Friday, October 26, 2007

Scarabanga Muffiglio

My job is ok. Some aspects at least. The long stretches of doing nothing and dodging meetings are the best. The worst part is budget time and staff shit. I got a employee that has this high level of puppy dog enthusiasm. She always needs a bone (please folks, follow the metaphor). I toss her the bone and she runs back to me with it and drops it at my feet. And I throw it again. She never gets tired.

But I do. I'm constantly passing off my shit to her because she THRIVES on it. She always needs and asks for more. I give her shit that I think will keep her occupied for days, she's done in hours. You'd think I'd love that right? You'd be wrong.

I actually wrote about this shit a little over 2 years ago, but I was filled with vitriol. Now I'm more philosophical about it.

It MAKES so much more work for me to make sure she's occupied. My other employees don't want me to bother them, and I don't want them to bother me. It's the perfect relationship.

I also have to deal with ass-kissers. The latest thing is one of the secretaries, Office Broccoli, is in my office trying to clean it up for me. Site plans, blueprints and maps are everywhere and she's rolling them and arranging them alphabetically. She's lingering, making general observations, and basically just hanging around. Of her own accord. I didn't ask her nor do I want her to do it, but she's here. I can't complain really because my office is getting clean, but shit, I'd rather be left alone in my filth.

As you can tell, I really don't have that much to complain about. I'd just rather be at home.


Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Black America = Hypocrites

We love to reminiscence about the good ol' days, when the "village" raised a child, except when the "village" shows up at your door with belts and switches for YOUR seed.

We love to dis people's lack of education, but we can't pronounce "Chicago" or "Usher" without adding an extra "r". Where the fuck is Chi-CAR-go? Who the fuck is Ursh-er?

We hate gay people, except for our minister of music and T.yler Pe.rry.

We yell for justice, except when our relative is the one standing in front of the judge.

We love independent women, until she don't think like you think.

We love strong men, until his strength is infringing on your independence.

We hate infidelity, unless we can't help ourselves. It was just something about him/her. You understand, right?

We love our people, until it's too many of 'em in one place. Then it's time to leave.

What's my point with all this? I reserve the right to laugh at your misfortune and shrug my shoulders when something tragic happens to you and yours. Because I generally ignore your dumb ass except when you tell me that the California wildfires are God's punishment for wickedness. That's when I can do is wish the worse for you. And when it happens, tell you it's God's will and walk away.

Go back to your dumb ass church and pray on that.


Uncle Phil, et al.

Yo, I got a pet peeve. Yes, yet another one. People really need to shut the fuck up when they don't have anything constructive to say.

Case in point, people are constantly telling me I look like somebody else. The shit is never flattering. Not even a little. Any African with a fat or round face is my fuckin' twin to hear other people tell it. Ic.e Cub.e, Antho.ny An.derson, Mr. T, Bar.ry Wh.ite, Ha.mmond, and Muham.mad are the short list. Do I look like any of these cats? No, and if I did, I wouldn't wanna be reminded of it.

Now ever since I've kinda been on the "fuck it" tip by not dyeing my beard, the other comparison comes through.

"You know who you look like? Uncle Phil from the Fresh Prince!"

Oh joy! That's the look I've been going for.

That's your wish. African, I'll be your Uncle Phil. And when you ain't lookin', I'll be Uncle Fillin'-up-your-woman's-guts-with-cock-sauce.

OK, I'm not that cat right now, but you get the point. No cat has ever had to do more with less than I have. Gigantic headed, fat faced bookworm without flashy shit, and I still do OK. More than OK.

I was out eating with my boys and this lady rushed over to me and said "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Fre.d Ham.mond?" And I said "Yes, ma'am they have. And not once have I been flattered by it." She looked at me all crestfallen and shit, but at least I didn't tell her she looked like LaW.anda, which she did.

All I'm saying is, I see people that look like famous people all the time. I just wouldn't rush up and tell 'em that shit. You never know how they'll take it, ESPECIALLY if you don't know 'em. That shit to me is just nuts.

Be Prudent,

Tuesday, October 23, 2007


I had the weirdest thing happen to me today. I applied for this gig in Maryland via email. Within the span of 30 minutes, I was on the phone being interviewed! Needless to say I was impressed with their interest.

The cost of living is off the chain, but the title and gig are quite similar to what I do. It would just be a promotion from Deputy Director to Director. I know I can do it, but the prospect of moving is giving me bubbleguts.

Speaking of which, I should be mindful of how thin these walls are. I've had so many interviews on my celly in my office, I oughta be ashamed of myself. I know these muthafuckas can hear me. Just like I can hear Shitty McNotwashhands, aka Gene , aka Mr. Asparagus BREAKING WIND FOUR TIMES EVERY HOUR in the office next door.

