Thursday, December 20, 2007

Dick And Onions

As a young impressionable lad, I had my older brother help guide my path. My brother is eight years older than me, so he held quite a sway over me. The shit he was into was much, much cooler than anything I was doing. His manner of speaking, the shit he used to say, still peppers my speech, even though we haven't lived in the same house in over 20 years.

The one saying, "dick and onions", was always in the mix. Dick and Onions was "yadda, yadda" or "blaise splee". Sometimes it was "whatever". "What did that broad say to you? Tell that bitch dick and onions!" "I was hangin' out on the block. You know...dick and onions."

When I was talking to a friend of mine I hadn't talked to in a while, he asked me what I was doing for the holiday. I told him I was staying in the D with my girl. He started asking me about her when I realized he thought I was still seeing Thelma. I told him that was done and I'd moved on in major way.

Ray: She was beautiful. I mean she was incredible, dude. How did you let that one go?
KZ: She was irritating. Plus you could TELL she wasn't just raised in the 'jects, she was a part of the 'jects, now and forever.
Ray: But African, she was beautiful! How could you let that pass? Fuck everything else about her, she was a model! I know you got some regrets.
KZ: Nope. Not one. I got a better one. Beautiful, smart, dignified...the whole shot.
Ray: Alright, I'll take your word for it.
KZ: You don't have to. You'll meet her soon enough.

When I said that last line to Ray, I thought of my brother...

Be Cool,

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Things To Know

Off topic: When will muthafuckas stop shoving unsheathed fat cock up in those fertile Spears girls? Gotdamn! I guess that advanced screening of "Juno" probably won't be so funny now.

Anyway, I'm here to talk about lessons, learned and forgotten. This post is for my friends, the Africans who still wanna keep playing this game, which has diminishing returns once you pass 31.
  • The factor is 3/2. When a woman under thirty tells you how many dudes she's fucked, multiply that shit by 3/2. That's the real number. For women over thirty, the factor is 5/3.
  • How ever many dudes a chick is involved with at the time you meet her, she is fucking one additional guy. He "doesn't count". They're not serious and they get together from time to time. If she claims not seeing anyone, she's fucking one dude undercover.
  • Women are groupies by nature, not nurture. Dick riding is part and parcel of who they are. Look at the difference between strip clubs for men and for women. That tells the whole story. They go to malls and scream during a book signing by Tyson Beckford. They faint when they see Idris Elba at the club. If you don't recognize that these men are to be lionized for their good looks, you are a hater. Don't try to change it, it's hopeless. Hater!
  • No, the talking won't stop. It won't slow down, nor will the topics change.
  • In no way is actual affection to be substituted for expensive gifts. What are you, a fucking hippie?
  • That raw assed sexuality that reeled you in? Prepare to see that shit only on the most special of occasions. You better start celebrating all those "bank holidays" and shit.
  • Regular bedclothes ain't lingerie, pal.
  • That girlish giggle will one day soon be reserved for getting out of tickets and getting free drinks at the bar. You won't hear it unless you overhear it.
You enjoy the rest of your life, ok?

Be Easy,

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Why Shouldn't You Be Shot In The Head And Left In A Ditch?

So, last night I was at a city commission meeting. Representatives from various neighborhood groups came before the commission and spoke about their concerns.

The first representatives came up and talked about the trash trucks. They come really early in the morning. Then they talked about the construction of the upscale condos in their neighborhood. The noise of economic development makes them get up too early.

The next neighborhood rep came up and talked about an intersection near her home. When she's returning home from work, the sun is in her eyes when she tries to make a left turn there.

The last rep wanted to know how the city would help those people who bought too much house for their income bail out of a bad foreclosure situation. The city's obligated to help muthafuckas with poor decision making skills.

A young dude stepped up and told them that he had done some research and found out that the city's zoning decisions downtown were poorly thought out. This same dude interviewed with me 6 months ago and I told him he was unqualified. He stood up and took a shot at me in this meeting and said his research proved I sucked.

The commission decided to allow only one period of public comment instead of two at subsequent commission meetings. This caused an uproar. One lady came up to the podium to say the single comment period was an attempt to silence the homeless population, who currently dominate the meetings. If the only period to comment is at the end of the meeting, most of the homeless have to leave by then. The shelter won't keep their beds if they are late checking in.

After a day filled with meetings, I get to look forward to a night full of meetings. I know I don't like Satan's Anus, but it's not just Satan's Anus. I want no parts of this municipal bullshit anymore. I'm tired. Sick and tired. No politician can solve all your stupid assed problems. Everything you spew out of your empty assed head ain't manna from above. Sometimes you ARE too stupid to live. You just are.


Monday, December 17, 2007

I Laugh To Keep From Crying

Cuba? Really?

They'll elect this devil outta spite.

Her yeast infections last longer.

The Reason Change Is Bad

On Friday, I went home at noon. This was to wait for a DirecTV installer to come to my house and hook me up. They gave me that typical 4 hour window. So I'm waiting from 12 n - 4 pm. I was upset about it, but I took it, simply because I wanted that bullshit Comcast out of my house for good. So I took some vacation hours and I waited. And waited. And waited.

I had some shit that had to be done at work, some administrative stuff, that if it wasn't done on Friday, it wouldn't be done until the new year. It was time sensitive and couldn't be done at home due to the secure nature accounting software we use. So I needed to get back before 5 pm.

At 3:30 I hadn't heard anything, so I decided to call DirecTV. They put me on hold while they contacted my local installer. My other line clicked with a local number.

