Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The 556th Post About People Not Like Me, Who I Can't Stand Because Of That Fact

Hey folks, what's good? I'm at work on New Year's Eve and it's a skeleton crew here. There are literally only 7 people in a 50 person office. Most people, myself included, are taking the time to clean up their cluttered offices so that they can come back to a uncluttered New Year. I did that shit in record time, basically by shoving most of the shit into the garbage. If I didn't need it at this juncture, hell, I won't need it. Plus, most of it is me being CC'ed on some FYI shit that the staff sends me to let me know what they're doing. This is the big secret: I don't give a fuck what they're doing, as long as they aren't getting me in trouble by not producing.

The thing is, one of the people that showed up today is my secretary. I was filing the shit I actually needed to keep and she came in and had a hurt look on her face. My first reaction was to ask her "What's the matter?". She said nothing and started to ask me what she came in there to ask me, which was for something to work on.

Now, folks, I know everybody's not like me. I don't pretend to understand y'all. But if my boss was doing something that I was supposed to do, and it was a menial task, I'd welcome that shit. Less garbage shit I have to do. Second, why the fuck on New Years Eve are you asking me for shit to do? Play solitare, surf the internet, knit a gotdamn sweater, go suck your boyfriend's dick for a few hours. What do I care? I don't give a fuck. Stop needing to be gotdamn LED so much. I get paid to lead. Can I get a day off? There's nothing to lead you to do. Nothing. No phone calls, no walk-ins. Nothing.

On Christmas Eve, I let everybody go home at 2:00, mainly because I had to drive to Detroit and I wanted to get a head start. Today, I have no where to be but here, but I was still considering letting them go. She's making me rethink that shit. I mean, what the fuck would she do with the free time? She'd probably ask me "What should I do with the rest of my day?" Fucking idiots.


Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Non-Holiday Related Topic (On Purpose)

Sometimes I think life is one long cosmic joke. There are some things that I will never understand about life in this world that seem to come from someone with a perverse sense of humor. Every time I talk to my boy, Three, about this shit, I get a better perspective about the level of my frustration. I'm not actually that bother by what's going on, but rather the normalcy attributed to the absurdity.

How could anyone be upset at that cat that threw shoes at the President? Those same people were even-keeled and "rational" about murdering civilians and taking over a sovereign nation, but got upset when a cat threw shoes at the muthafucka responsible. Insane. But, alas, this post isn't about that or anything political. It's about the laws of attraction.

The sexiest women I've ever met were some of the most mentally unstable, socially reprehensible, obnoxious people ever to walk the Earth. I believe it's a natural gift that God has bestowed on the reprehensible to make them tolerable. That shit oozes out of their pores and makes a muthafucka take a second look at some of the worst people who ever lived. Truthfully, though, I don't know what comes first, the sexyness or the evil. Perhaps once somebody knows that they can manipulate people just by being that hot shit, they use their powers for those purposes. I tend to think that it's the other way around, though. They're born fucked up and sexyness is just a by-product. Conversely, the most erotically bland, asexual women I've known have been the most interesting, good-hearted people in the world. But who wants to fuck with them, right? Ugh!

TAD, sure enough, is a good mix of sexy and interesting. I know you think I gotta say that, but it's true. I didn't have to write this post at all, I have no problem telling the truth about my shit. I just think it's funny that the world tends to operate the way it does.


Wednesday, December 17, 2008

2008 Ultimate Holiday Shopping Guide For Ladies

Hey y'all. I've been a little depressed. I guess more depressed than usual. My boss, Allen, the Republican with the Ronald Reagan screen saver, scored tickets to the inauguration. Where's the gotdamn justice? I mean, for real, where's the justice?

Anyway, this is not about that. This is a true life guide for the ladies out there on how to shop for their husbands, boyfriends, or significant others for Christmas. I want to go on the record saying "Fuck Christmas". This is not an endorsement of that made up pagan winter solstice ritual that Christians hijacked and conflated to correspond birth of their Lord and Savior. Christmastime is a gotdamn myth. And now to my recommendations...

Ladies, you wanna know the hottest gift out there for your dude? The thing that he'll be happy as fuck to wake up to on Christmas Day? A wet, super sloppy blowjob. You know what he'll happy as hell to wake up to on the 26th? A wet, super sloppy blowjob. You know what he'll be happy as hell to wake up to on March 22nd? I think you've guessed it. It's free and it makes the household run a lot smoother.

The other thing that you may want to check into for your guy are noice cancelling headphones. Trust me, they are the best things ever invented. The top of the line headphones are from Bose, with Sony coming in second. They might be a little pricey, but they are worth it. When you are bitching about that chick from work that gets on your nerves, or telling another story about your fucked up family, those headphones will come in handy. Let that African listen to Nas while you whine about your yeast infection. He deserves a break.

Does your man have a hobby? I'll bet he does (even if you don't know about it). If so, don't buy him anything related to his hobby. It's likely he'll get it for himself in the near future anyway. Give him something that he'd never think to buy for himself: a plane ticket for you to go out of town. It's the gift that keeps on giving. He can do shit that he'd like to do during his time off instead of worrying about whether or not a bulb went out on the outside lights or if y'all have visited every friend in your phone book over the holiday season. Do that shit and come home to a grateful man.

I've always heard that lingerie is a gift that is more for the man than it is for the woman. I disagree. If that woman likes to feel pretty and enjoys dick, that lingerie is as much for her as it is for the man. I still think it's a cop out gift, though. That being said, arranging a private showing of lingerie that you're considering purchasing, complete with lingerie models would not be a bad investment. He will most certainly enjoy seeing the latest boudoir fashions being presented in a manner consistent with their design. It's a gift for the fashion forward man in your life. Think about it.

That's it for now, ladies. Talk to you later.


Thursday, December 11, 2008

.38 Special

Man, what a difference a few years makes. Yesterday was my 38th birthday. I celebrated by not shoving a shotgun barrel in my mouth and pulling the trigger. It was the weakest, wackest birthday I've had in a long time. Of course, I don't really get to celebrate until this weekend when I'm with my wife, but still, it was pretty rotten.

I had a second interview, this time over the phone, with Ch.arm City. I thought it was a good omen that they set the date on my birthday. Turns out it wasn't that good of an omen. Man, oh man was that a rough interview. Yes, of course Satan's Anus is smaller than Satan's Sandbox, I understand economies of scale and such. Give me a shot. Even if I got through that interview, I still have yet another one to go, which I won't know if I advanced to until mid-January. The wheels of major city bureaucracy moves slowly.

Just looking back on the blog thing and in blog terms, my shit has changed significantly. I started this thing as a bow-tied, 34 year old malcontent. Now I'm a 38 YEAR OLD malcontent who wears fewer bowties!!! That's a lot of change, yo!


Wednesday, December 03, 2008


I guess this blog is about to get a whole lot more boring. I thought that would eventually happen when I got married, basically your life changes, calms down, and you got less shit to talk about. But that's not the reason it's getting more boring starting right now. It's getting more boring because I'm getting overwhelmed at how pointless my life is. I really do hate my job, the people I work with, the work that I do, and the overall nature of workplace interaction.

I'm working to pay for shit I don't need and a master's degree that didn't do shit in the way of advancing my career. Think about that: I paid for additional education to assist me in a job that I don't like. And the shit didn't even assist me! Ain't that a bitch? The trappings of success have eluded me, but people act like I'm a success. I'm not even happy outside of being with TAD, and we still live two hours away from each other, with weekend visits. I don't even get to enjoy being with my wife during the week.

This shit is so pointless. I'm not making this place a better place to live. I'm not contributing to the growth or success of the people around me. I'm not a better person. I read less and complain more. I feel stuck. I've really prepared and I'm ready to perform any task in my field, but I don't really wanna do this shit. I wanna enjoy my life. This shit ain't enjoyable.

I understand life's not supposed to be all wine and roses, but fuck, it's supposed to be SOME wine and roses. Gotdamn!


Tuesday, November 25, 2008


Job Hunt

What the fuck, Baltimore? Really, either send me a letter and tell me to fuck off, or call me already. The suspense is killing me. I have a second interview on Monday for a job I don't want (but they'll pay me handsomely) and I'd much rather have the job I want regardless of pay (even though they'll pay handsomely too). Baltimore, what the fuck?


I thought I wrote about this, but I can't find the post. I give everyone aliases and I can't remember what I called this one chick, but I have a staff person who's deluded. Actually 2 staff people, but I'll only talk about this one. She thinks she has a neutral odor and tells anyone who'll listen that she doesn't bathe daily. In her mind, why bother? Truth be told, I'd never actually smelled her pungent ass, so it wasn't an issue to me, but still...UGH!...bitch, you don't bathe daily? I see you at the gym EVERY SINGLE DAY, and you don't bathe daily? What the fuck?!? Anyway, I had a little meeting with this chick today and **WHAM** for the first time the smell hit me like a ton of bricks. FUCK! That bitch smelled like putrid Limburger. Ah-chee mah-chee! Ladies and gentlemen, I gives a fuck what you've been led to believe about your odor or lack thereof, but please bathe everyday.