At this point I know I've checked out, it's just a matter of where I land, so I really don't give a fuck. I'm just focused on getting out.


Monday, October 22, 2007


Hey y'all, what's new?

I just got back from Detroit this morning. It's always an adventure to get off the road and right into work. When I drive in 2 hours, I get to work on time. When I'm 15 minutes away, I'm late. What the fuck is that?

Needless to say I had a good weekend. I was there from Thursday to Monday, so you can tell I didn't wanna leave. I had a opportunity to eat lunch with TAD on Friday, which is a treat. If I still worked in Downtown Detroit, that would be a common activity, now it's extra special. I spent some time walking around looking at shit I helped to build. I always have a sense of pride about that when I'm in Detroit. I was telling TAD I feel no attachment to anything I helped build in Satan's Anus.

While looking at the city, I was actually able to walk into Henry The Hatter (where pimps, players and prophets have bought hats since 1893) and buy a hat off the shelf. I'd been trying to buy a hat in Satan's Anus for 2 years and they kept talking about special ordering shit because I have an ENORMOUS head. I walk into this store, and I told the lady behind the counter, "I have a problem, more like a situation...." She said, "I know your problem. I'm looking at it. Your head is big." God bless her.

I picked the color I wanted and jetted. It took about 10 minutes. Fuckin' Satan's Anus.

We exchanged gifts. We gave each other a price limit, which means I had to use my imagination. TAD knocked it out the park. My gift sucked. I really thought I had some shit too!

Saturday we tried to recreate the first date somewhat. Muthafuckas ruined it. The restaurant rented out their space to a private party, complete with wack DJ. It was similar to the first date, except I got lucky. REAL lucky. LOL.

On Sunday we almost got into a horrible accident. I was driving in the left lane going about 40. The other car was in the right lane next to me, a little ahead of me, and decided to make a u-turn without looking to see if anyone was driving in the left lane. I skidded on the brakes and came within a hair of killing that idiot. He had the nerve to look at me as if I initiated that shit. He drove off without even making the turn. Fuckhead.

We kept driving as I tried to calm my nerves and I got a chance to show TAD where I grew up and saw where her mother grew up. Me and Momma TAD both came up from the streets. We on that hard knock shit!

No rabbits were harmed in the making of this weekend.


Thursday, October 18, 2007

The Sweetest Day

Hola, muthafuckas! This is the end of my work week. I'm taking Friday off and I'll be hangin' in the D. In the midwest, Saturday is Sweetest Day, which quite frankly didn't mean shit to me until last year. I'll be celebrating the one year anniversary of my first date with the anointed one, Young T.A.D. up in this piece.

Time kinda flew, but then again it didn't. Shit, I'm IN the relationship, so I know how hard it is to keep one afloat, especially a long distance one. But it's working, working like a muthafucka.

I'mma try to recreate the first date completely, including the hot sex. (Just kidding, sweetie!!!) If her ex calls like he called on the first date, I'mma hafta ride on an African.

One year in, I have to look at the future. It looks bright but I still don't know where we are going to land, here in Michigan or elsewhere.

The one thing you can take from this is that I love her more than The Low End Theory, and that's saying something.

Be Sweet,

P.S. Next Tuesday will be like Christmas for me. Don't sleep!!!

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Ain't Nuthin' To Talk About, Really

Ah, Satan's Anus. Bastion of erudition. It cost taxpayers $3000 to fix this fuck up.

My short children's story about a little girl losing her cat, Whiskers, has now been rejected by every major publishing house in America. I know it's good and I'm not changing the title for anybody. If you have a clean soul, "Where's My Pussy?" is not an inappropriate title.

I'd really like Ma.rion Jones, B.eyonce, and Kir.sten to form a coalition against the proliferation of baby teeth in adult women.

Cliff, if you can afford to hire bodyguards, you can afford to not own personal guns. I'm just saying...

Too bad Tameka couldn't Xscape.

N.A. is living the Hollywood Dream. God bless that woman.

I was at Homecoming this weekend. What part of "Naw, that's ok." don't you understand?

I think I'm about to buy a single serving coffee maker for my office. So I can drink the good shit without sharing. Yeah, I said it, I'm selfish. No Ethiopian for you!

Now if I can only clean up my freakin' office so I have a place to put the coffee maker. Sheesh.

Sometimes I wonder if my dry cleaner ain't just using Dryel on my shit.

I get paid for 40 hours every week. There's not enough actual work in this town for me to REALLY work 3 hours every week. And you'd have to create and elongate shit just to make it to 3 full hours.

I'm bored. Bored and disgusted. I'm looking for gigs like crazy. The interview process for municipalities is so long, as soon as you forget you applied for a job, they call you.

I've been late to work 5 times in 8 days. I've mentally checked out.


