I'd ever read or write that sentence in life!) . The boss is out so I'm in charge in this week and next. I made today a casual day, so folks are pretty geeked. I still had to wear a friggin' suit because of some meetings I have. My boss is a stickler about dress. I gives a fuck. I also plan to shut this bitch down early so I can make my way to Detroit. I got a lot of unfinished business there, with several women.

First off is Torina. This is a woman I've never been with. Aching to see a nigga. It's all status-related. I sucked when I was there, but now as I make a little loot and have a little title, so to her now it's cool. Back in the day, the term for her was Sack-Chaser. Now I guess it's Gold-Digger. Short assed haircut, tall, big booty, dark skin. She'll be fucking for free tonight. I'm on some Biggie/R. Kelly shit. Torina, I'm fuckin' you tonight.

Next off is Pinky. Pinky is my ex-girlfriend from friggin' 1995. We broke up because I didn't wanna have kids with her. She's kinda dizzy and shit. That's why I call her Pinky. We've been in touch through the years except the short time I was married. We messed around right before I moved to Satan's Anus, but we didn't screw. She called me a couple of nights ago and said she was about to move into a serious relationship with the guy she's been dating. Then, she asked if we could fuck before that. I was taken aback. She's kinda like Batshit with her religiousity(word?) and shit. "You gotta gimme some!" You bet, Pinky. You bet.

After her, I'll be seeing either Big Fun, Lillie, or Tonya, depending on my mood. Big Fun is the default choice. Tall, dark and beautiful. Lillie, if I feel like listening to strange theories and laughing a lot. Tall, light and beautiful. Or Tonya, the wild ass, drinking and non-stop fucking broad that you can't talk to about anything at all. All she wants is dick, dick, dick. Then she gets melancholy when you don't respect her mind. Women!

The next up is Shelly. Shelly is a stand up comedienne. Funny as fuck and cool. She's not pretty by any stretch, but she is built ridiculously. The consistent thing about unattractive women is their insistence that they be taken "out". Anywhere. I've found that the more attractive the woman, the less insistent she is on being seen "out". She'll want to go out and try to hold my hand. I'll cringe, then I'll look at her body, and I'll smile and oblige.

The last on this tour is Fiona. Fiona was the first chick (there has been one other) to come to my door with a long coat, butt naked underneath. One time we had sex for 7 hours straight, with me cumming a record amount of times. I honestly stopped counting at 9. I used to call her the Magnificient. I called her yesterday to make sure she was still available. She implored me to call her. "Don't come home and forget me. I need to see you. Badly." Fuck! I'll be saving the best for last.

When I come back here on Tuesday, I'll be a shell of myself. A happy assed shell.

Enjoy Your Holidays,

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

The Year of The Inconsiderate Bastard

Yo, yo! What's good, niggas? I was doing my annual "Year In Review" where I look back at all the positive shit I accomplished since January. It hasn't been bad this year. In fact, it's been pretty good. As I've been thinking about it, I couldn't help to notice that societally and culturally it's been a pretty fucked up year. So personal shit aside, that's the shit I wanna talk about today.

There has always been a place in society for the inconsiderate bastard a.k.a the asshole. The muthafucka that is equal parts arrogant and non-empathetic. You know this muthafucka. The kind of dickhead who looks at niggas on their roofs after being flooded out of their homes and says shit like "Why didn't they have enough money to leave? That's what they get!" You see these fucks everywhere. In bars, barbershops, churches, the White House, Fox News, etc. A person in need is a fucking loser that should have known better to these fucks.

It's been that kind of year, though. An inconsiderate bastard is liable to get a pat on the back from the President, telling him he did a good job when he's done nothing. The type of muthafucka that tells you saying "Happy Holidays" is akin to treason or denouncing Christian belief when all you're doing is acknowledging not only Christmas but all other holidays that fall with the same time span. An inconsiderate bastard is the same muthafucka that blows cigarette smoke in a pregnant woman's face, then tells her to lighten up and stop being so "P.C."

My problem is that the inconsiderate bastard has been winning and winning big. The inconsiderate bastard is consulted, listened to, and rewarded in this society. The inconsiderate bastard is against stem cell research until one of his loved ones gets sick. And no one calls him on it. The inconsiderate bastard loves talk radio, country music/metal/materalistic hip-hop, big logos on their clothes, message t-shirts, and wearing sunglasses indoors. You know that nigga. You might be that nigga. If so, congratulations dickhead. You've had a magnificent year.

Next year's my year. The Year of The Self-Righteous Know-it-all. Get ready!

Stay strong,

P.S. White people steal shit!!!

Monday, December 19, 2005


Hey niggas, what's crackin'? I was working with a extreme case of writers block until this weekend. See, I spent this weekend in Detroit. I was doing a little shopping and shit, makin' it happen for relatives and the like. I was looking through my receipts and I couldn't fucking believe it. In a little over 3 hours of shopping I spent $1200.

My finances ain't pretty and this shit was a little reality check. But imagine if you told your loved ones "Look, I'm really not with the material aspects of the holiday. Understand that I love you and I'll do anything for you. I want to take this time to recommit myself to family." Them niggas will lynch you. Everybody's got their fucking hands out. I'm not even a practicing Christian and these bastards have got me for 12 Hun!

We are to blame because we are the grown folks now. We gotta break this fuckin' cycle, man. This shit ain't supposed to be a free for all. This beggin' shit and grown people gettin' mad at you if you don't give them what they ask for. Nigga, we all work. Buy the shit you want for yourself. And then you won't have the burden of buying me shit. I haven't asked a fuckin' soul for a present since I was 19. I don't want shit. But I'm kinda anti-materialism anyway. I wouldn't expect muthafuckas to be like me.

This thing came to a head this weekend because my ex-girlfriend wants us to exchange presents. She asked me what I wanted, I said "Nothing". I'm being true to life. I've never asked her for anything but pussy. I sighed, then I asked her. She said "A digital video camera!" I have never wanted to choke a bitch so much in my life as I had right then.

I said "Why don't we put price limits on the gift buying?" She was all hurt and shit. She tried to make it like that would limit the shit she could give me. Right. She has not come close to buying me anything of the value that I've bought her for Christmas.

I think we should stop faking it altogether. This ain't about Christ. It's a free for all. Ask for the sky. Fuck fiscal responsibility, saving, and all that shit. Go crazy for the fleeting assed feeling that opening a present gives you. Regret the spending for 6 months and get ready for it again.

Materialism is the most acceptable addiction on Earth. I just don't wanna keep feedin' nigga's habits and shit.

Free Ya Self,

Thursday, December 15, 2005

I Owe You One!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

The prettiest woman I've never seen has tagged me, so y'all gon' hafta bear wit a nigga.

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive
2. Find your 23rd post
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to it)
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

The fifth sentence in my 23rd post is as follows:
"The only authority figure I recognize as a necessity is Parent, because heaven knows I don't want responsibility for raising your little bastards."