Enjoy your family. Ignore the ignorable and adore the adorable. That's what the fuck I'mma do.


Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Personality...Or Lack Thereof

So TAD and I got back the professional photos of our wedding. The little guy (physically, this dude would remind you of a prepubescent child) that took the shots really did a good job, as we expected. I'm going through over 1200 digital photos, trying to find 300-400 "keepers", ultimately to get to 30 for the proof book. I'll pick mine, TAD will pick hers and somehow we'll reach a consensus, which really means, she'll get what she wants. I don't mind. It's really a hard choice between these pics. Anyway, as I peruse the photos, I discover something that I think I may have known the whole time: I only have 3 expressions.

My wife's face is so full of personality and expression. I think I could tell exactly what she was thinking at the exact moment each photo of her was taken. Me? All I got is "fat-faced surprise", "fat-faced happiness", and "fat-faced seriousness". That's it. That's my repertoire.

Truthfully, she coulda been faking some emotion on some of those pics. Like looking happy when she was thinking "Fuck! I wish this was over already!", but at least she could put on an expression that conveyed something entirely different. When I was feeling tired by the day's end, all I had was "fat-faced seriousness". I had used up "fat-faced happiness" earlier that day. And, of course, I needed to be genuinely surprised to be captured in "fat-faced surprise" mode.

Except for me and my lack of facial personality, the pics came out great.


Thursday, November 13, 2008

I Know This Is Late, But Here Goes...

What if everybody around you had been born with only 3 limbs, and you were born with 4? Then people told you that if you wanted to be "normal" you'd saw one of your limbs off? You'd probably balk at that idea, right?

Let me give you a more down to earth example. What if at age 10 someone took you from your home with your loving parents and gave you to another family, a family that lived right down the street. Your parents were good and kind to you, gave you all the love in the world, but someone of authority said you didn't belong together and gave you to a family right down the street. You're in a position where you can literally see your parents everyday, but you're not allowed to live with them or interact in any significant way with them.

At what lengths would you go to make your loved ones happy? How far would you go to "save face" and to hold a position of esteem in your community? Would you change your life completely? Commit fraud by intentionally deceiving an innocent person? Would you lie about who you are essentially?

People make insane choices like these everyday, and are forced to live in strange and precarious circumstances. They do it to BELONG and live in a society that needs them and benefits from their creativity and overall contributions. The ones that decide enough is enough and make the decision to live as "others" in our society, regardless of achievement, are treated as though their happiness is somehow predicated on whether or not you know "how to explain it to the children".

Meanwhile, Africans keep acting like animals, killing each other over distorted ideals of respect, lying down and fucking everybody and anybody, making gotdamn babies out of wedlock over and over again, becoming grandparents in their late 30's, then having the nerve to quote fuckin' Bible verses to justify denying people their happiness.

I hold special scorn for the people who funded the "marriage is one man-one woman" initiative, who started their religion practicing polygamy and to this day don't realize that every ritual they perform in their church is derived from Mas.onic rites, courtesy of founder Joseph Smith. For these people and their God-sanctioned underwear and their 1978 decision to allow Black people to enter Heaven, you know you can suck my entire cock. If you're Black and you cast your lot with these motherfuckers, ask yourself when they've ever been on the right side of history.

Man, fuck any and everybody that voted to deny gay people the right to get married. I'm serious. Fuck you.


Friday, November 07, 2008

Man, Fuck...

I was leaving work yesterday, going to get something to eat before my evening meeting, about to make a right turn on the massive one way street called Michigan Avenue. I looked to the right, just out of instinct, because, of course, there was no traffic coming from that direction, and inched the nose of my car past the sidewalk. I looked to my left and saw that traffic was still coming at a steady rate. I looked back to my left, and out of nowhere, a filthy, middle aged toothless Black man was on his bike, standing right next to my passenger side window.

"You pulled out and made me hit your tire!"
"You pulled out on the sidewalk and made me hit your tire. You got my chest and heart all hurtin'!"
"You sayin' I hit you?"
"You got my chest all hurtin'!"
"Are you sayin' I hit you?"
"You got my chest all hurtin'?"
"Man, what do you want from me? You wanna sue me? What do you want?"
"You got my chest all hurtin'. At least you could give me money for a hamburger or somethin'."
"Man, fuck you. Sue me. Take down my license plate, n*gga."

And I sped off, hoping to just go get a quick meal before this night meeting.

I stopped about 3/4 of a mile down Michigan at this restaurant. I parked across the street and headed to the crosswalk. In front of me at the crosswalk was a lady (and I use this term generously) listening to her iPod. She was a large woman dressed as though she was a trucker or a longshoreman. She looked over her shoulder and saw me standing there. Then she apparently heard something too good to stand still for in her earphones, because at that moment she started suggestively shaking her enormous trucker ass in my direction.

That's when I knew everybody here was as crazy as I thought they were. Every fucking day it's something new. Meanwhile, my wife lives a billion miles away and my job sucks dick. Man, fuck...


Tuesday, November 04, 2008

Monday, October 27, 2008

Dolphin Dick and Other Discoveries

Did you know that my wedding photos are available for viewing if you just email me and ask?

Did you know that my wife was so creative? And so beautiful?

Did you know that my father is such a softie? "Something in my eye" my ass!

Did you know that I have the world's baddest nephew?

Did you know that Robyn has such a suave son?

Did you know that my frat brothers would be on point for the first time in their miserable lives?

Did you know that sometimes it rains non-stop in Cancun over the period of an entire week, forcing one to stay indoors make love to his beautiful new wife for hours on end?

Did you know dolphins were packing dick? Straight weapons, yo.

Do you know how annoying natives in Cancun are when they're trying to sell you shit?

Do you know how afraid I am of flying? It'll be a minute.

Did you know I am still off work and in Detroit while my wife works for a living? I get to be home being a househusband for a week.

I'll talk to y'all later!


Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The Yucatan Peninsula...

is where I'm sitting. My wife is sleeping and I'm watching TV with Spanish overdubbing.

I'm tired. Talk to y'all later.


Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Socially Unacceptable

The more I pay attention to myself, the weirder I think I am.

I was really craving GOOD coffee this morning, but I didn't feel like making any on my great office one cup machine. I love the machine, but I hate cleaning it afterwards. So I was going on a trek to get coffee. Then I realized the last time I went into the coffee shop down the street, I got caught up in this long conversation with the new owner. It seems this guy was a food service person at this place where the City always holds it's retreats. He served us at that retreat I talked about last month. He remembered me and he was very nice. The coffee is great and we had a nice conversation. That's probably the last time I'll ever go in that coffee shop again.

You see, he fucked up my coffee spot by talking to me beyond what was needed to get me my coffee. I didn't come in there for a nice conversation. I liked the old owner, the muthafucka who served me coffee and took my money, with only a few pleasantries in between. This cat will fuck my mornings up if I go in there. I don't wanna talk to nobody about shit.

So this guy, who remembers faces and who is friendly and kind, has just lost a customer for no good reason. It's just the way it's gotta be. I have to be me.


Monday, October 13, 2008


I had a chance to have a good long talk with my friend, Three yesterday. It was full of details on the bachelor party he's gonna miss and the general nature of my patience, or lack thereof.

For the record, he knows that I could give a fuck less about a bachelor party, but it would've been good to see all my boys in one place for a big alcohol filled night. So I basically called him so I could call him a muthafucka for not making the trip. Muthafucka.

What this wise sage of man did impart to me was his vast knowledge of patience and his familiarity of my lack of it. It's always funny listening to a muthafucka who ain't married, ain't never been married, and likely will never get married talking to me about marriage. Bastard. That being said, he made some pretty good points about knowing how I am.

First off, I suck at telling anybody anything because I expect them to know what I'm talking about with a minimum of words. I fucking hate talking, so I always take shortcuts, hence, a bunch of misunderstandings.

Secondly, I can't help but to question one's intelligence if I have to tell them something twice. After I tell somebody something for the second time, seriously, fuck them. Because I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt and they blew it.

Thirdly, nothing ever changes. You can talk until you're blue in the face, and people don't listen to shit you have to say most of the time. Why waste your time saying it? There is no reason.

And fourth, I know that people are COMFORTABLE BEING COMFORTABLE and will do as little as possible to increase your comfort while decreasing theirs, in the name of love or whatever. Half-assedness abounds. Either you accept it or you don't.

I thought this time here in Satan's Anus has made me better, but I think it's made me worse. More anti-social, because I hate the way people react to the shit I say or don't say, more irresponsible, because fuck living up to a commitment to hang or go to a barbeque when you don't give a fuck whether or not you lose that person's friendship, more evil, because fuck everybody else, really.

That's about it.


