Friday, March 28, 2008

Help Me

What the fuck do you do when your job is dragging you down? Do you quit, change jobs and start over from scratch in the same TYPE of job? Do you change careers totally and start at the bottom of a new career path? Do you shrivel up like a raisin in the sun?

I'm looking forward to finding a new job, with more juice and more money, but fuck, it'll still be the same type of job with the same type of problems and less familiarity. The truth is I don't want another job, ever. I don't want to have to work for somebody. I don't want to have to work for myself. I'd like work to be for me like leisure is for me currently, hard to fucking come by.

I've come to the conclusion that If I were to make a Venn diagram of my life, happiness and work would never overlap, though happiness and pussy overlap and in the past work and pussy have overlapped. But happiness and work? Not even close.

I'd look into vagrancy if you didn't have to go without bathing and you didn't actually talk to people, asking them for money and whatnot. I gives a fuck about this place or the next place I work.

I need loot, free and independent of effort.


Thursday, March 27, 2008

Devil In A Floral Dress

Hey kids! How's it (or they) hangin'? I hope alls well in Bloggerville Heights. Me? I'm in Satan's Anus, feeling the full wrath of workplace angst.

I was driving into work today and my cell phone rang. It was my secretary. Someone was looking for the cord that hooks the projector to the laptop. It was on my file cabinet. Easy enough to solve.

When I finally got into the office, I had literally 5 people waiting to talk to me about one issue or another. Don't fucking talk to me before my coat is off and coffee in my hand! I'm telling them to wait, hold on, I'm not ready yet. OK, let the onslaught begin.

Five people, five relatively easy answers. Go sit the fuck down!

The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Three phone calls, three questions answered.

The phone rings again. It's Wispy. I haven't have to talk to this fat bitch in a good six months. Now I'm on the phone with this land manatee, and I know it won't end well. "I need to talk you about something very important." It's never important. Not ever. "Go talk to your supervisor." "He'll just blow me off." Bitch, because it's not important!!! "Well, let me talk to him and see if it should come to my level." "Fine, I'll just go over to city hall then and talk to HR."

This is the part that makes me wish I was the director and not just deputy. I would have told that cave whore to go and tell whomever the fuck would listen to her, as long as it wasn't me. But my boss has spent his entire career here making sure shit stays "in-house", even little petty shit. So I had to respond a different way.

"OK, I have a minute right now." It was 8:40. I got in at 8:30.

So she ambles her ass past the twin obstacles of load bearing walls and donuts to make it to my office.

Artist's rendering

She starts into the diatribe about how the other managers ignore her pleas for more technical training, how she's asked for it for years and been rebuked one way or another. Then she talks about how valuable she is the the city, how she's been doing so much work above and beyond what the other "girls" do. Then Wispy begins tearing up and asking why she wasn't allowed to go to today's technical training session. It's unfair that LaVeronica gets to go, but she can't. Now I see. That African bitch gets a few hours off the phones to go learn something, I deserve AT LEAST that. I tell her "Well LaVeronica has long expressed interest in that technical training. This is the very first I've heard of you interest in any training. In fact, when I sent you to Excel training last year, you complained that I sent you to a training that you wouldn't use in your daily work. This training that LaVeronica is in would be more of the same."

She denied she said that about the Excel training and reasserted that the managers are conspiring to keep good training opportunities away from her. I told her I would see what I could do. And asked her to return to the reception desk.

There were 3 more people waiting outside in the halll to see me when she left.

Be Easy,

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Thank You Liner Notes For My Imaginary Rap Album

First of all I gotta give it up to the Lord, my wifey Landra, Koke Oliver, Charlie Hightower, my producer Neil Brackets, my n*gga Coleco, Spanish Dave, Black Dave, Ruxpin The Aggressor, Miriam Haversham, Elliot McPherson, The Homicide Machines, Penelope, Cakewalk and Tommy Acres, Maniacal Ideals, Thirsty Glenlivet and his crew, The Appletinis, Horace Machete, DJ Master Plan, DJ Obvious Choice, Vinyl Fetish, Sophia Nussbaum, The Ax Wielding Pussy Thieves, my brother Stab One, and my little cousin Percy.


Monday, March 24, 2008

My Turn

Talking to my mother is always an experience. Not always a pleasant one, but an experience just the same. My mother wears her opinions on her sleeves, never will hold her tongue about how I'm disappointing her or making her happy. She's pretty blunt and kinda "flat out". Lately when I talk to her it's about the wedding and how the plans are going. In between that talk, I told her I was going for the interview on April 1st and that it would be a good "get".

It was with a swell of emotion as she told me how she was sure I'd do well and that she was proud of me. It was one of the saddest moments in my life.

I know this is fleeting. The older I get, the older she gets, until I don't have her anymore. Moments like these are few are far between. This is positively the last person, including my father, that will be this proud of me and demonstratively express it. She's all I got. She's genuinely excited for me, not for what it means to her or any other thing she might get out of it, she just wants me to be happy.