I don't know how likely my tagged folks are to respond, but here goes:
Eclectic Soul, My baby mama overseas, Harlemunkee, NicMoney, and IceColdKeKe


Wednesday, December 14, 2005

The Snow Keeps Coming

Hey y'all! I hope everything is well. I'm holding it down in my own little purgatory. After almost six months of being asked and invited to every black church in the galaxy, I finally had to tell one member of my staff to cut it out. Being as private as I am, and people taking that as a challenge to find out more about me, made me finally stop being so polite. "I'm not a Christian. I'm not an atheist, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist, or a Hindu either. But I'm not a Christian, so please stop asking me to attend your services."

Now, it's a fucking wildfire. In this small town where there is no such thing as a "different" muthafucka, I'm a different muthafucka. Every sista in this joint is coming up to me in little halfassed manner to figure out if what I said is true. "So, what are you doing for the holidays?" Seems innocuous enough, right? As soon as I answer and walk away, I see the broads going into the office of the ringleader, the first chick that kept asking me to go to church. At some point we'll be having a talk about the appropriateness of such behavior. As the old folks used to say "I'll break 'em the fuck up outta that shit."

So, in the meantime, I'm a pariah as every sista in the valley finds me "unacceptable" because I'm not a Christian. That is except for devout Christian "Batshit", who, as we have established, is batshit. The snow keeps falling. I have had a steady innundation of date requests from non-black women. Last week it came to a head with 3 inquiries to other women about my availability. Yesterday a woman I met out Friday dropped a line to her girl asking if she should ask me out.

I've addressed this issue in a prior post, so I'm not gonna rehash it. But if you've been reading this blog, you should have figured something out by now. I am in a constant struggle between my better judgment and "Zed del Sur". "Zed del Sur" has an insurmountable lead. I'm trying to do betta, but the snow keeps coming.

Your Snowbound boy,

Monday, December 12, 2005

Everything Is Gay

A.K.A. Blogger Generation Gap

Hey y'all. My birthday on Saturday was O.K. I hooked up with Batshit (please, just shut up) and we went out to eat and to this jacuzzi spot. It was pretty cool. It was actually indescribably cool. So I won't try to describe it. The day before my birthday, Friday, I had an interesting phone conversation with a blogger who shall remain nameless. I'll just go on to say she made me feel as old as fuck when we talked.

MK - 25 year old female blogger/slacker
KZ - 35 year old male blogger/mack

MK: What you dooin'?
KZ: I'm at the mall. I'm about to buy some boots.
MK: What kind?
KZ: Classic Timbos.
MK: You buyin' yourself some birthday boots? That shit is so gay!
KZ: Ooooh, K.
MK: I'm serious nigga. Don't tell nobody else that shit. What you dooin' afta that?
KZ: I think I'm going to the bar. I wanna smoke a little and drink a lot.
MK: Are you depressed? That shit is gay, man!
KZ: What the fuck? That's the second time you've said that about some shit I'm doing. Expand your vocab, nigga.
MK: Expanding your vocab is gay as fuck.
KZ: What are you doing tonight?
MK: I don't know. Why? Do you want me to say what I'm doing so you can call it gay?
KZ: What the fuck is your problem?
MK: *Long assed monologue that I refuse to type* Why are you so quiet?
KZ: I'm paying for my boots.
MK: So you're just on the phone breathing and shit? Breathing is so gay!
KZ: Gotdamn it, KeKe, what the fuck is not gay?
MK: I don't know, but all the shit you're doing is gay.
KZ: Well nigga, where I come from having same gender intercourse is gay. That's how it's defined.
MK: Zed, that's not really gay. That's just sex. Corny shit is gay.
KZ: Are you trying to tell me a nigga could fuck another nigga and you wouldn't say "That shit is gay!"
MK: Naw. That's just sex.

And that's the fucking story of getting old.

Keep warm,

Thursday, December 08, 2005

More Pet Piss

Maybe it's the location that sets me off...

but I stay pissed (remember, I get pissed not peeved) and this fucking blog is my only outlet. It's boring here and everything is magnified. On Saturday I turn 35 and if I have kids I'll be a senior citizen when I'm able to kick it with them on an adult level. So in no particular order, here's a grouchy old man venting about shit I can't stand:

Katherine Zednanreh
Kat, please give up my last name before you have a baby out of wedlock. People will believe that's my baby. We know that's not true, physically impossible. Give me my name back. And that ring I bought. I'll give you back the video tape I made.

Misplaced Latin Pride
My grandparents came from Cuba. My father's people. My (real) last name is of Spanish origin. I'm a nigga, plain and simple. Born and raised in Detroit amongst my people. I have no sense of unity with "Latinos". My father is even less down with "La Raza". The Latinos I know think I'm denying my heritage. Bullshit. Why should the descendants of slaves and indigeneous people take pride in speaking Spanish or having a Spanish surname? Them niggas conquered our people. That's the equivalent of a nigga taking extra pride in how big his slave master's house was. That shit is sad. Be proud of the shared experiences and the cultural outgrowth of the oppression. Everything else from Spain I could piss on. Most "white" and mestizo latins fucking hate black latins, anyway.

Hey, insane hoe, cut it out! You run down a list of shit you hate about me and then you beg (yes, beg) me to be your man. What the fuck is that? Your birthday was December 2nd. I didn't get you anything. No present. No card. Is that a hint? What the fuck do you think? "I'm fucking you until I find someone better." Am I speaking in codes? Leading you on? Maybe.

Misplaced Entitlement
Say nigga, if you don't mow your grass or pick trash up off the street you live on, why the fuck should you expect the city to? That's your property, right? Oh, you're just a renter. Well then, that excuses you from all the responsibilities of being a citizen respectful of your neighbors. It's cool to have that car up on blocks in your front yard for 2 or 3 years. What? You've lived in this house for 20 years and the roof leaks? What is the city going to do about it? Are you serious? You are. OK...ummm. Fuck you, hows about that? We don't owe you shit but police protection, water and schools, you fucking dickhead!

The Detroit Lions

Birthday Celebrations
A few years ago a woman asked me what she should do for her man's birthday. I asked her "Do you love him?". She said yes. I said "Give him a hundred dollars in singles and let him go out with his boys. Tell him he is not allowed home before sunrise the next day." That chick went ballistic. I asked her what she was planning. She said she was going to take him to this expensive italian restaurant and then out dancing. "Does he like Italian?" She got offended again, "I like the place. He'll find something he likes there." "Is he a dancer?" "Not really, but we haven't been dancing in a long time." If you're serious about doing something for someone, be serious. If it's for you, wait til your birthday. Asshole.

"Bright Side" Fuckheads
"It could always be worse." Or it could be better. I could be reading your obituary.