Friday, October 10, 2008

Green Tea

"Why would God give you a passion and a talent to do something and then say 'If you follow that, I'm not gon' let you eat!'?"- Anthony Rodman

The funniest shit I've read in a while: McCain supporters are getting REALLY riled up and angry with this campaign. They are fighting mad!!!

I don't even know what that shit means. I mean, do you get TWO votes if you're really, REALLY angry? I mean, McCain supporters are just that, McCain supporters. If there are less of them than there are of Obama supporters, who gives if fuck if they're angry now. Are they gonna strong arm people walking into voting booths and say "Gotdamn it, you better vote for MY guy!!!" If anger mattered that much, we'd be looking at the re-election campaign of President Kerry. So really, fuck a McCain supporter, win or lose.

Anyway, on to another topic. There's this dude I know here named Anthony Rodman, who's actually been a very good friend. We were talking the other day, 'cuz that's what we do, I meet with him for lunch and he lets me vent. I went on to tell him about writing and how much I love to write. I talked about embarking on a new phase of my life and I needed stability to support a family, but I just didn't have any passion for what I'm doing. That's when he gave me that awesome quote at the top. Thanks, muthafucka! Now I'll try to feed my wife and kids some essays!

As hectic and complicated as it is trying to be ready for this wedding, people complicate it more. I'm currently in the running for 3 gigs. These 3 gigs have asked me for, amongst other things, an unprecedented TEN references, asked me to take personality tests, online interviews using webcams, write career assessment essays, and a host of other bullshit. All this while trying to finish work that will sit on my desk unless I do it before I leave, since I'll be out from October 15-November 3. On October 16, two days before I get married, I have to fly to M.aryland for a job interview, fly back the same day, and go get my final fitting for my tux. They couldn't change the gotdamn date. They've been sitting on my fucking resume for at least 4 months, and NOW they're on some ol' "time is of the essence" bullshit. Fuck y'all, Cha.rm City, fuck y'all right in the ass.

All this so I can continue to work in a field I don't have a passion for. Maybe Anthony is right. Time will tell.


Tuesday, October 07, 2008

The Age Of Nefarious

I spent my Saturday in East Lansing, at homecoming. Tailgating and shit. Drinking free brew with the Black Alumni Association. I was with a couple of my groomsmen and shit, plus a bunch of other people I could give a fuck less about. There is a direct correlation, at least in my feeble brain, between how obnoxious muthafuckas were as undergrads to how much money they make right now. The more obnoxious, the more paid they seem to be. And the thing is they're STILL obnoxious!!! It might be worse! Man, fuck these people!

I spent a lot of time talking to my friend, Jesus. I'm not being metaphorical, muthafuckas. I have a friend, from undergrad, who's given name is Jesus. Not Hay-Soose, Jesus. This always made people uncomfortable. Nobody ever wanted to say his name. They'd call him J.C. and shit (yes, those are his actual initials), but not me. I wasn't religious anyway, and his name was his name, so fuck it, I'mma call you Jesus.

Anyway, after listening to women who I don't give a fuck about bitchin' because I'm getting married AGAIN and I didn't look their way, I was reminiscing with Jesus. Sure enough, every chick I know came past with some variation on "Well look at this, Jesus and Satan!" "Hey, everybody, it's Jesus and Lucifer!" Hilarious! Sidesplitting! Eh. They irritated me so much, it made me walk away from my friend. Forgive me Jesus.

Afterwards, me and Hutty, my best man, and his wife and her friends left campus and went to eat. Hutty was one of those obnoxious undergrads I was talking about. He's still obnoxious and makes boatloads of fucking money, hand over gotdamn fist. I watched that African belittle and embarass his wife in front of her friends for at least two good hours at this BBQ joint. It was an amazing display of assholery, completely fearless. And at the end of the night, she was still like she's always been, in love with his pockets. And THAT'S what the fuck money can do for you, gentlemen.

Be Cool,

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Slut On The Wall

Hey peoples, what's good? I'm trying to pass along information to my women friends, women who keep complaining about other women. The problem is, they don't listen, they don't read my blog, and they don't know about my blog, so it's kind of hard to convey this information to them. I hope you pass this along to people who need it.

Men fucking love slutty women and women in slutty clothes in general. The only time I've ever heard men complain about slutty women is when that woman decides not to give THEM the pussy. They never complain about women who dress slutty, except when she's related to them. Well, there is one other time. They complain about women who dress slutty when they see them out and their wives/girlfriends are with them. Ladies, this is the oldest trick in the book. It buys them a few more minutes to look at the ass and titties while pretending to be critical of the lady's morals. It's bullshit. A man has never complained to another man about some slutty dressing woman. It doesn't happen, ever.

As much as y'all hate and despise these women for dressing and acting "loose", I need you to understand one thing. To paraphrase Jack Nicholson in "A Few Good Men", you want that slut on the wall, you NEED that slut on the wall. That slut is the cure for erectile dysfunction and general boredom. The memory, the ideal, of that slut is what gives that dude a hard-on when you wear that hideous flannel nightgown and giant panties with a panel in the front to bed night after night and then want to act in an amorous fashion. His ability to recall that slutty chick is the entire reason for your sex life. Whether she's in his office or working at Starbucks, that chick is almost certainly the saving grace of your fragile ass relationship.

So the next time you want to crash on some skimpily clad young nubile, take a deep breath and muster up a smile for her. You are in a symbiotic relationship. She's the other monkey picking the fleas off your monkey ass.


Wednesday, September 24, 2008

The Entire Reason I Still Love Hip Hop

Liquor and Cookies

Muthafuckas don't know that they're insane. You know they're insane, but them themselves? Not so much. I try to remember that when I'm at work, because it makes my interaction with insane people go a lot smoother. I mean, how can you get mad at someone who doesn't know better?

So, when I'm sitting at my desk trying to make sure people get their homes assessed for flood damage so that they can potentially qualify for FEMA (ha!) aid, I can ignore my secretary busting in the door like the building is on fire to ask me if I want some doughnuts somebody brought. Hell, I can even ignore the loud black receptionist who's obviously on a personal call during this mini-emergency. Well, either she's on a personal call or she's telling a resident about what the doctor found whilst fiddling around her vajayjay. It could be either one of those, right? It's not like we don't have a multi-million dollar budget and we're called to recoup half that operating budget through fees, permits, inspections and citations all of which must be handled by the receptionists. Oh, wait a minute, it IS like that!

I'm able to forgive bouts of insanity by all my staff, like my staff person who thinks it's OK for her husband to come visit her EVERY MORNING with their two small kids. Yeah, I get that you miss that smelly bitch, but EVERY MORNING? She just left home, dude!

What I'm not able to ignore is Wispy. Wispy is like the office "Glenn Close". She will not be ignored. She comes in my office squealing on everybody. She's got on a "No Snitching" t-shirt with a Ghostbusters line drawn through it. Not literally, but damn, she was tellin' on everybody. She ended her tirade by crying REAL TEARS because the other receptionists hate her. They hate her because she's better at her job than they are. I foolishly ask "It's not because they know you tell on them?" Heaven's to Betsy! No! That's not it! It's jealousy, according to the wispy one. "I was talking to them about Cloris Leachman on Dancing with The Stars and they just ignored me!" Big, huge, super teardrops started poring out then. It was amazing.

"Wispy, I can't make them like you, but anything that affects the function of this office, I'll address."

She walked out of the office crying. And I couldn't think of what I wanted more at that point to comfort me. Either (or both) would do me a world of good.


Thursday, September 18, 2008


This dumb assed person who lives here (I refuse to refer to her as my friend anymore), Agent Zero, just got a foster child in her care. The baby is really, really new. Around a week and half old. She's a single mother with two teenagers and a full time gig, so she's busy as heck. The baby is taking up a grip of her time, but somehow she's managing. She asks me if I wanna see the baby.

KZ: Uh, no.
AZ: What? Everybody wants to see the baby. Why don't you?
KZ: I don't give a fuck about a baby. Fuck a baby.
AZ: What? Are you serious or are you just pulling some ol' Detroit shit*?
KZ: I'm dead serious. I don't fuckin' like kids.
AZ: How could you not like kids?
KZ: I just don't. I don't think about it. Other people's kids are fucking irritating. And when you try to tell them about their kids, they fucking get defensive. If I can't hit 'em, I don't want 'em the fuck around me.
AZ: You don't really mean that, do you?
KZ: Really and truly.
AZ: I can't understand how anyone could not like kids.
KZ: I don't understand how anyone could not like pussy. But I'm surrounded by straight women and gay men. I don't judge y'all, I just accept that shit. That's a two-way street. Accept that I don't like kids.
AZ: You are unbelieveable. You on that Detroit shit.

Her kids are Exhibit A in why I fuckin' hate kids. Those fucking kids interrupt her constantly on the phone, beg constantly,they're irresponsible, talk back, and they're lazy fucking kids. My mother woulda kept her foot in our asses. I blame her and I hope they find another home for that baby before she's able to raise him the same way she raised those other irritating little bastards. Arrrrgggggghhhhh!!!!