People take that shit for granted, but immediately when you tell someone good news, they process what it means to them and temper their responses thusly. Being happy for you is cool, but I'd rather be happy for us, or better yet, ME.

Sometimes you don't even get that. You get feigned interest and REAL excitement about an upcoming sale at Macy's and shit. Or the new Madea movie. Or the new Jordans. Or some other shit a sane person is only tangentially interested in.

My mother is getting old and so am I. Those little moments on the phone that I took with a grain of salt just a few years ago are starting to mean much more to me now.


Saturday, March 22, 2008

Nuance Is Dead

Fucking Spring.

Nuance. It's an art I fear is lost on the black community. I have actually talked to people, black people, who were standoffish about Ob.ama because they'd gotten an email that said he was a Muslim. That was the reason for being standoffish. Not because his platform was wack or they didn't think he'd be a good leader, but because **GASP** he might be a Muslim. You dumb black motherfuckers. Never mind the fact that it's not true, but what the fuck if it is? You've had 43 "Christian" presidents. Where the fuck has it gotten you? Hunh? You got sent the email because you are dumb enough for his religion to matter to you even though you've been governed by 43 godless crackers. You even called one of these crackers an honorary "black". You lack the nuance gene, my African.

Now, since it's the Easter season, I have yet another reason to bemoan the loss of nuance. Broad acting, blatant musical cues, evil people acting overtly mean, good people being fucking angelic. Yes, Africans, it's a Tyler Perry movie!!! It's like a national holiday for subtlety and sophisticated wit. You both have a day off, Subtlety and Sophistication. Go play catch with your kids!

Fucking black people.


Friday, March 21, 2008

Spring In Satan's Anus

Gotta love Michigan.

I didn't have to work today, so yesterday was like a Friday night. I went to a comedy show, solo, to see Tr.acy M.organ. Since I was alone, it was already isolating, but the people there made it worse. I saw more black people in one place last night than I've seen in my whole time here. I tell you it made me homesick. Every African in there was overdressed and gaudy, just like Detroit. Studded leather jackets, Coogi (!) mini-dresses, sunglasses in a dark room, overpriced liquor, pretend ballers, men and women who take themselves entirely too seriously. I paid $30 to get in and there was a 2 drink minimum. I had 4 drinks, all of which I needed.

The opening acts both made jokes about the podunk nature of Satan's Anus. There was a table of "ballers" with a tub of champagne, and the mc, a Chicago comedian said "You think you Diddy? You're in Satan's Anus! You need to have a butter churn on that table!"

Once Tracy hit the stage, I needed something to make me feel up. The watered down drinks didn't do it.

It was one of the oddest spectacles I've ever experienced. He started by insisting that he would finally fuck a white girl that night. He kept this theme up by requesting a blow job from women close to the stage, then the waitresses. He then talked about having a fat dickhead and not being circumsized. He talked about fucking menstruating women and eating menstruating pussy. Then analingus, and after that, anal sex in general. He said if you let a woman stick a finger up your ass, you're ok, unless they go pass the knuckle, then you're gay. He talked about hitting the club afterwards, invited the audience out and getting some white pussy. Then he said good night. I think I laughed 4 times total.

It was still better than 98% of the outings I've been on since I've been here.

Be Cool,

Monday, March 17, 2008

O'Sick and McTired

Many of you are in hubs of civilization right in America which means only one thing: you are being inundated with St. Patty's Day revelry and shenanigans. This morning as I was coming to work I saw droves of young people piling into bars. Droves!!! At 7:30 am!!! WTF!!! I am in a college town, true enough, but still, this place has got to be atypical when it comes to imbibing at such an early hour.

That's one more thing that makes me happy I'm not as stupid as I was 15 long years ago. Shit, or 10 years ago for that matter. The only thing I regret that's missing from my youth is the ability to fuck 7 times a night and I'm sure my woman is glad that's gone. Actually the other thing I miss is black facial hair, which was gone at 25 for the most part.

I was talking to Three the other day and he lamented "It's not like we got any wiser with age. We're still the same dumb bastards we always were." I tend to agree with that shit. The only difference between my current brain function and that of a much younger person is exhaustion. I'm tired of doing the same shit, I'm not too smart to keep doing it. I'd gladly take a day off work to drink, but why would I? Who would I be drinking with? What's the purpose?

Drink up kids. One day this'll be you.

Be Easy,

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Spitzer Folly

Everybody with a dick knows that Elliott Spitzer did not pay for pussy. Let me repeat this again. ELLIOTT SPITZER DID NOT PAY FOR PUSSY.

Any half way decent muthafucka can slip and fall into pussy. You don't have to be handsome, smart or rich to get pussy. You might have to be one of those things to get "quality" pussy, but trust me when I say no one has to pay for pussy.