All in all, things really are going pretty well in my life. Except the lack of vaginal variety. And the snow. And my upcoming birthday. And my dumb assed staff. Other than that, shit is just peachy.

Cocked and Loaded,

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Neva Change

Damn you, you pretty ass New Yorker! I've been tagged so I gotta do this. I owe you a spanking. Barebottomed.

I don't know how much of this I'll ever change, but I shouldn't tolerate any of this bad behavior.

Things I have not changed because I have tolerated:
1. My bad fucking credit. I hate paying for shit over and over again so I fuck myself by paying late.
2. Messing with women I can't stand just 'cuz they got bangin' bodies.
3. My friggin' messy house.
4. The way my staff whines to me about everything.
5. My expanding waistline. I gotta get fit without a New Years Resolution.
6. Letting my ex-wife get under my skin.
7. My propensity to fall for women I can't have.
8. Letting "slights" roll off my back until I explode.
9. My anger problem (see #8). I once threatened one of my frat brothers by telling him I would beat his ass, rob him, then fuck him in the ass like a bitch. Needless to say, he no longer speaks to me.
10.Chronic masterbation. I've been known to have sex all day long, then when the woman leaves, beat off two more times.

I'm taggin' Disco Diva, DecaturMunkee, and the Birthday Girl.


Monday, December 05, 2005

Mood Altering Music

A.K.A. The Rip in the Time/Space Continuum

Hey kids, what's crackin'? I was just thinking about songs that I hear that put me right back in the mind frame I was in when they were "popular". Most of the shit I listen to now isn't popular but that wasn't really the case in the past. I came of with a list that wasn't comprehensive but it'll give ya an idea of where I was coming from. I didn't want the list to be too hip-hop heavy because I'm an underground head so I eased back a bit on that. Check this out:

Early life 1970 - 1981
I didn't get to choose too much of the shit I listened to. My parents and my siblings usually picked it. This music always gives me the best memories.

Hard Work - John Handy
Average Joe - Terry Collier
Rock Creek Park - Donald Byrd (Detroit, what?)
Used To Be My Girl - O'Jays
You Are My Starship - Norman Connors
Rapper's Delight - Sugar Hill Gang
Storm Music - Gil Scott-Heron

Pre teen - Teen 1981-1987
The middle school/high school years. I was a huge Prince fan. It was before hip-hop took over completely. I was also a fan of a lot of pop music from the UK. I was a preppy kid that wanted to catapult myself out of the 'hood.

Annie Christian -Prince
Something in The Water - Prince
Fascination - Human League
Owner of a Lonely Heart - YES
Modern Love - David Bowie
The One I Love - R.E.M.
Still A Thrill - Jody Watley
Don't Disturb This Groove - The System
Throw That "D" - 2 Live Crew

College and Beyond 1987-1994
Actually this time frame should be characterized as just "college" because I started in '87 and finished in '94 after being kicked out for a couple of years. This era can effectively be called my slacker period.

I Know You Got Soul - Eric B. and Rakim (woke up to this every day as I prepared for class)
Just Call - Sherrick
Nite And Day - Al B. Sure
Potholes In My Lawn - De La Soul
It Takes Two - Rob Base and D.J. EZ Rock
Understand Me Vanessa - Anttex
Who Got Da Props? - Black Moon
Black Hole Sun - Soundgarden
World Famous - The Beatnuts
Electric Relaxation - A Tribe Called Quest
Otha Fish - Pharcyde
Limitations - Souls of Mischief

Working Adult 1994-1997
I am seriously drawing a blank here. This time frame went by in a blur, which is sad. I can't remember a single song here. I just remember I started thinking that hip-hop was on it's last legs.

Engagement and Marriage 1997-2002
These songs are sometimes hopeful, sometimes regretful. The fact that these songs resonated with me like this should have been a sign. By this time, I fuckin' hated R&B.

U Make Me Wanna...- Usher
Girl You Know What's Up - Donnell Jones
Don't You Forget It - Glenn Lewis
I Wish - Carl Thomas
She's All I Got - Jimmy Cozier
Girl Next Door - Musiq

These songs for whatever reason have left indelible stamps in my brain. For better or for worse, when I hear them the reaction is immediate and emotional.

Be Cool,

Thursday, December 01, 2005

The Gratis Smack

Niggas don't lie! Don't tell muthafuckas it's yours! Don't even fake it like you thought of it first. When you tell niggas about this, and you will tell niggas about this, give me my proper credit. Just say "This nigga I know named Zed came up with that." I'll know if you did or not.

Now let me get to the brass tax. "What is this cat talking about?" I have an idea that I'd like to propose. One that will revolutionize racial relationships in America. I have a solution for the issue of reparations in this country. All I need to do is to propose it to the Congressional Black Caucus or some shit like that.

I propose the "Gratis Smack" in lieu of reparations. Let me tell you how this would work. Once a month for the rest of our natural lives, we get to smack the shit out of a cracka without any reprecussions whatsoever. One time, each and every month. Sitting at work, the boss comes over to you and asks "Where's that report I asked for?" You can reach back and smack the fuck outta that pink faced bitch! One time every thirty days.

This shit would be free so it wouldn't adversely affect the economy. White people would be more polite to Black folks if they realized there would be some immediate reprecussions to the shit they do WITHOUT ANY RETALIATION ALLOWED. Black people would be much happier knowing they can get some small measure of revenge on the oppressor. A white dude cut you off in traffic and you just used a gratis smack? Follow him home and wait a month. As soon as you have a gratis smack credit, go to his house and knock on the door. Watch the fun ensue.

How would this work? Well, every time you smack a cracka, they'll call the police. You know they gon' call the police. The police checks your record to see the last time you smacked a cracka. If it's a legal smack, you're good. Simple as pie!

You say to me "Zed, nigga you think I can be bought off so cheaply with a monthly slap? My ancestors suffered you fuckin' miscreant!" And I say to you, nigga, "What are you getting right now?"

I know what you're thinking. That black muthafucka has too much time on his hands in Satan's Anus. You'd be right too. But admit it, you like this shit. Tell your family and friends. Maybe we can start a movement.

Peace (or not),

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

"Dude, weren't you married before?"

Hey y'all, what's up? This post is solely to clear up, or rather reinforce what I wrote in the previous post and not look like a hypocrite. Brooklyn Babe (if that is indeed your REAL name!) kinda called me out on this one, so I'll take the time to explain.

Yeah, ya boy Zed was married. Really for about a 1 1/2 years, but legally about 3 years. My divorce was final December 11, 2003, one day after my 33rd birthday. But we hadn't lived together for 1 1/2 years before then. I didn't get married because I was in love, nor did I get divorced because I didn't love her.

We met when I was 24 and she was 29. I thought this would be some broad I fucked for awhile and then left, but I started to feel her. I liked her. A lot. So I stuck around. We were and tumultuous couple. We fought a lot and made up a lot. It was a real off and on relationship. She became my best friend and my worst enemy. When it was good it, it was excellent.