*This is Satan's Anus code for being belligerent or cynical. You gotta be on some "Detroit shit" if you don't trust white people completely or if you don't take being treated second class lying down.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

A Friend To Hip Hop and Animals and Such

What up folks? It's me, Zed. Zed Zednanreh. I'm chillin' in the office today after spending yesterday driving back and forth to Detroit. I had a job interview, for the first time in many months, in a suburb of the D. It's far from my ideal gig, but it'll do in a pinch.

At the interview, they asked me several questions that I bullshitted and answered half assedly. If they offer me the job, I'll know they are quite stupid. I gave it my best shot, but I really wasn't all that prepared. You ask me specific questions about your specific problems and I have little insight to the information at hand, and you got yourself a half assed guess.

After the interview I got to eat lunch with TAD in one of my old stomping grounds. The food was good, the company was better. After that, I had to go get measured for my tux. The good news is that I went down a suit size after 10 1/2 weeks of working out 6 days a week and dieting I finally saw some tangible results.

Once again, I got to drive home and clear my head. It's not such a bad drive if gas was cheaper. It's not that bad at all.


Monday, September 08, 2008

Mildly Retarded

So Friday, we had to go on a management retreat to discuss who we are and our "feelings". This type of shit rankles me to no end. Why? Because it's really none of your gotdamn business what makes me tick. It's your business to ask me to perform a task and it's my business to perform that task. Fuck how I tick, you tick, or the gotdamn public ticks.

The job can only give me half of what makes me tick. Until the job grows a pussy, they're fucked as far as my complete satisfaction goes. Fuck them for wanting that much information. I don't want that much information from the staff I'm over. Just do what the fuck I tell you to do. I don't give a fuck about your job satisfaction, just do what the fuck I say.

Maybe I'm a little off, maybe slightly mentally deficient, but in this little barter system we have set up, I figure either I do the job I get paid for or I get replaced. Who gives a fuck as to what motivates me to perform. You gotta work to eat, as the saying goes.

Man, fuck this whole place entirely.


Wednesday, September 03, 2008

I'm Sick of These Cowards

OK, I can buy the argument that raising a teenager that has pre-marital sex and gets pregnant does not make you a bad parent. But do I extend that argument to include raising a teenager that steals, or sells dope, or even shoots people? Most people probably wouldn't, but most people didn't build a platform based on being the moral stewards of America.

Staying out of other folks' business is my second nature. Actually it's my first nature. Fuck people, in general. I guess I find irony in a group that wants to extend governments reach into people's private lives through spying and religious based edicts asking us all to keep private matters private. What the fuck is private, y'all? You don't respect privacy at all and now you want yours respected.

And just like I expected, the pussy ass Democrats, instead of smelling blood in the water, buy into this fake assed civility. "Families are off limits". Right. Just like the question of whether your dead parents were communists, or if you're letting your half brother live in squalor in Kenya, or if your wife is a bitter black radical. "Families are off limits". Priceless.

They'll be off limits until some shit happens to your family, believe me.

Be Easy,

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Lesson One

Trials and tribulations are really underrated. We're in misery as we go through them, but the things we learn about ourselves and others are invaluable. That shit becomes ingrained in your DNA and you pass it down to your children and they to theirs.

It is only through our trials and tribulations that we come to understand what it really means to suffer, and what is tolerable; what is reasonable or unreasonable; what is sustainable and non-sustainable; what's good and what's REALLY GOOD. What are you really willing to do to keep your misery to a minimum? What are you really ready to give up for the good of the collective? If you've never had to give up shit, or have barely seen what misery looks like, you'll be willing to stand your ground on the most minuscule compromise. You'll hold on to a "principle" that's really just a manifestation of stubbornness. If you really haven't gone through shit, it'll look reasonable to you.

Some fears are healthy and others irrational, but we pass them all down through our teachings and through our actions. We are always being watched by the ones we love. Everytime we think something is enough, we'll learn the world doesn't work that way. You always have to fuel the machine, to feed the beast.

Some muthafuckas are determined never to learn Lesson One.


Tuesday, August 19, 2008


This is how you know it's some shit in the game. I was late for work today. I was about an hour late. I have to arrive at work at 8:00 am. I woke up at 4:00 am, it takes me about 30 minutes to get ready, and my drive to work is only about 15 minutes. How was I late? I sat down and watched TV for four hours this morning, trying to make myself get up and go to work. I finally got there at 8:45.

I couldn't figure out what suit to wear, either. I desperately wanted to put on a polo shirt and some khakis. I didn't wanna put on a suit.

I know what it is. This is that same shit that manifests itself everytime I'm done.

I don't have the capacity to care about work anymore. Not that I ever really did, but now it's showing itself in the most visually obvious ways. I'm half-shaving, not really combing my dome, shoes unshined, ties not matching, office in disarray. I'm just fucking here. Until I'm not here.

Basically just breathing.


Friday, August 15, 2008

A Random List

  • Much like Alicia Bridges, I too like the nightlife. I too like to boogie.
  • Hey, bitches: stop borrowing each other's pants! And stop charging money for people to watch that shit.
  • I've never wanted to start smoking again like I did when I watched those cats smoke that "cross joint" in Pineapple Express.
  • I'm no longer in a position to rail against stupidity. I've met the enemy, and he is me.
  • I love being left alone. People really get mad at you when you don't "bother" them for long stretches of time. I wouldn't be offended, but my friends are salty.
  • I should be in NYC hangin' with Miss Ahmad. I really should.
  • I need some fucking perks. Somethin'.
  • Gotdamn, hip hop sucks.
  • I have sent out resumes almost every day for 3 months. I haven't had a single fucking call or interview in that time. Not one. Man, fuck.
  • Oreos, muthafucka.

Monday, August 11, 2008


My ego is pretty big. Most of the time, I try to be self-deprecating just so I'll come off as less of an asshole, but really I think pretty highly of myself. Sometimes it's hard to come to grips with the reality that maybe, just maybe, you're not all that you think you are to all people.

Case in point, we're in the middle of planning this wedding. I'm not so much into the wedding thing, but I'm in the "go along to get along" phase. Whatever'll make this thing go, I'm with it. Everybody in the world knows that a woman's wedding is something she's thought about and pictured for many, many years. She has a vision and she'll try to match that vision the best way she can. Everybody in and around the wedding have been selected for years in advance. Everybody except the groom, that is. That's the interchangeable piece. The groom is just whatever African happened to pop the question. The wedding doesn't change one iota to fit a groom's personality or ideals. Most dudes laugh that shit off. I did as well. It got less funny the more I thought about it though, a lot less funny. That's ego.

This could very well be Joe, Jake, or Johnny's wedding. One monkey don't stop no show. Who gives a fuck who the groom is?

In the meantime I gotta get pep talks from my biggest fans (my mother and Three) just to keep my ego fed. That's kinda fucked up, but it's true.

This wedding thing is like a force of nature. I'mma go find some shelter.


Thursday, July 31, 2008

When Has It Ever Worked?

"Hey baby, why you lookin' so mean?"

Muthafuckas make me laugh. Game is a lost art. I used to have it. I haven't had it in a minute or two. I don't need it now, but damn, it would be nice to have.

"You lookin' good girl!"

I'll bet she is, fella. I'll bet she is. But is yelling that as she strides purposefully with her 5 friends to get in line for this party gonna get her to stop? Nope. Next time try laying a 10 dollar bill in the street and saying "Miss, you dropped this!"

My boy Three told me something a long time ago that makes all the sense in the world. I don't know if it really works, because I'd only tried it with female friends and not "prospects". He said "Compliment a woman the way another woman would and she'll be more responsive." He didn't say it quite like that, because Three is kinda illiterate, but you get the idea. "I like your shoes." "I like that color on you." Instead of "DAMN, you got a big ole ass!", which was my preferred expression. I really gotta ask Three if his bullshit method ever worked.

"Ay, sweetheart, lemme holla at you a minute."

Probably the most subtle shit I've heard today. It's not overly aggressive but it's still pretty ignorant. If she stops, you got an even shot. If not? Sucks to be you. I say work on your shit a little more and come back a little harder than that.

My shit was always situational. I had these scenarios worked out for all these different situations. If she's standing here, then I'll comment on that. If she's doing that, I'll do this and then we'll cross paths. It's laughable that shit that worked well.

To the cats that still think this shit is fun, I salute you. But you gotta fuckin' do better than this!


Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Childlike Wonder

As jaded as I am, I'm still amazed by many things in this world. Most of my amazement stems at how stupid people are, so I'm not sure that counts. All I know is people in general are stupid and/or ballsy.

John Edwards was running for President. He was my preferred candidate, because of his ideas on health care reform. You see, that's my big issue. People have to stick with shitty gigs because they need the health care. I think people are happier and, of course, healthier, if getting health care wasn't dependent on the beneficence (or lack thereof) of industry. Chase your dreams and fuck the benefits package.