"Sir, our installer is running late. He'll be there between 4 pm and 8 pm." "What?" "Our installer is running..."
"Lady, I heard what you said, I just don't get it. If he's been running late, why the fuck didn't y'all call me? I had to call you. And on top of that bullshit, I took 4 hours off work to wait for you muthafuckas. And now you tellin' me he'll be here between 4 and 8? I asked you muthafuckas for a late time so I wouldn't have to take time off work and you told me you didn't do that. Now you tellin' me 4 to 8 is an option. Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck the installer, and fuck DirecTV. If that muthafucka shows up at my door, I'mma punch his ass in the mouth. Take my shit outta the database. I cancel."

I hang up and ask Comcast not to turn off my cable and internet. Now I'm a little bitch, asking Comcast to have mercy on me, all polite and shit.

Soon, I'll give it a shot with the DISH network. I already signed up with AT&T for internet service which will start on Tuesday, so I'm half done with Comcast. After the new year, I'll try to change my TV option again. Fuckin' bastards.


Thursday, December 13, 2007

I Could Really Bank You, Dude

Ah, the holidays. The time when I'm obligated to spend money in celebration of the origin of a religion I'm not a member of, and to do otherwise would open me to allegations of being "cheap". You know what? Fuck December.

I'm going from store to store trying to buy gifts and salespeople are relentless. When I go in a store, I generally know what I want, so I ask for it. I got salespeople who are implicitly questioning my devotion to a loved one if I don't get the "superdeluxeupgrade" edition of whatever they're selling. Muthafucka, you do realize I have to LIVE the other 364 days of the year too, right? Did rent stop being due because it's Christmastime? Do I get a reprieve from the tyranny of the cable company because it's December? These muthafuckas are out of their minds.

Then we got the Christmas Na.zis. You can't write "X-mas" cuz you leavin' the "Christ" outta "Christmas". That's some bullshit. Don't get me on one of my "symbology" rants. I'd like to leave my muthafuckin' money outta Christmas. They want you to say "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays", pretty much as a test to make sure that you're a Christian and not a Jew or a Jihadist in disguise. Christians, you fuckin' won. It's your country. We get it. You outnumber everybody else. It's bad e-fuckin'-nuff that I'm going broke for this shit, now I gotta bow down and kiss y'all feet? Fuck y'all in the ass with a day old corn cob.

This time of the year is murder. If I could, I'd fuckin' hibernate through this shit every year.

Merry Xmas, y'all.


Monday, December 10, 2007

Vastly Improved

Today I am 37. It's not a milestone or a really significant birthday in any way, shape, or form. Except for one thing: I'm not anxious about aging. Anxiety about the aging process is one of those things I worry about that I can't control, shit I promised I'd stop. But truly, without effort, I'm not stressed about this. My anxiety comes from not achieving enough at my "age milestones".

I got this goal that's gotta happen before I'm 40. I just told the one municipality that could make it happen by next month, Roc.kville Ma.ryland, to fuck off. They handled their business kinda faulty, so I ended up declining the interview.

Outside of my career, everything else is going peachy keen. Just all fulla greatness. TAD was here this weekend and we got together with a bunch of my transplant friends. She got to see the "ok, but not quite cool" vibe that I get from them. She'd met them before, but never for a prolonged amount of time as the one we had on Friday. It's this one dude I used to hang with somewhat, but now I distance myself from, Curly, that causing the most trouble. It's obvious he likes TAD. I mean LIKES LIKE. And he begrudges me for being with her. He's resentful as hell. He's doing flirty shit on the sly thinking I'm not peeping him out or thinking TAD might be feelin' him. I didn't call him on it that night, but Imma call him on it soon. Africans let the suits fool 'em. I will bulldoze that cat.

TAD also made me some cupcakes. Lemon cupcakes. I love lemon cake. And she bought me the thing I've wanted most, a single serve coffee maker for my office!!! Now I can drink the exotic shit without everybody partaking. She's the shit!

My staff has put streamers and balloons in my office. I talk shit about those secretaries, but the sistas from the bunch came through. I'm knee deep in chicken and biscuits! God bless those women!

I think I'll be ok this birthday.


Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Pasta Is Tasty

Whatever happened to the MC?/Times done changed for the MC/Every woman and man wanna MC/You know what? MCin' ain't for you. -De La Soul, SupaEmcees

I'm here to talk about random shit. Because I can. Because it's my blog and I'm bored. Because it won't stop snowing. Because I'm about to turn 37. Because Christmas is coming. Because the dude from Worth & Worth ( is not returning my calls. Because that city in Maryland is gonna make me interview in the middle of holiday season. Because every store I go to, people are trying to sell me shit they think I should have, instead of selling me the shit I'm looking for. Because I need a drink and some pussy.

What a slangy language we got goin' on here. If I tell you it's 2 o'clock, you never think about it, but that shit is slang. What I'm telling you is it's two of the clock or it's two according to the clock. We say 2 o'clock like it's proper English and shit. What's up with that? (Cliff Claven reference) Same thing with the word "panties". Panties is slang for little pants. The proper term? Underwear or underpants. The word panties is soft and gay. Thong panties excepted.

My staff is great. Couldn't be better. Thanks for asking.

Tomorrow I have to present the city budget to a bunch of citizen volunteers who feign oversight and vigilance over our finances. They don't understand 1/4 of the shit they see, so it's my job to give them a financial primer on how municipal budgets work. The problem? I don't know shit about finance. That's not my area, at all! How did I get finagled into doing this? It's STATE LAW that the person in my position, A NON FINANCIAL POSITION, present this budget. State law is an ass.

I'm still waiting for Flat Randy, N.A.

Fucking snow.

I'm Out,