I wasn't under the illusion that I was in love with her when I got married. We were long past that. It was my sense of duty and my misconception of what it meant to be responsible. When I was pushing 30 I thought I'd strung her along enough. She waited for me to mature, so I should marry her. I thought my misgivings about marriage were just immature longings to stay single and chase pussy. So I pushed them aside and decided to get married. It was all practical. No love involved in the decision. In fact, I believed that I was "in love" with another woman at that time.

I got married on December 24, 2000 in Negril, Jamaica on a beach. Barefoot and high as fuck. I needed to be high, 'cuz I was going to fly back to the "D", unmarried. My boy convinced me to go through with it. When we returned, the only thing that kept me in the marriage was my father.

My father is very conservative and remains a huge influence on the way I think a man should be. I thought that my father would be practical, stay the course, and make things work. As the marriage progressed, I had to admit to myself that I wasn't my father. I left in June of 2002.

That's my sad ass wedding story. I hope you liked it. I didn't!

Be Easy,

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

When In Love

Yo, yo, yo! What’s crackin’ folks? It’s been hard to try to write since I’ve been back. As depressing as family is, cold weather is worse. I’ve been pretty down since I got back on Saturday. Even fuckin’ Thelma’s brains out when I was in Detroit didn’t help. Since Sunday I’ve molested myself around 17 times. My dick is sore from jackin’ it. I’m bored as fuck. I’ve been able to focus my feeble thoughts into one blogworthy post. I’ll probably not post again for another week or so. So here goes:

Everybody out there has some inkling of the concept of love. You love people that you don’t even wanna love or think is worthy of your love. We all do it. We got family we can’t fuckin’ stand, but we love them regardless. Shit is uncontrollable and unconditional. But being “in love” is quite another thing. It is the most selfish shit going.

That state of mind, when you’re in love, makes you fucking nuts. The possessiveness and the longing. That shit is just concentrated lust. If y’all fuckin’ or just achin’ to fuck each other, it’s not love, it’s lust. You define that person by what they mean to you instead of what they are. That’s selfish shit. That person not doing what you’d like them to do will make you fall out of love with them. “I love ya, hoe, but I’m not in love wit’ ya!”

My contention is simple. Being “in love” is the fakest shit since Tyra’s titties. Love is real and all encompassing. “In love” is fleeting and ultra-conditional. I’ve fucked more broads “in love” with another nigga than the law allows. ‘Cuz she mad at him. ‘Cuz of some shit he did.

I can’t stand the serial “in love” niggas especially. Didn’t Robert Palmer talk to y’all niggas about that? Stop all that fake shit. Fuck ‘till you sick of each other then decide if you LOVE each other enough to stay together. Banish that silly assed terminology!

I denounce every one of you muthafuckas out there now that claims to be in love. I'm proclamining a jihad on "in love" niggas.

Watch ya back,


Thursday, November 24, 2005

Leon, Big Uncle Zed, and Pro-Social

Hola Overeaters, it's ya nigga, Zed. I'm sitting on my parents patio looking at Leon. Leon's a alligator (or crocodile, since I can't tell 'em apart) that's in this lake behind my parent's house. It's around 80 degrees and looking at the weather report from Satan's Anus I should be grateful.
My Uncle Zed came through today. He was looking good, better than he's looked in quite a few years. He moved to Charlotte from Tampa a few years ago. Big Zed was with his new woman and her daughter. This cat hasn't lost his touch. His woman was off the fucking meat hook. Tall, thick, and pretty. Fuck me, nigga! How can a nigga two years outta prison with so much baggage pull so top shelf? I'll never figure this shit out, but he's doing much better than me. All my nieces and nephews now have to distinguish between us. I'm "Little Uncle Zed". He's "Big Uncle Zed". That's not awkward. Anyway me, Zed, my father, and Pro-Social (my oldest sister's husband) were kicking it on the patio for awhile. My uncle is really a changed dude from what I remember. Thoughtful and curious.
We spent a lot of time out there watching Leon, drinking and talking shit. Pro-Social is my nigga. He's a big, talkative cat from Alabama. He started dating my sister when I was 12, so I've known him forever. He's like another older brother. Pro-Social is the funniest cat I know personally. Quick witted and cool. He is my polar opposite, thusly he's Pro-Social.
That cat makes it easier for me to cope with this smothering family stuff. Him and his son, my youngest nephew, Bugaloo. Bugaloo, age 3, sat on my lap when he first got here and grabbed a dreadlock. "Why did you do this to your hair?" "Cuz it's my hair, little @#$&*!" O.K. I didn't really say that but I thought it.
I guess I'll be alright. I've only seen 2 aunts and 1 uncle from my father's side (out of 9 siblings) and 1 aunt from my mother's side (out of 8 siblings) so my day will be full tomorrow.

Happy Black Friday,

The Last Stages of Sanity

That Chris Rock shit got y'all niggas gassed/I'm that smarty art nigga that'll whoop yo ass. - J-Live "The Sidewalk"

Hey peoples, I just wanted to document my madness. I don't have anything to say except celebrate Thanksgiving by doing something extremely nice for a Native American. Just like crackas are benefitting from shit their ancestors did to ours, so are we living well (some what) off the foul and evil shit done to Native Americans. Your good deed may have to be largely symbolic because crackas did their foulness so well, there are hardly any Native peoples to do good deeds for. Luckily I know a Native American so I'll try to do something to show I don't appreciate the shit that was done to their people.
Please let them know that we are not celebrating anything more than a couple of days off work. In the meantime, enjoy your family. There's nobody else like them.


Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Counting Backwards

Hey y'all, what's up? I am really having the most miserable time in my life. I can't explain all the old feelings this place dredges up. There are some really beautiful parts of this city, but I am used to being stuck at my grandmother's house in the 'hood. Too young to drive, stranded and shit. Niggas with mouths fulla gold teeth ("Great Scott, are you a thief?") and shoulder length jheri curls. "Ay, Dee-troit. What's up my niggah!"

I drive around Tampa I realize how shortchanged we were as kids. Like I said, I still fucking hate this city. Shit that passes for cool is a white suburbanite's idea of cool. When was the last time a Hard Rock Cafe or House of Blues was cool? Cats are still trying to make the blackest big city in America into "Hockeytown".
I'm not a family person. When everybody still lived in Detroit, I never saw 'em. In the same house it's hectic. It's claustrophobic. I know I'm supposed to savor these times because heaven only knows when the next time we'll see each other again. Tomorrow's not promised. I'm trying to make this work for me but it's suffocating.
Thanksgiving is that time of year. Extremely stressful. Family will make you lose your fucking mind. This is turning out to be the longest seven days of my life. And it's only the third day. It's time to meditate.