John Edwards has been fucking around on his wife. Once again, I'm not amazed, but this shit is SOOOO blatant, and has been talked about in hushed tones for the entire campaign, I couldn't believe it's just now getting run. That's not even the half. This muthafucka made a baby with the mistress.

If he was ever gonna get back in the saddle for that number 2 slot, it's effectively done. Thanks, Haircut.

I've talked about running for office, but my skeletons run deep. After this shit, my little skeletons seem like a single bone (literally!!!). The more politicians fuck up on a large scale, my shit looks more and more petty.

I'm counting on more amazing displays of stupidity. It keeps me young.


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Let's All Be Dumb

My assistant sent out an email yesterday reminding the secretaries to watch their timeliness when arriving at work, that the public expects them to be there at the reception desk at 8:00 am. My secretary sent him a scathing reply, telling him she didn't like being included in an email admonishing bad behavior, especially since she wasn't a tardy person EVER.

She told me about the email she sent back to my assistant. I asked her why she sent it. She told me that she didn't like being included in the email. I told her it was a blanket email and that she should disregard anything that didn't apply to her. She was beside herself with anger. The ideal that someone would impugn her good name by including her on that email. No one sends her emails that commend her on coming in early. The nerve of us!!! Crazy bitch.

There's this cat in the town over that's just running through hoes, one after the other, just bangin' 'em out. The women are enthralled because he's got a lot of style and he's a DOCTOR!!! OMG, a single black doctor! Wait, you say he's a chiropractor? So he's only a "doctor". They are impressed by a gotdamn "doctor". He might as well be a cop or a cashier. Fucking lunatics.

This place in general makes me wanna take my life with a bullet to the temple. Just blow my own fucking head clean off.


Monday, July 21, 2008

It's Movietime Again!

Yo, I went to the movies this weekend and I had a lot of fun. That's pretty unusual for me. I hate theaters and sticky floors (self-created floors excluded) but I had a lot of fun sitting in darkness for 2+ hours watching Batman Gets His Ass Acted Off The Screen By A Dead Guy. Seriously, fuck hype, but He.ath Le.dger Deserves the next Best Actor Oscar, plus the one after that for good measure. You know any good magic tricks? Fuck!

Anyway, this weekend got me in the mood to write again. I don't have anything worth a damn, just some ideas that might work in a serviceable movie.

Like, you ever seen one of those movies where someone gets shot in the heart, but they have something covering their hearts that keep them from getting killed? Like the bastard has a lead covered bible in his breast pocket or something? Well I'd like to have a scene like that in the movie I write. Except where there's usually something that saves the guy my shit would make it worse. "John only got a flesh wound in the calf. Unfortunately, he was hiding nitro glycerine in his sock, so when the gunman shot him, KABOOM!!!"

Also, I want to write something about a mix of people of all nationalities, races and ages who all inhabit this finite space. They are all sentenced to die at some random time that they can't figure out, but their captor is definitely hell bent on killing them all. With this hanging over their heads, they try to find ways to gain favor with the captor so that he'll let them off the hook. They feign being selfless and kind. They try to create a positive atmosphere in the room. They try to be the most popular or the one who possesses the most things. They try a bunch of different stuff, just to show the cat that's watching them that they should be spared. Then they find out a cruel twist. There's nothing they can do to be spared. I'd call this movie "Life On Earth". The funny thing about it we're all in that movie RIGHT NOW!!! Ooooh! Deeeeep!

Man, I had fun this weekend, but in general, fuck the movies.


Friday, July 18, 2008

Ultramagnetic KZ

I attract the weird and neurotic (no offense readers). It's just what I do. The people I make friends with or hang around with definitely have an eccentric bent. I don't think I do, but hell, I'm me. I'm not supposed to think I'm weird.

Case in point: My friend Agent Zero. She's got two shorties, ages 12 and 14, who are currently in the south visiting their father. Their deadbeat father, who has never spent ANY time with them before this summer and has never sent any cash. By whom she got pregnant the second time while engaged to somebody else. She's lamenting that he's had a vasectomy, after 7 illegitimate children. She'd like to have another child and she'd like them all to have the same father. The same deadbeat loser father.

I got another friend, Jayne Kennedy, a chick I talked about on these very pages around 2 1/2 years ago. She's trying to find her life mate. But not just any life mate. No, no, this dude has got to be GREEK, a member of the Pan-Hell. Because she's a dedicated member of her sorority and a regular cat just can't understand her and her relationship to her sorors. She is 33 years old. She's been a Greek for 12 years. It is not in the least played out for her or at least ebbed a little bit. She's on all the little Divine Nine sites and always para'ed up, 12 years later.

Lastly, I'd like to talk about Curly. This cat is never satisfied. He's marginal looking, slow witted, and has bad dental work. He's 43 years old and looking for the perfect woman. Chick after chick gets introduced to him to no avail. He claims he wants "a dime". He's a fucking nickel, and I'm being generous. The only chick he has eyes for is the chick I'm with. I'm sorry to tell him(actually I'm not) it's too late for him and her. But I'll let him keep bitching about what's not out there and stop trying to lead that horse to water.

I'd be less frustrated if these people didn't like me so much and want to hang around me. The thing is, as much as I try to be an island, I can't. I need in the flesh friends around me too. It just need to see what it is in me that keeps attracting the looniest people on Earth.


Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The Respect Of A Lie

I've been talking a lot to my boy, Three, out in LA and I've been able to get a lot of shit off my chest. It's probably why I've been blogging less. Shit that I can't air out because of my audience I'm able to tell him and get instant feedback. It's a beautiful thing. Good ol' fashioned communication.

The one thing we talked about for a long time is the concept of respect and the different ways we demonstrate it, or lack of it, to others. Most women realize the concept of the respect of a lie. I think appreciation of the concept comes with age. They also realize when to use it themselves.

If you used to date a dude with goo-gobs of money, extremely handsome, smart, kind, fun, etc., that's cool. We get it. But if everytime you bring him up you talk about how fun, handsome and paid he was, I'mma take umbrage to that shit. I'mma say go back to that muthafucka if he'll take you. Because you sound like you settlin' for me. And what the fuck do I want with a loser that can't keep a man she REALLY likes?

For instance, I used to date many, many women that were beautiful, extremely fit, sexy and eager to fuck. But I don't talk about it (person to person at least) unless prompted. And even then I'll temper my response.

Here's where the respect of a lie comes in. The times we had will always be clarified as "a-ight" or "straight", perhaps even "cool". But they won't be "oh my god we had sooooo much fun, she was the best!!!" I respect you enough to lie.

I extend that respect to when I'm being bored to death by the one-hundredth telling of the story about the one time your Uncle Skeet bought a 10-cent pickle for 5-cents. I extend it to when you talk about shoes, hats, fancy soap, Oprah, Tyler Perry or Grey's Anatomy. You extend it me when I talk about Iron Man, the NFL, barber shop talk, my boys, or The Wire.

Conceptually, it's very simple. It's much harder in practice. But make no mistake, it is respect.


Monday, July 07, 2008

Back To Hell

One week in the D has taught me a few things. Sphincter control must be practiced while masturbating. Old friends are sometimes just friends from a long time ago. Good customer service is STILL not an African American virtue. Sex appeal and lack of modesty are not one in the same. Girls with big asses don't automatically know how to clap it, it's still got to be practiced. Six foot three and a half inches, 300 pounds still make a black man invisible to white people, except when standing behind them at an ATM or walking on a dark street. There is no such thing as enough corruption. It's hard for a man to be ultra-masculine on a merry go round.

I'm back, boys and girls. Back to this meaningless, bullshit gig I complain about with no end in sight. At least my boss is gone for the week so I get to do TWO jobs I hate instead of the one. Lucky, lucky me.

Be cool, alright?


Friday, June 27, 2008

John Cougar Summercamp

Well it's Friday. I don't have to come back to this god-forsaken hell hole until July 7th. I get to relax on the sunny shores of Crime Village for 10 days because airline fares are off the fucking chain. But at least I won't be here. At the very least.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too fucked up to be a success. I mean a REAL success. I hate dealing with people and I have lots of patience issues. I get presented with opportunities and I'm too lazy to follow through. I'm in the midst of that right now.

People call me and they always want something. I'm too fucking lazy to be the point person for anything. Phone calls make me sleepy. Bitchin' ass people make me ill.

Every gig I'm at I feel an overwhelming need to get the fuck out of it as soon as possible. In this economy it's not working like I'd like it too, so I feel even more stuck.

I'll take next week off and relax somewhat, though wedding planning will be going on all around me. Try to do something in Detroit that Vegas, with the 1,000 conference sessions I had to attend, couldn't do: take my mind off this fucking job.

See Y'all Later,

Wednesday, June 25, 2008


"I'm no rocket scientist...."

I can't tell you how many times I've started sentences like this, but I might be wrong. How can everybody else be so fucking dumb, so petty, so fucking backwards....