Monday, October 15, 2007


Back in the early 2000s, there were a spate of TV shows and movies about government agents or operatives. One phrase they seemed to say again and again was "That's above your pay grade" to someone asking a provocative question about a classified situation. I remember thinking if I said or suggested something that was a decision that my boss should be making and somebody mentioned my "pay grade" I'd kick 'em in the fucking nuts, assuming only a man would be arrogant enough to say shit like that to me. But don't believe for one second that I don't get it.

Every muthafucka here tries to work above their pay grade EXCEPT me. Probably because I'm trying to duck both work and responsibility. I'm constantly slapping my staff down. "Stop promising anything to anybody without checking with me. I'll set your parameters." But the worst offenders aren't even the professional staff. It's the support staff.

I've had secretaries coming in the office asking me about the projects we're working on and suggesting ways we should approach them. I usually listen and nod, mainly to keep myself from screaming "Bitch, go to your desk and type a memo to somebody!!!" My fuckin' opinions don't matter, why should yours?

Or I got engineers and inspectors going out to sites and wondering if we're giving too many tax breaks to developers and shit. Muthafucka, go engineer and inspect. Who the fuck are you anyway? MIND YOUR PAY GRADE!!!

I'm just saying, this nearly ubiquitous phrase from the early part of the decade has almost completely disappeared. I might have to bring that shit back.


Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Prince Paul Is Still A Genius

"I remember you! You was that De La Soul, Jungle Brothers, Native Tongue n*gga." - an acquaintance at the MSU Black Alumni picnic, 2007

When the group that defined your era, your passion and your pathos is being honored in a "Legends" setting, you're fucking old. At least that's how I felt at watching VH1 Hip Hop Honors show. I didn't even watch the whole thing, just the part with A Tribe Called Quest. That's all I needed to see. To watch Common (who I thought was a Tribe contemporary, really) and Lupe ("ATCQ never influenced me, even a tiny bit") Fiasco do their best to make me miss the genuine article, was miserable.

Make no bones about it, my favorite group was/is De La Soul with ATCQ a close second. Mind you, I believe that the Tribe made better music, but I believed that De La Soul set the table. Tribe just improved on the template.

When everybody and they mama thought gun-totin' was sexy, the Tribe was there, being who they were, the jazziest, dopest cats on the set. It was OK to be different, to be smart, to be aware.

I'm living in a world where people are trying to "out ignorant" each other. Every week there's a new winner.

There are remnants of the Native Tongue era everywhere, but nothing in a unified way. The neo-soul segment of R & B, The Roots, Slum Village, Lupe (though he refuses to acknowledge it), MF Doom, and of course Common who just dropped an amazing CD. Kanye? Not so much, though he tries to force a connection every chance he gets.

It's a bitch getting old.


Tuesday, October 09, 2007


I think in general that most people don't know what other people care about, the things that are important to them, even when they are told. Most people show or tell you what's important to them. If you get to know a person, you get to know the shit they hold dear. However, if you don't pay attention, that shit can pass you by.

For instance, if you wear a lot of makeup because you want to look good for your significant other and he tells you he likes you better without makeup, if you continue to wear makeup, you have to realize it's for you. He has told you plainly what he likes. So at that point, if you complain about the cost of makeup or the time you spend putting on makeup to make yourself look beautiful for him, you are at that point delusional or at the very least projecting your shit onto him.

Making an argument that you're doing X and Y for him isn't cutting it. You can stop doing it because it doesn't matter. At that point, you're going to have to admit that you're really doing whatever it is you're doing for yourself, to make YOU feel good.

It's a part of embracing one's true nature. It's OK to do shit to make your feel good or better than someone else if that's what your psyche needs. But to keep perpetuating you're doing this shit for some known (or unknown) entity is bullshit.

That's really all I got.


Monday, October 08, 2007

Pieces And Bits

Racial Profiling In the Digital Age
I got a request for an interview from this city in VA on Friday. They sent me a webcam via FedEx and asked that I do a video interview with them through this company called HireVue. I went to with the webcam attached, logged in using the special code they sent me, and I answered the questions they laid out for me. This way their cheap asses don't have to bring me to VA to interview and they can reject my Black ass, ensuring I'm Black by the video footage, and act like I had a fair shot just like everyone else. My stars and garters, this technology is more than a notion. At least I get to keep the webcam. Stay tuned for video blogs!!! (Or not).

Runnin' Trains
Fuck Amtrak. I was supposed to pick up TAD from the train station at 8:50 pm on Friday. The train came at 11:00 pm. Amtrak owes me 2 hours of sex and debauchery. I don't know how this quasi-governmental agency expects to pay me, but I want my shit, Africans. They held up her train for no good reason. This is the second time they've shortened my weekend and had her too tired to give up the goods on Friday. That's foul, Amtrak. Fuck y'all!