Sunday, November 20, 2005

Gush Puppy

Yo, I forgot to put y'all up on the lastest with my love life. Here's a taste:

She climbed on me as I lay prostrate, straddling my midsection. We were both naked and we looked at each one another with trepidation. The sun shone through the window, the tv muted as Judge Mablean broke down another relationship into dollars and cents. She reached beneath her and grabbed the base of the shaft as she lifted her lower half to accommodate it.

"We should stop doing this" she offered, sitting on the head, lowering herself slowly down on shaft. When it entered her she exhaled and grabbed my hair. "Why?" I asked. She was hitting me on the chest, punishing me for going in so deep even though she was on top, controlling how much she took. "Because if we don't, I'm going to fall in love with you." She started to bounce faster. I looked at the clock. We should only do this for another thirty minutes. We both had to get back to work. I looked her in the face hating her for the real world intrusion into the quickie. But she was right. We had to stop, but not because of my fear of falling in love. It was because I was truly appreciating the magnitude of what was happening. This is my only local source of pussy. That ain't good. I was getting too comfortable. The more reliant I was on her, the less control I had on the situation. I gotta go fuck some other broads, whether it be on campus or in another nearby city, I gotta do it.

When I snapped back it was because my lower torso was awash in an orgasmic excretion that had followed her high pitched emission. She came, but I didn't have time to. "Let's go take a shower" Batshit said. I followed, sure of my next step.
I'll be back in town next Saturday, fasting and meditating. No solid foods, no fucking. 30 days. We'll see how this goes. Of course you'll be the first to know if I fuck up.

The latest and greatest,

A Little Miserable

Hey y'all, what's good? I'm on vacation in Tampa. You'd think I'd be thankful to be in warm weather after freezing my balls off in Satan's Anus, but I'm not. The truth is I'm here cuz my mama misses me. That's it. I'm sitting in a suburb of a city that's practically a suburb. This too is the boondocks. I can't get a fucking signal for my cell phone until I drive 3 miles from my parents house. This is not a colorful exaggeration.
The weather should be a bonus, but honestly I'd rather spend Thanksgiving freezing alone in Michigan. In a few days this place will be crawling with my siblings, my nieces and nephews, my aunts, uncles, cousins, and miscellaneous nigritos. My Uncle Zed is coming, too. Yep, Uncle Zed. I was named after my father's brother. A "formerly" drug addicted pimp. This cat has made it so I'm afraid to get pulled over in Tampa. "Oh my god, this is Zed Zednanreh! Call for backup!" This cat used to use my business cards to pull women, to much better effect than me I'm afraid.
The main thing is as soon as he arrives, I'm Little Zed. All my freakin' life whenever we came to Florida to make the distinction, I became Little Zed. "Little Zed, tell Big Zed to come here." I'm got him by at least 5 inches and 70 pounds but by Tuesday, I'll be Little Zed. When I got here my aunt was with my parents at baggage claim to get me. The first thing she said is "Well look at Little Zed!" Beautiful.
My mother is priceless. Showing me pictures of relatives and shit. She's extremely "fat-a-phobic". She fucks with her own kids the worse. She made my ex-wife cry on so many occasions it's ridiculous. "Oooh chile. You done blew up!" She was rainin' down on my cousins tonight. If your chunky ass walks by her, she'll grab your midsection and start jiggling. I'll have a long, jiggly week.
I'll keep y'all cats posted on my private hell.


Friday, November 18, 2005


What's up kid, the Ab is speaking from the Moon/Thanks for your support/Ay yo, I'll be home soon. -Q Tip "Keep It Rollin'"

Ay yo, what's up? What's the best romantic relationship you've ever had? O.K., stop touching yourself. What's the worst? Can you remember it? The pain it caused, the hurt and then the healing? I'll bet you wouldn't trade the memories of that best relationship for anything in the world. But what about the worst one?

I just saw (yeah, I'm late) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet. For those that may not have seen this flick Kate and Jim are dating and shit goes sour. Kate goes to a place that allows her to erase all her memories of their relationship. Jim finds out about it and goes to the same place to erase his memories as well. While in the midst of the process, Jim has a change of heart and decides to fight to keep the memories.

The movie raised a lot of questions for me. If you could erase the memories of a bad relationship, would you? Would you make the same mistake in selecting a partner again? How would you be able to see the signs of trouble if you've erased all memory of it? What about the new things you learned during the relationship? I know, it's just a movie and shit, but it made me think about these things.

I pretty much reached the conclusion that the couple came to in the movie. You should see it if you haven't. It's weird in places, hard to follow in others, but it's beautifully photographed and emotionally moving. Niggas, I hate Hollywood and the zeitgeist it claims to represent. The movie industry puts out predictable trash, but I recommend this movie wholeheartedly.

Think about those questions I raised and tell me what you think.

Head Munkee In Charge,

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Apropos Of Nothing

A.K.A. The Most Generic Post I’ve Ever Written

I woke up to 8 inches this morning. No, I wasn’t looking down in the shower, I was looking out the window. It was snow. Fucking lake effect snow. And it covered my car.

Niggas named “Andre” have stolen or will steal something in their lifetimes. And they cheat on their women. They really think they have a sweet ass name.

The cat that invented condoms had a lot a free time on his hands.

I’m sick of black folks naming their kids after lands they have no connection to whatsoever. Yeah, I’m talking to China’s mom and Asia’s mom.

I once denigrated an ex-girlfriend when she told me she wanted a tattoo. I thought she was trying to tell me something. This was back in 1990 when only porn stars and hookers had tattoos.

I am an utterly unrepentant “ass man”. Breast size is completely unimportant to me. I’m sure that’s surprising to anyone who’s ever read my blog. I don’t covet big titties, but I’ll take ‘em.

My ex-girlfriend’s mother was the first person I ever took a gun from. It was the first time I ever touched a gun and it was just last year. “Stop being so scary!”

I’m flying to Tampa on Saturday to visit my parents for Thanksgiving. I hate the State of Florida. It’s a vapid, cultural wasteland. I think it’s the palm trees. (Sorry, California.)

My parents are from Tampa, born and raised. All my siblings were born there, too. I'm the only born and raised Detroiter. When I tell people my parents are from the south, people ask from where. I say Florida and people laugh. “That’s not really the south.” Sheeeiiittttt! Listen to them niggas talk. Ask about Jim Crow. It’s as southern as you’ll get.

O.K. Butterfly, tell me this: How come a great deal of British speakers so liberally use adverbs? “That’s really quite interesting.” Instead of “That’s interesting.” It’s inefficient! Cut down the verbiage, man.

I absolutely hate lesbian porn scenes.

I saw this woman the other day wearing a belt buckle that read “Cretia”. Then she got in a car, and the license plate read “CRETIA”. Why so proud, Cretia?

Twins are fucking creepy. There, I said it. Sorry Twin, Ms KeKe, and Chubby Chocolate! Byron and Brittani (my nephew and niece), too

I once beat a man to death with a lead pipe.