I can't fucking listen anymore. My ears are hard. My heart is empty. Fuck your city. Fuck your problems.

You are slowly but surely making me rethinking my whole career. This isn't what I've signed up for. Not by a long shot.

Don't let poor people live near my house, but please Satan's Anus, build a dog park for Ranger. He loves to frolic.

Don't increase your tax base by selling the property by mine to a developer, but please provide us with more amenities. I don't give a fuck how you pay for them, just don't raise my taxes.

Why come talk to me about my opinions if you won't do what I say, regardless of how counterintuitive it is?

Man, fuck y'all. Fuck all of y'all. It looks like I'm stuck with y'all for the time being. But still, fuck y'all.


Wednesday, June 11, 2008


Today is another one of those days. My boss called in today and decided he'd like to spend this glorious day at home with his wife (who's a teacher and off for the summer) and kids (who, and off for the summer). That leaves me in charge. What that means is I inherit meetings and shit. Responsibility, I got in scads, but meetings I generally avoid, as you readers already know.

I didn't know he wasn't coming in. I didn't know until I turned on my computer today and read the email from him. Today started off badly anyway. I got here at around 9. Work starts at 8. I woke up at 8:30, so I think that's pretty good to get here and 9 and not smell like ass and feet. The thing is people think they NEED everything from the boss. We have an amazing dearth of self starters here, so when I walk in, it's like "Finally, I can be instructed on if and when to breathe." Gosh, I hate these bastards.

The trivial becomes necessary and the necessary becomes an emergency. The questions become dumber.


P.S. Ladies, don't ask me if I'm getting nervous about getting married. The analogy? Say you're about to fuck a dude for the first time. He's about to penetrate, you look down and realize he has four more inches of dick than you've ever taken in your life. Either you can balk and say "Fuck that, he's not putting that monster in me!" Or you can relish the opportunity as a new experience that you might just enjoy. It's not about nerves, it's about being ready for what life holds for you.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Until Somebody Stops Me (The Donut Day edition)

Look at you. Yeah, eat it up. You fuckin' Wal-Mart shopping loser. I'll stand by and make small talk with you, all the while trying to hide my scorn behind this venti cup of latte. That's right. Enjoy those fucking donuts while I fuck you out of your labor rights.

"Why, you're welcome! It's the least I can do for such a hard working staff." False fucking flattery to you dime a dozen muthafuckas. You're cheaper than those donuts!!!! Is this the shit that makes you happy? Me deigning to talk to you mouth breathing bastards? Hunh?

Bold Face Lies
"Of course I'm working to get you more money. You deserve it. Irreplaceable you. Here, have another donut."

False Camaraderie
Yeah, sure. I know exactly what you're going through. I know what it's like to be a sad, sad motherfucker with no marketable skills whatsoever. I also know what it's like to overvalue my importance to a bureaucratic machine, set up for "replacing missing cogs". Yeah. I'm right with you. Look, we're bonding!

Underlying Impatience
"Um, are we finished with the donuts yet? I gotta get back to work. Yeah, I know. I enjoyed this chance to chat too. But duty calls. Ha, ha. Get it? Duty? Doody? This work is like shit! Ha, ha!"

I might have a future as a politician yet.

Be Cool,

Monday, June 09, 2008

No One Hates Brooklyn More Than Me

I love weekends where there's nothing to do but lie around without power. It's actually one of my favorite things, unless of course I want to eat the food that's in my own house. But that's another story. This weekend was actually the weekend I needed, one where I got to navel gaze and ignore the outside world. Where I got to think about me and what I want.

You wanna know what it is that I want? More sleep. All the time. More fucking sleep.

I wish I was an instructor at a girls school. Not a teen girl school, I'm not lookin' for no pervy shit to go down, but a younger girls school. One of the first things I'd let them know is there's a cut off date for using a baby voice to get what you want. And there's also a short list of people that shit will work on. If you're in your twenties or thirties, it will only work with people that want to fuck you. There is no power in appropriating a baby voice outside of that.

What is an art fair that has only two tents with art for sale? Bullshit is what I'd call it, but that's just me. I basically ate an elephant ear and kept it movin'. Fucking fake art fair.

I'm supposed to be thankful to have a job, right? Remind me why again.

Be Easy,

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

My Negro Problem

I've basically been dealing with an increased case of snobbishness for the past few months. I don't know where it's come from, but I'm dealing with Uppity African syndrome and I don't know how to shake it.

I'm no elitist. I come from a blue collar background, with only me and one of my sisters as college grads. My high school was consistently rated last in academic achievement behind the 27 other schools. I'm from the east side of Detroit and went to the "other school" in the state of Michigan. I'm a slob and a ignoramus, but that doesn't stop me from looking down my nose at some other people.

I know this chick that's out of work and she was asking me if I knew of any jobs available. She's looking for some sort of management position. I was instantly offended. What the fuck kind of circle do I run in that I can get a job for a chick that's 10 credits short of a general business degree from The University of Phoenix? I really have no right to try to bag on anybody's self improvement, and virtual campuses are an innovative concept, but fuck that, really. Ain't nobody lettin' you manage shit but a Chicken Shack if that's your primary degree. And that shit hasn't even been obtained yet.

Another person asked me about getting a relative of theirs involved in the work I do. I asked what their major was and got the response that they only had a high school diploma. Muthafucka, that African can clean up the office after the professionals leave.

My problem is inherently a negro problem. We still don't know how the game is played. Certain credentials are "needed" for certain work. I'm not saying that my job can't be done by a grade schooler, but the fact is no one will hire one to do the work.

There are a ton of jobs that take shit like hard work, talent, family connections, etc. to get to a position of power. Those jobs are usually in the entertainment and athletic arenas. All the gigs I know about throw around bullshit about "schooling" and "certification" and "competency". Assholes!

I just wish Africans would stop thinking that a good word from Big Zed is gonna make "the man" forget that credential barrier that he put up to keep us out in the first place. That's all I'm sayin'.


Friday, May 30, 2008


It is finally Friday. The weekend couldn't come quick enough. Mind you, this was a short work week anyway. It just didn't feel like it.

My staff went nuts and shit, talking about how insulted they felt because such and such got to do something and they didn't. Boo hoo, bitches.

I had paperwork like you wouldn't believe. Any entity set up NOT to make money is in for fucking problems in the first place here in America. Some people only believe in the profit motive, so for them civil service is for the birds. To navigate the waters and get things done is a miracle, if only because of all the paperwork you gotta fill out to cover you ass if you spend a nickel of the city's money. It's unbelievable how much of the same paper came across my desk to sign and re-sign for one single project. Then I had to chase down minutes to a series of meetings to prove that the expenditure was actually properly approved. Then the purchasing department hazes your ass. It's a fucking nightmare, says the guy with a masters in public administration.

Then it's the meetings. Everything's literally resolved within 12 minutes on average. Minus the small talk, what everyfuckingbody did that weekend, cute shit their kids said, good natured ribbing about somebody's dumb ass tie, the meetings would be 12 minutes. I've sat in meetings for the better part of 5 hours each 8 hour work day. If meetings actually lasted 12 minutes, I could all of them in one day and still have time to work on the shit I need to that come from the meetings. But if they wanna pay me to sit in meetings, fuck it. As a matter of fact, fuck that. I hate meetings. You can't pay me enough to enjoy 'em.

I'm glad I get to relax at the crib this weekend. TAD's coming here so I don't have to pack and drive. I will be drinking extensively though. Grey Goose and cranberry. Lots of gooses.


Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Work Be Hard, Yo

When I tell you I'm trapped in a hellish cycle of getting more assignments and going to more meetings, I'm sure the absolute frustration will not register with you, dear reader.

When you're asked to go to more and more meetings, you get assigned more shit to do. The more meetings you go to, the less time you have to actually do the shit you're assigned. I'm in a situation where I can't even delegate work right now, because the shit I have to do is detail oriented. I don't trust the idiots on my staff with that level of detail. So I'm stuck. Paperwork piled to the top of my head. Shit is thick, yo.

I'm taking a break to write so y'all won't think I'm dead. Everything's still everything. Still getting married, still job hunting, still hating Satan's Anus, still not writing my book. Last weekend I came up with yet another book idea, but I forgot it. I was really excited too. That fucking sucks.

I'll write again as soon as I'm able.


Thursday, May 15, 2008

Why The Fuck Would I Be In A Good Mood?