Spitzer paid to get fucked the way he likes to get fucked, then not have to cuddle, talk about drapery patterns, and get asked when he's gonna take her out on the town. The old adage is true: you don't pay for pussy, you pay to walk away when you're done.

The hypocrisy angle is the one that'll get the most play. I fucking hate hypocrites, so he should rightfully get slammed on that. Crusade against prostitution rings and get caught patronizing one? Yeah, fuck you buddy. Fight hard against gay rights and get caught playing "Cock, Cock, Goose" in a men's restroom? Fuck you! We hear hypocrisy every day and never call muthafuckas on it. Closeted Pastors and ministers of music co-signing anti-gay propaganda in church, flag waving Presidents extolling the virtues of freedom while taking a piece of ours every day, cheating assed husbands driving around in cars with bumper stickers that say "I Love My Wife", we let that shit slide every day.

Truth be told, if he gets his ass ousted on hypocrisy alone, I don't have a problem with it. Just don't pull that bullshit about moral leadership. As long as that muthafucka paid for that shit with his own loot, that puts him one up on fucking Kwame Kilpatrick.



I suffer from all types of withdrawal. Withdrawal from TAD, anonymity, pussy, culture, griminess, fashion, style, cuisine, barbers, good employees, black people, and friends. But the shit that's the most painful right now is the pain of Wire Withdrawal.

Five fucking years of my life I dedicated to this show. I shut out everybody when I was watching it and I was well rewarded. I have now watched the final episode six times. I smile every time I see Michael or Cheese or Bubs or even Marlo. I've read anything anyone associated with the show has scribbled down. I synthesize it and become a Wire encyclopedia. I am feeling it right now. I'm in a bad place, my mellow.

I can't watch Law & Order anymore without a seething hate bubbling to the surface, let alone those fucking CSI shows. Law & Order has won fucking Emmys for some of the most facile, good guy-bad guy shit ever put to celluloid. The Wire? None. No nominations. Nothing.

I had real love hate relationships with Kima, Daniels, Carcetti, Clay Davis, Snoop, Rhonda Pearlman, and Herc. Why? Because they were complex, just like real fucking people. You like them sometimes and you dislike them other times. There are no cues to tell you who the good guys are. Who the fuck is good all the time? Who the fuck is noble all the time?

Goodbye old friends. I doubt that I'll ever see anything like you on TV again.


Saturday, March 08, 2008


They might as well show clips from "Soul Plane" behind Hillary's dumb ass every time she speaks. "Do you want the White House to turn into this?" I came from "Fuck bouf 'a dem" to "Fuck her" in regards to voting in November. I'll really sit this thing out for the first time in my life if she's the nominee. McCain/Clinton is not a choice. That shit is "head or gut" as we used to say. You're dead either way.

I wrote a poem to TAD today at work called "I Really Enjoy Your Vagina". It's kinda wack. It don't rhyme or nothing.

I moved into a place that doesn't come with fucking window shades. How low class is that? I got really gully and basically had curtains nailed to the windows. I finally put in blinds today. I gives a fuck where I live next, I'm taking those fucking blinds out of spite.

I'm working on a "high level" (for Satan's Anus) project that's taking a lot of my time. In the meantime I have to get all the other shit I do done. In the midst of this, I got a dumb assed secretary who everytime I give her an assignment, she asks me questions about every aspect of it. She can never be given anything and just run with it. She has to ask a million questions about the simplest shit, even shit she's done time and time again. On Wednesday that chick gave me 12 drafts of a spreadsheet I asked her to make. Not from scratch, mind you, but a modification of an existing spreadsheet. I wrote what I wanted exactly on a copy of the old one and it took her 12 times to get it "right". I put "right" in quotes because it's still not the fucking way I want it.
I've started taking duties from her and spreading it to other clerical staff and she's getting paranoid, like she's being made obsolete. Her gotdamn job is safe, the union is making sure of that. I'll have that imbecile until I leave.

I know I'm repeating myself, but fuck, I don't have a lot to write about.


Thursday, March 06, 2008


It's been a long couple of weeks, my Africans. Work called. I fucked around and answered the call. I've been knee deep in it ever since. I've been trying to move to, and now I've moved with a lot of help from TAD. My new place isn't a townhouse like I had been living in so it's been quite an adjustment. One less bedroom and bathroom, so I got extra leftover shit from the old place that's gotta be dealt with.

I've been in a cocoon in both my apartments for at least the past 3 weeks, emerging only to go to work. I'm bored as fuck at home.

I got one executive search firm calling my references right now, waiting to submit my info to the hiring committee of the city I'm applying to. It's all a wait and see situation.

My secretary is the dumbest bitch ever birthed from the womb of a human woman.

I wish I could smoke Djarums again. I think that might be the by product of sheer, unadulterated boredom.

Winter is almost over.