Just seeing if you’re still reading this shit.

Before I had a college degree it had a level of mystique. I didn’t grow up around a lot of “degreed” individuals. Now it’s just a bill I pay every month.

It won’t stop snowing here.

How am I going to survive Thanksgiving this year and I don’t eat meat? This will be some hard shit.

This year between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I’m going to fast. All liquid. Only broths and beverages. It’s going to suck being around me.

I’m going to invent a complimentary product to use with the “Blackberry” called the “Sweetjuice”.

You know, South Carolina, Georgia, et al, y’all lost that war. Enough with the fucking flag, man.

Why are so many grown men video game addicts? I hate them shits. Get a real addiction like promiscuity or heroin.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Munkeefood, Part 4: Solitude

Hey Folks, what’s up? I’m in navel gaze again, trying to figure myself out. I often complain about the lack of social outlets here in Satan’s Anus, but really I’m kind of misrepresenting myself. You see, I’m not a social cat at all. I’m quite the opposite.

I’m the guy at the end of the bar, solo. Though I’m in a couple of fraternal organizations, I don’t particularly care for the company of that many other people. People tend to talk more than they listen, which upsets me to no end. It’s O.K. to shut the fuck up once in a while. For real.

I love my frat. My frat brothers? Some of them. Sometimes. In a fraternal situation, you’ll interact with cats you might not ever kick it with in life under normal circumstances. Sometimes that’s cool. Other times, not so much. Arrogance, abrasiveness, all around assholery abound. I’m the “Dip” King. As soon as everyone is having a good ol’ time, I’m out. I quietly slip away, everytime.

I don’t go to the movies more than twice a year. The communal experience of sitting in a theatre with a bunch of apolite jackasses doesn’t move me. Hollywood hasn’t put out a compelling enough story for me to go sit in a full movie theatre more than a couple of times a year. The only time I go is when I’m extremely bored or on a date, which brings me to my next observation.

I love going out alone. It is an awesome experience. I already, as I’ve stated before, don’t talk a lot. So I love to sit in bars and people watch. The longer I sit alone, the more likely I’ll have multiple women hit on me, especially if they arrive in a group. I don’t know what it is, but I get more phone numbers when I sit and drink than if I’m actively trying to pull. I don’t understand it, but it’s the one situation where my anti-social behavior benefits me.

Once dating begins, it’s another story. I’ll see you when I see you. Most of the time, you won’t see me or hear from me, even if I like you. Why? Because you’ll want to be around me. And talk. A lot.

It’s not that I hate people. I hate dumb people. And I’m outnumbered and shit, like Socrates Fortlow. I’m sure we could hang, fellow bloggers. We can go out for drinks. And at the height of the evening, look around. I’ll probably be gone by then.

Stay Tight,

Monday, November 14, 2005

Pyramid Scheme

What's crackin' Rhesus, Capuchin, Mandrill, et. al.? I just wanted to let y'all know that I love to read. Love it, love it, love it. Mostly non-fiction, so that means I skip a lot of blogs. Just kidding(!). Nah, I'm reading y'all. A lot. And I've come to a startling conclusion. There are a great deal of people that equate "sex" with doing wrong or being wrong. In addition, the act of withholding or denying one's self sexual pleasure is akin to nobility. It should come as no surprise to you that I'm here to argue the opposing point of view.

How many of you have taken sociology classes? Show of hands, please. That many, hunh? How many of you remember Maslow? You know Maslow. The "hierarchy of needs" cat.

His pyramid outlining the path to self actualization has at it's base physiological needs. If one does not take care of one's basic needs on each level, that person will not be as successful fulfilling needs on the subsequent level. Well my good friends, sex is on the bottom level of that pyramid.

I maintain that we (and by "we" I mean "you") are driving ourselves crazy trying to suppress a basic physiological need. It's like sleep deprivation. Prior to "our" entry to the western world, into "civilization", it was recognized that we performed certain rituals at puberty and entered into adulthood. At that point, the pursuit of marriage and a sexual relationship was encouraged.

In the modern world, we reach the age of "sexual maturity" at puberty and we spent the next 5 to 6 years not having sex because we are being "good" and waiting until it is legal. Then we are still holding off until the sex until we find "the one". If we held off eating until we found "the one most nutritious food" we'd be fucking anorexics. But we're not. We're the fattest nation on the face of the fucking earth. I don't want us to be hypocrites and shit.

What I'm trying to say is that this sex deprivation is making us (and by "us" I mean "you") INSANE. You're not in your right mind. Ladies, go get some dick. Please. For humanity's sake.

Your Only Friend,

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Big Audio Dynamite

What's up? It's ya boy Big Knockout A.K.A. Captain Cunnilingus A.K.A. Major Friction A.K.A. The Bronze God A.K.A. Arthur Bronzerelli A.K.A. The Bronz A.K.A. Bronzie.

Trying something different on a slow ass weekend.

The Audio Blog

Be good,

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Blathering Idiots

Yeah, Munkees! What's up baby? What's ya know good? Did you figure out the questions to my answers? Oh, you'd be surprised how off you probably are.

Today was brutal as hell. It was a 5 meeting day, back to back, no lunch break. Sitting around, expounding on superficial details, none of which will get any assignments done. I'm pretty sick of talking once my day is done, so I make a bee-line for the gym. Now, this is not an everyday thing. As a matter of fact, this is my first time going to the gym since I arrived here in July.

In this little Shithole I call home, there is no Bally's Total Fitness or anything like that, so the gym is the YMCA. It's a quaint, old school building with a really state of the art weight room. I never expected it to look like this. I was excited when I saw it and couldn't wait to work out. So I'm warming up on the stationary bike and this cat that works there walks up to me. He introduces himself as the director of the Y and begins to talk to me, like what do I do and where am I from. I'm a pretty private nigga. People that know me know that. It was the last thing my ex-wife violated, it caused my walkout. I don't like talking to people about me. I can talk to y'all semi-anonymously. But this guy was in my face.

Another thing about it is that white folks in general believe they are entitled to information like that. "Well I'll just see who this guy is!" Nobody else has gotten stepped to by this guy, so I guess he's gonna find out who this massive dreadlocked muthafucka is in his spot. Once again, I live in a small town. I'm on local TV every two weeks. So I tell him who I am and what I do.

He proceeds to talk to me about everything under the sun, city politics, yesterday's election, my hopes and aspirations. I'm not used to being social nor am I used to a dude being interested in my life. The first thing I think when a man strikes up a conversation with me is "This nigga's gay." That's why most dudes ain't making new male friends that ain't co-workers. Otherwise, what excuse do you have to talk to another nigga?

My point with this post was to illustrate my inability to escape blathering fucking idiots. They are everywhere. At work, at the gym, at the market, at the bar. I gotta find a hobby. And it can't involve opening a broad's legs. I need to get my library card or something. Go someplace niggas can't talk.