Since 2008 started:

Number of resumes sent: 34
Number of interviews: 2
New apartments: 1
Unpacked apartments: 0
Times bad judgment exhibited by staff: 14
Times it bit me in the ass: 3
Average number of people to ask me about the wedding, daily: 3
Most days in a row drinking alcohol: 5
Number of overwhelming assignments, concurrent: 4
Average number of sexually active days per month: 3
Average times masturbated per month: 84
Average number of days worked per month: 20
Most good days in a row: 1
Number of times I've seen an actual ass in a thong: 1
Number of times I dye my goatee in a month: 4
Average number of headaches per week: 4
Weekly nacho intake, one pound bags: 2
Number of dress shirts: 27
Number of blue jeans: 2

Be Cool,

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


Big Hot Funky Shit Encrusted Mess

I was in a meeting yesterday and we had a "community activist" in the office. In this town (or in most towns, actually) that means a jobless or underemployed kook that has nothing better to do than bemoan the lack of Neighborhood Watch signs on his or her block. This lady represents her neighborhood in a paid position. All I've ever seen her do is smoke and eat. One time I came to her office to meet with her and she was sleeping HARD with her head on her desk, snoring and slobbering. She's a black lady with a short, perpetually uncombed afro that always seems to have a lint ball in the front of it. She has questionable bathing hygiene and a lack of coordination that couldn't be achieved by Stevie Wonder or the Governor of New York. Yesterday, her stankin' ass had on some manner of headwrap that would have to be seen to be believed. No, I didn't listen to the broad, I was too busy holding my breath. I have no idea what she talked about.

The Short Sleep

Is it possible for a man to die from boredom? Last night I could not fall asleep. I was awake until 4:00 am with the alarm clock set for 6:30 am. Reading boring shit didn't work. Masturbation? No thanks. My dick is currently chapped from overindulgence. Solitare, infomercials, downloading obscure hip-hop ("Come Take A Ride" from World Renown? Anyone?), nothing worked. It was finally when I thought about the prospect of another full day of meetings did I start to get sleepy. I cannot fucking wait for the opportunity to control my calendar without interference from the boss.

Human (The Shep Pettibone Remix)

Last Thursday, I was out with some friends, drankin' and shit. This friend of a friend who I'd just met started asking me about what I do. It turns out she knew my boss. So she asked me if he was fucking his assistant. I laughed. You would too if you knew the kind of corny milquetoast assed dude he is. But of course I don't really put shit past anybody, so I stopped laughing and told her I didn't think so. She told me about being at a meeting with the two of them and he was openly glaring into her low cut blouse. I really blew that shit off. I'd never seen him publicly acknowledge a sexual impulse. Not an offhanded remark, nothing, in nearly 3 years. I shrugged it off and didn't mention that conversation to a single soul.

So today I came in my office from a meeting with my boss and Auntie Anita was in there waiting for me to return. I asked her what was up. She said "You wanna know something crazy? I was in a meeting yesterday with Allan and he kept looking down my shirt." I laughed hard. Boy, did I laugh. Three years of nothing and now I've heard two accounts of horndogism in the span of less than a week. I don't begrudge him that. He's 42 years old and has been married to his high school sweetheart since 1990. Let him look. He just has to be a little slicker about it. At least now I know this cat is human.

Flat Randy

Randall will be headed to Cleveland today. You can look for his exploits on Monie's page at

Take some good photos, Monie. And don't let him eat dairy. He's lactose intolerant.


Monday, May 12, 2008

The Case FOR Strip Clubs

How much is it worth to you to fucking relax? How much is it worth to the average man to spend money on a woman and have her work to entertain YOU? How much would you spend to have a woman pretend to be happy to see you every time you walk through the door? What's it worth to have a real live ass in a real live thong clapping in your face at your command, young fella?

That's what it means to go to a strip club. It took a long weekend of drinking, smoking and in general, thinking, to come to the conclusion that all my scorn and derision towards strippers and strip club patrons is misplaced. It's actually a beautiful, symbiotic relationship.

Those broads need and want money. Their asset? A gigantic ass/a set of enormous kegs. These dudes are usually in a home routine that consists of half listening to their significant others, ignoring their kids, and basically dropping off a paycheck every two weeks from a job they fucking hate. The wife, after a hard day at work, is not in the mood to entertain this cat. She's still busy at home. When it's bedtime, she's putting on some flannels, some giant fucking drawers, and a set of rollers. Ain't no clappin' happenin', Captain. That's where the strip club comes in.

For a fairly reasonable amount of money both parties walk away happy. Even if I don't patronize them, I think I'll stop being so hard on the cats that do and the women that work there. Both are necessary.

Be Cool,

Friday, May 09, 2008

I'm Finally Bored Enough To Write About This

So, TAD and I traveled to Vegas a couple of Saturdays ago. It was both our first times going to Vegas, and even though we don't gamble at all, we thought there would be enough other shit to keep us occupied. Like each others sexual organs, alcohol, and general debauched atmosphere. One out of three is pretty bad, yo.

Before we knew better

The accommodations? Extra feeble and wack. We stayed at The Luxor, which must be Egyptian (Arabic?) for Cheese.

They had fucked up elevators called "inclinators" because they went up on an incline. Just enough to make drunk people earl in 'em and to make someone going to a conference at 8:00 am every morning have to step around earl. Nice touch, Luxor. Actually the only good thing about it was the view of the mountains from our window.

We had a chance to walk down the Strip. The Luxor was at the end of the Strip, so the walk was long just to get to mainstream shit like Bally's or the MGM.

Two popular attractions: Cartoon, Cartoon and the Abused MGM Lion with hepatitis

Honestly, I didn't have one drink and TAD only had one. My mood was befouled by pint-sized Mexicans handing out unwanted flyers for poison pussy and loud, fat, stupid, unseemly hicks from every corner of the gotdamn globe. Hers was befouled from having to deal with my grouchy ass. Vegas is fucking filthy. I'm saying that shit and I'm from DETROIT!!!

Vegas is boring and gay, just like Siegfried and Roy

Honest to goodness, there were only 3 good things about that godforsaken town.

The Bellagio lobby, the view from the Venetian balcony, and the Wynn buffet and waterfall

Yeah, we got pics to show people so we can lie about how much fun we had, but we know the truth. I wish AJ had gotten a chance to check us out and show us the ropes, but I hated that shit as we explored on our own.

Fuck Vegas,

P.S. The first blogger to send me an email at gets Flat Randy. I tried to decide amongst y'all, but I couldn't think of a fair way to do it.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

"Man, Fuck That Place!"

Randall and TAD, pre-trip; Detroit, MI

Randall, The Strip; Las Vegas, NV
Randall, Riding the bus to Fremont Street; Las Vegas, NV

"How come we surrounded by old people and Asians?"

No, Randy, you can't borrow a dollar.

Randy doesn't like EVERYTHING flat!!!

Me and Flat Randy did what we could do in that fucking wasteland of Las Vegas, but it didn't amount to much. He deserves better.

If there is anyone, anywhere in America who wants to take Flat Randy and show him a good time, by all means, let me know. Just make sure you post the pics and send him to another blogger.

Be Cool,

Thursday, May 01, 2008


I'm more reinforced in my contention that I hate not only my profession, but the people in it. The fucking meaningless jargon, the affects, the way they dress, pronounce shit, and stand. The aloofness and the know-it-all-ousity. The fucking brainless way our professional association keeps shoving "the important things" down our throats.

Another thing. I used to talk about this a lot to my colleagues, but I'd toned down my denunciations: most of these cats are effeminate. The women are...well, boring and icy, and the men any flamy and shit.

The conference is over and I'm sitting in the airport, waiting to crash into a mountain. I just wanted to post while this shit is fresh in my mind, and I'll wait to actually talk about me, TAD and Vegas. One thing I want noted is I'll probably be unable to eat at another buffet for the rest of my life.

Be Cool,

Friday, April 25, 2008

Sin City

As luck would have it, me and TAD are both going to Las Vegas tomorrow. We're both going for work reasons, me for a conference and she for training. So we get a vacation on each of our company's dimes. Nice timing, I say.

Sidenote: To AJ and BBB, I'm taking Flat Randy to Vegas. I don't know if I'm taking pictures, because what happens there stays there.

TAD is returning on Wednesday and I'll be there until Thursday, so you know what that means. Gambling in a tux, strippers, hookers, and coke on Wednesday night!!! Whoooo-hoooo!!!

Anyway, it's good to have a week off going someplace I've never been, even though I'll be in sessions all day e'rr day. It's good to be with TAD for an extended period of time too. Maybe I'll even get a change to partake in some hedonistic nakedness. Only time will tell.

I'll likely blog from the spot and give you my impressions of what's what.

Man, I really need this!


Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Things You Need To Know But Nobody Will Tell You

  • People resent the fuck out of you because of guilt. You just being around is a constant reminder of their inadequacy. There is no form of imitation or ingratiation that you can perform to make them forget that you are unalike and therefore you are inferior.
  • Sex in and of itself is just OK. You should to understand how the things you do affect the other person and what brings you the most pleasure. Pussy or dick is not inherently good. You should pay attention to your body and learn about your partner. Lying there and making yourself available is not enough. In other words, learn to fuck.
  • Boredom is a function of yourself. If you are constantly bored, you are constantly boring. Get interesting by any means necessary.
  • Stop asking questions you know the answer to. "Was that stupid?" "Should I fuck her?" "Is this too tight?" "Would you have lent him the money?"
  • Do not ever believe that someone has your best interest at heart for an unselfish reason. It all goes back to how they'll feel if they don't try to steer you in the right direction. So fuck 'em.
  • There is nothing more attractive than a person that lets it be known that they are completely secure in being off limits to you forever. One becomes irresistible.
  • You can have two dicks, one above the other, both 10+ inches and a billion dollars in the bank, tax free. You can have intellect, style, finesse, be rugged, adventurous, handsome and forever young. You can be tough and sensitive, come "off the top" with a flawless freestyle, sing like an angel, and play jazz, blues, rock, pop, and R&B on any instrument in the world. But you can always get your other half snatched by a toothless, half-witted, penniless idiot. Why? Because it's all about DIFFERENCE, not quality.
You muthafuckas be cool.