The Best Laid Plans
Me and TAD kinda tooled around West Michigan doing Dub shit, over in this artsy, uber gay community, window shopping and shit cuz we broke. We were going to this comedy show in Satan's Anus to see Tony Woods, who's kinda funny. But we got home, got lazy, started drinking and then we were no good to anyone.

Timbo Suit
I forgot about the site visit, and I'm wearing a suit. I gotta look at the specs laid out for a new road to be built in Satan's Anus and I forgot about it. I spent the morning trudging through a heavily forested area because the nearby residents are afraid that a new road will encroach on their ability to enjoy SOMEBODY ELSE'S FUCKING PRIVATE PROPERTY, PROPERTY THEY BOUGHT SPECIFICALLY TO BUILD UPON. But my boss asked me to go, and like a good indentured servant, I went. In my navy blue suit and Cole Haans. Priceless.

I'm out,

Friday, October 05, 2007

Everybody Has One

Sometimes assholes are easy to recognize. Sometimes they're speeding past you in a lane that's going to close soon and they'll try to get to the front of the pack instead of waiting. Other times they take four slices of an eight slice pizza you're sharing with friends and tell you they'll chip in later. Other times they're wearing a uniform and people call them "officer".

Sometimes they are harder to recognize, like when they inhabit your skin.

You can't recognize when you're being the asshole in a lot of cases. When you do recognize it, it's because you're purposefully doing it, it's out of spite and you wanna be the asshole. But there are a million other times that you, yes you, are an asshole of major proportions.

I know a woman that loves me. She's smart, she's beautiful, she's fun to be around, everything I ever wanted. But it's not enough. I can't let myself be happy. So I take it out on her.

My inability to be "OK" is making her miserable. My inability to accept love is causing her pain. And my only response is "Well, try harder. I'll know 'good enough' when I see it."

If I had a female friend that had a dude treating her like this, I'd tell her she should be moving on. But here I am, doing the same shit.

I'm making a promise to her and to myself that I will not be that dude. I refuse to not recognize assholish behavior. I will be better or leave her alone.


Thursday, October 04, 2007

Ad.ho M.ukha

About 4 weeks ago, I started this yoga class. Now I know what you're thinking, so fuck you. I took the class because I'd started this intense workout regimen and I wanted to not be sore after every workout. It was an opportunity to learn how to properly stretch and to meditate properly.

Anyway, I was apprehensive enough about it, knowing I'd be the only Black dude in the class and likely in Satan's Anus the only Black person. I was right. One thing I can tell you though: white women with small waists and big sista-like asses are drawn to yoga. At least in my beginner level class that seems to be the case.

A few of my associates know I'm going to this class, Bloopty being one of them. She says to me yesterday before class, "Do they make you do downward facing dog? It'd be funny to see your big ass doing downward facing dog." I told her they hadn't as of yet. Maybe they didn't cover it in beginning yoga. Boy was I wrong.

On the white board at the beginning of class, the yogi wrote "A.dho M.ukha S.vanasana", sat down in a comfortable, cross-legged seat, and proceeded to explain the meaning of each word. When she was done, I hung my head. Downward-facing dog position. Curse you, Bloopty!

How something that looks so simple, can end up so painful is beyond me. My pelvis aches, my lower abs hurt, and my wrists are sore. And it's undignified looking. Shit! Still I soldier on until I no longer feel like a painscicle.


Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Ten Things My Balls Can Do

10. Keep my lap warm in winter.

9. Distract attention from my minuscule pecker.

8. Imitate a peach pit.

7. Prevent me from being completely invincible.

6. Quietly hum inspirational songs.

5. Introduce the phrase "spherical miracles" into everyday use.

4. Act as a Remote Cozy.

3. Act as a Spoon Cleaner

2. Act as an Ass Stop.

1. Produce patented "pregnancy sauce".

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Kin.g of

Things I know that I know:
When people stop asking you for shit, they are getting it from another source. Pay fucking attention!!!!
Everybody gets more complacent and unwilling to change the older they get.
If you don't believe you're worth it, you won't be treated as such.

Things I didn't know I knew:
People tell you everything you need to know about them, within a few weeks, even when they don't say a word. Pay fucking attention!!!
People are brave in the stupidest ways.
Superstition still outpaces good sense and consideration.

Things I wish I knew:
How do I get what I want from what I got?
How much is enough?
How close am I to getting what I want?
What else do I have to do?
Is this the best I can do?
Why am I waiting for the shit I want when I can get it if I really want it?

Things I used to know:
You can't trust THEM, no matter how cool you think they are.
Don't trust anybody, actually.
Marriage ain't magic.
I always deserve better than I'm getting.
Mediation reveals.
There's always another store open.