Some Off Topic Shit

My condolences go out to Joy Bryant for hitting the egomaniacal trifecta. First, she stars in Antwone Fisher. About a nigga named Antwone Fisher. Written by a nigga named Antwone Fisher. Produced by a nigga named Antwone Fisher. In the movie a nigga named Antwone Fisher is the hero.

Next, my sweet sugah was in a flick called Baaaadaaaassss! It was a movie directed by and starring Mario Van Peebles. It was the first on-screen blow job by a son to his father.

And last but certainly not least, Joy is in Get Rich or Die Tryin'. In this movie a charmless thug named Marcus, played by a charmless thug named Curtis, makes a lot of bad choices. One of those choices was to make a autobiographical movie which could very likely get played in a court of law one day very soon. Fuckin' idiot.

Happy Birthday MsKeKe,

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

The Answers To Un-Asked Questions

"I don't hate religion just organized religion. If your shit's all helter-skelter, then good for you."

"If a bitch say 'conversate' to me, she's asking for it. Stop gettin' English tips from semi-literate MCs."

"I stopped in 1989 or '90. When did Treach and 'nem make that one song?"

"I think the number is close to 100. I counted just before I got married. That sounds high as fuck, but that's about right."

"About 8 x 7. Really. To the left."

"It's the cadence, man. If you didn't steal that shit from the Last Poets, maybe I could feel it. How come all they cadences gotta be the same, man? If you ain't stealin' make up a new flow."

"The worst? 'Rapping Is Fundamental'. Or 'Bullet From A Gun'. It's a tie."

"Once. I don't like 'em. My boy Rodney was accidentally killed while he was cleaning his. In the summer between 10th and 11th grade. I hate them muthafuckas."

"My first week in college. Lynnette from Arlington, Texas. She was 19, I was 16. It was over quick."

"I usually put KY on it. Yep, if it's that state next to TN, it's KY."

"The one with the real sweet crest."

"Three, right now."

"Chubby Chocolate, Dee-Dee, and BKBabe, in that order. If it's close to the weekend then it's definitely MeCrazyMe."

"Nope. I came close though. Believe or not, I got scared when it came right down to it."

"I don't know. It's just fun to watch it grow."

"Between Detroit and Chicago."

"Kameron, Eva, and Brown. Yep, Brown."

"It's gotta smell right. It's gotta BE right. I'm a little more discriminating than I come across, I guess."

"Just bored I guess. Shit, why do you think?"

Contemplatively Yours,

Sunday, November 06, 2005

The Pseudo-Arts

Yo, what's up? It's ya boy with another entry full of misadventures and shit. I was in my office on Friday and who should walk in but E.T. She was at the spot visiting with Poppins and decided to stop by. I had forgotten that I made a date with her that night to go to this poetry reading.

Let me let y'all in on a little secret: I hate fuckin' spoken word, light an incense, head wrap, beat the bongos type shit. People see a nigga with 'locs and automatically they think "What an enlightened muthafucka!" Nope. Not even a little bit. "Spoken word artists" are some of the most facile, non-imaginative niggas that ever stumbled across a copy of "Love Jones" in the previously viewed pile at Blockbuster. That being said, I made the date a week prior because I was horny then and forgot I made it.

Anyway she popped into my office with those fuckin' titties showing, reminded me of the date and I said "Sure. I'll be there." We hooked up later that evening at a bar with a jungle theme before we went to the spot. Monkeys were everywhere. I took that as a good sign. I drank a couple of L.I.I.T.s and waited. She showed up with even more of those titties showing and I was happy. She drank some and we left.

The poetry spot was an old firehouse. The shit had a nice ambience. We were the only black people there except for the owners. I hardly noticed anything else until it was too late. The poets came up one by one on the open mic. All women, all white. All professing their love for pussy. I looked at E.T. "Take me back to my car. I'm not listening to this shit." I never identify with these spoken word muthafuckas. I especially didn't identify with this shit. She didn't want to part company.

"Let's go drink at Picasso's" she said. I obliged. It was packed when we got there, fulla crackas. I grabbed a Guinness, she got a martini. Pretentious bitch. "You wanna go to my place and let me eat your pussy?" I said, really trying to cut through the bullshit. "What?" "I wanna know if you gon' let me suck your clit." She laughed. "It'll get awkward between us." "How so?" "I'll want to let you do more than that. I'm still looking for a new job. If we start something and it doesn't work out, you won't want to help me." So that's where it was. That's where I was. I am a resource, a means to something better for so many people around here. I guess I never really thought about it.

"Hey can you get these drinks. I'm tapped." I said. And she bought those drinks and the next ones I ordered. We left Picasso's and went to another spot, a blues spot. I drank and she paid. It was a cool spot but by then I'd disconnected with her and my surroundings. I was happy to let someone else be a resource for a change.

When we were done at that spot she dropped me off at my car. "I have a bottle of wine chilling at my house." she smiled as she looked at me. "Naw, I'm an old man. I wanna go home and sleep." I got out and went home. I miss my home, my real home, my real friends. I just need to lay low until I'm able to reassess my life here.

I am Zedediah X. Zednanreh, the favored son of Africa, nephew of the Drum and the Spear, first cousin of Cuba, the lion of the Zednanreh bloodline. These niggas won't soon forget that when I'm done.


Friday, November 04, 2005

Thalidomide Babies

Hey y'all, what's happenin'? I'm trying to drag my ass around the office and accomplish stuff. Too much time up late at night has got me waking up sluggish. Though I'm having fun (and trust me I'm having fun), I'm on the verge of sleeping through meetings and shit. Full blown snoring in effect.

The worst of this shit is that I have to stay attentive to these helpless muthafuckas "they" call employees. Yeah, I said it. I'm downright dismissive of these bastards. One after another they come whining about one thing or another. "Mr. Zednanreh, she won't talk to me." or "Mr. Zednanreh, there are too many things on my schedule." or "Mr. Zednanreh, does this look infected to you?" and "Mr. Zednanreh, there's blood in my stool!" Blah, blah, blah.

I hate this victim shit. Go get another job. Oh, what did you say? The job market is horrible? Then you probably need to reassess all that fuckin' bellyachin' you're doing. There are muthafuckas chomping at the bit to have the same problems you got now! Trust me. This brotha (one of the few I've met here) asked me to look out for him yesterday. "Keep me in mind if a job opens in one of your sections. I'll do anything." This nigga has a master's degree in information technology. He's unemployed and starving. Don't you think this muthafucka would do a little light typing for a few months?