Monday, April 21, 2008

On Behalf Of Detroit

I'm writing this on behalf of the city of my birth, because in the many months prior to this, I've not seen one cogent defense of my city. People who write about it have never lived there or if they have, they've often lived on the outskirts of the city. I've had a 34 year history of living in the city and attending Detroit Public Schools for my entire K-12 experience. I've never been to a magnet school or otherwise "gifted and talented" program. I'm just a regular muthafucka with the majority of my life spent in the city's boundaries.

I've heard silly muthafuckas talk about the deserted nature of the city, the desolate nature of the neighborhoods and downtown, the economic abandonment, the political mismanagement, and the scapegoating that often epitomizes discourse in the city. I'm not writing to apologize for any of it, because there is truth and elements of the truth in all of it.

The City of Detroit is not the mayor, nor is it the city council. It is not the schools nor the transportation system. It is not the loudest person at the public meeting nor is it the homeless mental patient wandering the street.

Detroit, by and large, is a product of it's people. Detroit is this nation's id. It is unadulterated emotion and passion. I'm not afraid of the city. I am the city.

The City of Detroit consists of the largest majority African American city in the nation. It shares a border with Windsor, Ontario and is home to the largest border crossing responsible for the transporting of goods in North America. There is also the home of the gateway to all of the Great Lakes, The Detroit River.

By playing up the first part, largest majority African American city in the nation, there are hopes that the other parts are forgotten. See, the other parts of the equation make Detroit extremely valuable real estate. The longest devaluing campaign in the history of this nation is being enacted right before our eyes. The less value we, the owners, see in the city, the less we'll be willing to sell for. People with means will buy for cheap, and build value into the property we gave away for peanuts. Detroit is both not as bad as you've been led to believe and in worst shape that you've been led to believe, all at the same time.

I believe the mayor is a performance artist, creating a situation where public opinion will move to such a position that the only way the residents believe they can be "saved" is through electing a mayor that doesn't look like them. I believe that what we are seeing is the packaging of one of the largest land swindles in the history of the United States. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but I've seen it close up. I've never witnessed such a willingness to destroy something that you claim you love in all my life, by all the "important" players.

I'm watching residents be willfully dumb, willfully uneducated, and willfully manipulated because they are too lazy to do their homework. Or those are at least the ones who get to speak on camera.

You don't have to like Detroit or live in Detroit. But know of what you speak before you speak on my shit.


Friday, April 18, 2008

Quaker Notes

Yo, I was awaken at 5:40 am by a violent shaking of my entire abode. I woke up and looked out of the window, thinking I'd see the footprint of a 10,000 foot tall Jesus coming to reap souls. When I saw nothing, I went back to bed. Fuck it. I'll die another day.

The thing about the Midwest is that we supposedly traded safety from earthquakes for massive amounts of snow and cold. Now I see that that trade is bullshit. Fuck getting snow and cold AND earthquakes. Why the fuck do I live here again?

New shit for me to hate. Ready?

Muthafuckas with honorary Ph.Ds insisting on being called "Doctor".
Whiny politicians. Male, female, black or white. You asked for this shit.
Apathy, entitlement and complacency in all its forms.
The fucking earth moving because of something other than great sex.
The Purchasing Department of any municipal entity.
People who act like that big fucking scar on Tina Fey's face doesn't exist.
Two hour drives to civilization.


Thursday, April 17, 2008

Punk Bitches and Declarative Statements

G'day folks. I'm prepping to enter another meeting today hoping it's less like most of my meetings. It won't be different, but at least I can hope.

My least favorite part of the meeting is the inevitable chiming in of "the smart people". You see, I go through most of these meeting shutting the fuck up. I don't wanna be there, I don't have anything to contribute, I'm here because I was asked to, so why the fuck should I talk? If I want to know anything from anybody, I'll email them. I don't need to sit face to face with anybody to get information. But the smart people definitely want you to know they're always thinking. They gotta let you know they've framed the discussion for you, to make things easier for the bosses and other less smart people. My boss is a good one for this shit.

"We're doing important work here and it's good that people want to work with us."

What the fuck does that mean? Actually, I get what it means, but why was it said? For what reason? To let people know they do important work? To let them know that people want to work with us? Or is it to declare that you have a big picture understanding of the project we're discussing? I think it's the latter, because that statement does ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY nothing to add to the quality of the discussion or the information sharing that's going on.

"We are focused on our goals and ready for the next steps, whatever they may be."

What? Man, fuck you. We convened a gotdamn meeting so you could practice your empty fucking platitudes, you bifocaled demi-male? I gotta get back online. I gotta finish reading some shit on Gawker. com

You can keep your framing shit. I'm too fucking lazy to be inspired by empty rhetoric.


Tuesday, April 15, 2008


When I wake up on a weekday here in Satan's Anus, I know one thing will happen for sure: I will be angry before I reach my morning destination.

There is no real "rush hour" here. Maybe rush quarter-hour. But that doesn't make driving any less stressful. There are several enemies I've identified. I hate Cotton-head, the bastard with the full head of white hair and wrinkles who is driving around at the crack of dawn for the fuck of it because apparently they have no place to go. Slow driving, two hands on the wheel looking confused and squinting because of the sun in their face. I fucking hate SUV Hillary, who feels safe in her quasi tank all the while making the world less safe. She's driving 2 miles an hour and when I eventually pass her, she's got a phone pushed up to the side of her face, likely talking to the motherfucker she's married to about some petty assed suburban concern of hers, making him regret that cell phones were ever invented. I hate Greenpeace, the slow driving hippie pothead with the Darwin fish plastered on his Subaru and his numerous stickers proclaiming his love for all things eco-friendly. Catch the fucking bus, you fucking burnout.

My unlikely ally in this trek is the NASCAR loving, pickup truck driving, flag waving, Calvin pissin', ribbon sporting hick. Those muthafuckers just drive. I can't complain about that. They apparently have someplace to go just like I do.

I drive on a 5 lane road, two lanes each way with a turning lane, speed limit 50 miles per hour. There have been times too numerous to count where I've been stuck behind a vehicle going 15 miles below the speed limit and found myself trapped because the driver in the next lane is driving DIRECTLY BESIDE ME with no cars in front or in back of him impeding his progress. I have been a victim on numerous occasions of people who stop DURING RUSH QUARTER in the left thru-traffic lane to make a left turn, stopping all traffic behind them, when THERE IS A LEFT TURNING LANE RIGHT NEXT TO THEM UNUSED!!! As insane as that shit sounds, it's not a rare occurrence.

Tomorrow, I will be angry when I come to work. And you'll know why.


Friday, April 11, 2008

The Good Kind

The President of the Fo.rmula racing association is in a bit of hot water lately. Mo.sely, it appears, gets his rocks off participating in orgies where everyone is dressed in Na.zi regalia. The international racing world is aghast and up in arms about this fetish and is vehemently denouncing Mo.sely. Is dressing up in N.azi regalia a contemptible act in and of itself because of their atrocities? Or is it that he might identify with being a N.azi in some way that might make him reprehensible in polite circles? Or is it the overall weirdness of his fetish?

Everybody's asking him to step down and he refuses. I agree with him.

I've seen "mainstream" pornography that shows not only this fetish being acted out, but muthafuckas in Klan uniforms in interracial sex acts. These aren't new films, but at least 20 years old. These fetishes are no more rare than a S&M fetish. Both use a person's mind as the main sexual organ. The thing that keeps sex fresh is the idea of doing something that's forbidden. Regular sex is great, but if you wear a damn swa.stika armband while plowing your old lady, now you're a bad ass doing something naughty. It's all just sex. These critics are trying to play mind police. If he was heading up a Na.zi rally or espousing racially intolerant views, or harming someone because they lacked "pure Aryan blood", that's one thing. But getting one's rocks off is quite another.

If a black woman gets into a relationship with a white man and they decide they'd like to play a "Massa-Slave" game to get off, no matter how distasteful I think it is or how disrespectful I think it is to the memory of those who had to endure that terrible institution, it's none of my fucking business. Two people who have the same fetish have found each other and they have wonderful sex because of it. Congratulations you crazy kids!

People need to stay the fuck out other people's business. Your "sanctioned sex" isn't the only good kind.