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.


Thursday, April 10, 2008

My Shit's Still Big and Veiny Like Gerald McRaney

  • This dude, advice giver, perm wearer says to me after he stops me leaving a convenience store, says "I like your haircut, it becomes you more than that other style". Thank you perm wearer. Thank you for your compliment on my new hairstyle, perm wearer. I'll be sure to seek out your sartorial advice as I make other changes in my life.

  • I spent this week interviewing potential consultants for this big project the city is about to embark on. The consultants are coming in to do the job I do, but of course I don't have the internal capacity to do it. My staff is too small and inexperienced. We had a large panel of stakeholders in on the interviews. Each of these teams had about 5-7 people attend the interviews. One of our stakeholders, after the last interview asks me "Are you the only Black person in your line of work in the State of Michigan?" I laughed. "No, far from it, but I'm glad I'm not the only one who noticed." No, white lady, I'm not the only one, but hiring practices make it look like it most of the time.

  • I wanna fire my cleaners. Every time I get back a suit or a shirt these days, it has shrunk. No, wait a minute. My bad. My ass is getting fatter. I didn't think it was possible, but it's happening. I think it might be a function of extreme unhappiness, caused by a lack of proximity to my woman and other civilization. I'll be on the track after work today. Fuck this.

  • Sometimes I just wanna pelt muthafuckas with rotten fruit. Not to punish 'em for any particular offense, but just because. "Why the fuck you look like that?" "What you smilin' for?" "How come your woman's teeth so crooked?" I just wanna fucking inundate them muthafuckas with far flung rage!
Other than this shit, there's really nothing going on.


Tuesday, April 08, 2008

I Know, I Know...

...I complain incessantly about the same shit. But I'm stuck in this fucking infinite loop, so you should be too.

I'm sitting at the city commission meeting last night, for no good reason. Really it's just in case some mental patient in the audience accuses you, as a department head, of doing something to them. Then one of the commissioners will call you out personally, and then the city manager will ask you to defend you self against some indefensible allegation, all played out on cable access for the masses.

So when the crazy lady jumps up and says "I was wrongly punished by the police for blaise splee, and neighborhood association is spying on me, plus it's run by crackheads. In addition, the president of the neighborhood association, Joanna Tisdale, is just mad because her daughter, Leanna got molested and now she's all messed up. Also, the chief of police is having sex with the judge that convicted me of wrongdoing, they colluded to have me punished. I'm a woman of God and I know that I'll be vindicated."

The thing is the chief in question was "asked to retire" a few months ago under suspicious circumstances. What do you say to that if you're the interim chief? I've been in this position before, accused of some outrageous shit by proxy at an extremely public meeting. But I've never been called to answer for it on the spot. That is the modus operandi for the city commission. They want an answer right then and there.

Luckily they let the rant go without asking for an answer, so the interim chief was spared. But what about the old chief, who lives in the community, who has to hear shit like this bandied about without an opportunity to have his say? Or the neighborhood association president? Or her daughter? If I was any of them, I'd seek her out and choke that bitch to sleep. Who the fuck wants to hear the truth when the lie is so sordid.

I fucking hate these meetings.


Monday, April 07, 2008

What's So Funny?

Patrice Oneal. Remember the name. Or don't. Fuck it. It's your loss.

I went to see this cat on Friday night at the little Satan's Anus Comedy Club. I went solo to the comedy club. Again. Like a gotdamn loser. Trust me, the alcohol helps. When's the last time you got CUT OFF at a high ass, two drink minimum comedy club? I didn't either, but I was close!

Anyway, I went to see Patrice Oneal because I'm a big fan of his Half Hour Comedy Special on HBO. It literally brings tears to my eyes it's so funny. There are a couple of places y'all might have seen him. He used to host the VH1 show that showed Web Clips and he was in the Cha.ppelle Show sketch "Player Hater's Ball" playing "Pit Bull". He's a very funny dude.

Once again I had to sit through the lame ass opening acts to see Patrice. Once he hit the stage, that cat was merciless. My sides were in pain from laughter. This dude's stand up is flawless. His insight into male/female relationships completely so on point, though nobody would ever have the balls to say so. It was honestly, without out a doubt the second best time I've ever had in Satan's Anus, the first being my last birthday.

After the show, he stood outside the doors shaking hands with the people who came to see him. This dude was easily 6'6". I felt like a dwarf at 6'3". I asked him about making his half hour special available and he said HBO had it on lock and wouldn't let him release it. It's really something everybody with a healthy sense of humor should see.

If he comes to your town, check him out, by all means.

Be Cool,

Thursday, April 03, 2008


Yo, so I was at the crib today around noon. I'm waiting for this phone call from another prospective employer, this one is back home in Detroit, and I get this eerie sense of calm from within. I sat down at my computer, started browsing some of my favorite pornography (, muthafuckas) and waited for the call.

When I got it, I was in a zone. Three people on the phone. A panel interview where I don't have to look at the panel. Splendid!

I had a beautiful answer for everything. Beautiful like the 99 names of Allah. I was on fire.

After the interview they asked me how soon I could start after I was offered the position. I told them one month. Then they asked me how much I was looking to make.

I fucking froze. I absolutely wasn't expecting the question and I fucking froze.

When I finally unfroze, I gave them a range $20,000 under what I'm willing to accept. I pussied out, completely.

If they offer me the gig, I'll tell them I can't go for the number I quoted them. That'll probably end that journey home pretty quickly.

Be Easy,

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Jolts And Dolts

Well, I had my interview yesterday in the outer regions of Chicagoland. It was excruciatingly painful. Bad interview, my Africans. Bad interview.

I drove around the city for a few hours prior to the interview trying to familiarize myself with a few of the environs. All the while I kept this stinging sensation through my clavicle every few minutes. Everytime I thought about going into the interview, these sensations would run through me like a jolt. I'm the cat with the recurring dreams (fist fights, report card is coming home, sitting in class for a final exam) about lack of preparation. I was deathly afraid because I knew I was unprepared. I always count on my bullshittery to get me by, so I tend to do impromptu speeches and presentations. So far, pretty mediocre results. But I'm too lazy to prepare properly so I must not care enough to do better.

When it was finally time for the interview, they give me a written evaluation beforehand. I was supposed to write a solution to a specific problem they had in the city, based on my knowledge of the city. Hell, if it wasn't for Garmin I wouldn't even know where the city was. Now they were asking for my evaluation of one of their specific problems? Fuck this place. I wrote a flowery, bullshit filled narrative of my experience in similar situations and a rose colored guideline on how I'd get around this problem if it were mine.

When the actual interview was conducted, I was at the head of the table with seven people lobbing grenades at me. This has really been par for the course, so this didn't surprise me. This dude at the end of the table had a nervous twitch that made him blink a lot in a very distracting way, so I couldn't look at him. Then, this female homunculus who right off the bat didn't like me, started every follow up question with "So you didn't really...." "So you weren't really..." Bitch, I'm second in command of the department I'm in. No I didn't really do shit. I really delegated that shit. You are the deputy city manager. What did YOU really do? What do you really write?

When it ended they asked if I had any questions. I was just glad that shit was over. Seven people with about 10 questions each. All of 'em were basically "Can you remember an instance where you had to..." That shit is not insightful. It's grueling and fucked up. I didn't wanna ask them shit. I had a few canned responses, because at that point I really just wanted to leave. I'd be surprised if I got the job.

Be Cool,