I used to hate when my old bosses would tell me shit like "You think you got it bad? There are worse places to be." My standard response would be "Why would you compare yourself to the worse places and not to the better places?" That shit used to make sense to my under-24 self. I realize how naive I was. I came from the City of Detroit, man. There's nothing worse than working for a broke, corrupt city. Constant threat of being laid off, political cronies getting promoted over you without a day of experience, the mayor's contributors getting their families first dibs on good, inexpensive housing [side note: if y'all Detroit muthafuckas re-elect that earring wearing, bitch killing, club hopping, miniature gorilla, you get what you deserve], all run by lethargic management that just wants to go home early. That shit is horrible.

I'll listen to these niggas bitch a little longer. After that, I'm going to convene a meeting, section by section, and list my expectations. I expect them to shut the fuck up, work hard and help one another. The next muthafucka that snitches on one of their co-workers is going to get kicked in the nuts (women too!). They are exhausting me.

Bring back the fucking She-Rockers!

P.S. Remember that class I was telling y'all about a little while ago? The last session was last night and guess what they served? Nacho chips, carrots, and brownies.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Taco Meat

Hey peoples! How y'all doin'? Before we go on I'd just like to make a clarification: I was in no way dissin' lighter skinned black people in my last post. Some of my best friends...never mind. Some of my favorite ex-girlfriends and current "batty" partners are yella. We all got our little preferences. I love black people across the board. Except if you're a popular MC. If so, I fucking hate your black ass.

Anyway, I've been thinking about aging. I'll be 35 next month and quite frankly, my youthful good looks are fading. They actually started fading on my 18th birthday! It's been a long, rapid decline. I became prematurely gray. I used to sport a full beard, then it got laced with gray hair when I was 25. So I dyed it. I was too lazy to maintain it, so I kept the gray after a while. Then it proliferated. Crept into my temples. And now, bam! If I grew out my full beard and sat down at a mall, small children would leap into my lap and ask me for presents. Damn genetics. I got more gray hair than my father, but my mother...gray as a mule since she was 21. I've had gray friggin' chest hair since I was 27! When I take my shirt off I look like the black stunt double for Wilfred Brimley.

Now, of all things I gotta worry about taco meat. You ever see Rocky I? Did you see Apollo Creed's chest hair? That shit looked like little balls of taco meat glued to his chest. More and more I'm finding my formerly silky smooth chest in little balls on my chest. You've seen niggas with nappy beards that look like that too. Think Whitman Mayo or Cody Chesnutt. That shit ain't gangsta! That's some unsexy shit.

So there you have it. I'm not a kid anymore and I'm wasting the last vestiges of youth I have in Satan's Anus. With taco meat on my chest.

Te quiero my old chest hair!

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

That Gray Area

Yeah, yeah. What up folks? Smooth sailing for me. For once. I keep getting asked a lot of questions from people back home about what it's like here. "What do you do when you get home?" "Do you have anyone to hang out with yet?" "What's the deal with Batshit?"

The one thing that I don't get asked about, in fact I get warned about, is Ofay. A.K.A. Beth, Becky, Peggy Sue, Pinky Toes, Blondie, Knock-kneed Cock Devil, Gray Girl, Miss Ann. You know, white chicks. "Don't bring no white girls home" the Detroit Female Space Cadet Chorus chants.

There are a few problems with that concept. First, I can't meet broads, period, let alone go through special methods to devise a rap that is understood by the she-cracka. Second, my home is Satan's Anus, for better or for worse. Every semi-successful nigga here is married to a white woman. For that reason alone, I'll pass. Never be one of the crowd. Third, I love dark women. "Wesley Snipes and Sheryl Underwood fucking in an abandoned coal mine" dark. "Alek Wek's left asscheck in a basement bomb shelter during a blackout" dark. Really, really dark. I'll sign over my fuckin' check to a dark skinned woman with dimples. Fuggetaboutdit! Carmen Electra classifies as a dark white woman. 'Nuff said. Lastly, the concept of a white woman is often more appealing than the actuality. Blandly seasoned meals, mildly oblivious to blatantly racist activities due lifetime of unearned privilege, hair flipping, know-it-all-itis, pushiness, and a weird socialization/disposition that I'm both unwilling to learn and unable to stand.

On these long, dark nights, don't think I haven't thought about jumping the fence. It's not like I haven't done it before back in my undergraduate days. One shot experiments are one thing. Signing on for a lifetime in the Skinner Box is quite another.

But I'll never say never.

All Black, Never Gray

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Buttahead Stew

S'up y'all? Chillin' dude. Enjoying this beautiful fall day in the "Anus". The sun's shining, broads are out jogging and shit. Where do they work? Don't come back to my office after a midday run all sweaty and shit. Take thine ass to a shower!

I'm getting antsy. The winter will be upon my ass with a quickness. I crave, nay, need variety. I gotta get some keepers before the snow falls. And here in the snow belt, it'll be soon. My gaze has been fixed upon the creme de la creme, but now it's time to look elsewhere. It's time to look to the "Buttaheads".

I'm no stranger to Buttaheads, especially during particularly dry periods in my youth. But as I've grown older, using buttaheads as a crutch has been frowned upon by players far and wide. I've been with women with incredible bodies with a fucking lazy eye or fucked up teeth. Bad weaves and huge noses. Or acne'd out. It all works out for a short period of time. Usually from when I meet them right up until spring has sprung.

Don't get it twisted. It's not just me using them, they get a lot out of it too. They get to go out (really, really late) with an attentive, handsome man to all the best places in town (on off nights). They get to see the back seat of a 2000 Chevy Tahoe. They also get to eat breakfast at the finest Denny's in town (at 6:00 am or earlier).

It all works out for the best. If we continue our relationship through the spring they get to experience the drive-in, too and sex leaning up against a tree. Quid pro quo, baby.

So now I'm adjusting my gaze and setting my sights a little lower. 'Cuz winter in Satan's Anus is no joke.

A First Time For Everything
I was driving earlier today. Speeding. Doing 50 in a 30 m.p.h. zone. I got pulled over by the police, a black cop and a white cop. They asked for my license, registration and proof of insurance. Then I told them who I was.

They let me go and apologized for pulling me over. WTF? I took a swing for the fences and hit a home run. That shit was beautiful. I never would have imagined that I could tell some police who the fuck I am and be let go. Maybe the "Anus" ain't so bad after all.

Slow Down,

Monday, October 31, 2005

A Bathing Ape

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

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

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

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

Stay Dry,

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Turn Off The TV

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

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


Friday, October 28, 2005


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

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

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

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

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

Fuck the Farmers,

Thursday, October 27, 2005


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

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

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

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

Au Revoir, munkees

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

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Lost One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still bobbin' and weavin',

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

A Lazy Assed Sneak Thief

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

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

Saturday, October 22, 2005


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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep Doing Whatcha Do,

Friday, October 21, 2005

Halcyon Days

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

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

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

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

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

Go Green,

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Origin of Tha Munkee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Munkeetionally Yours,

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Munkeefood, Part 3: Fear of Success

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

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

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

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

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

Make Peace Not Whore,