Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Natural Defense

How's about I post 10 or 12 photos of me urinating? Just pissin' up a storm, right here on Blogger. Wouldn't it be great to see that? It wouldn't? Why not? It's natural! Everybody pisses, right? Stop being such a fucking prude!

I'm carrying over an argument I got into on Facebook. This chick was mad because Facebook's rules won't allow her friend to post pics of breastfeeding. The argument being it is a natural thing, the baby's just eating, it's beautiful, it's a great way to share the pics with friends and family, etc. They went on to further explain that Facebook allows gratuitous tits and ass shots, why not a little wholesome titty suckin'?

I'll stand my ground. I understand that it's natural and it's a way children and mothers bond, but why is it necessary for Facebook to condone it? If you want to share photos of breastfeeding with your friends and family, send them the fucking pictures. Post 'em on Flickr, Snapfish, or buy a gotdamn domain for 12 cents a year and post whatever you want. But Facebook or any other social networking site doesn't owe you shit. It's theirs, they get paid for it, you're a gotdamn customer.

And as far as the tits and ass shots, aren't they natural too? Doesn't everybody have a chest and an ass? If your argument is the "natural" one, there are a lot of things that are natural. Like flat out fucking, bodies decomposing, or animals eating their young. You don't necessarily want to see that shit posted.

If you wanna keep arguing about your right to post pics of your baby eating dinner, I'm not gonna participate. I'd still question your motives, which you say ostensibly is to "teach mothers how to properly breastfeed". Step one, put your milk filled titty in a baby's mouth. Step two, wait until the baby stops sucking it. I think I got it. Thanks, middle class white lady!



Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Devil's In The Details

Hey y'all, what's good? I'm trying to maintain. The stress of living apart from my wife coupled with the ever increasing aches and pains of a daily workout is giving me the blues. Along with the weather and the economy, it's shaping up to be a pretty shitty next few months. In the meantime, I always have the joys of my job to fall back on...

Last week Office Broccoli, filing clerk, got paid too much in her check. Payroll gave her 40 hours of pay EXTRA. She brought it to my office staff's attention a couple of days after it happened, and they brought it to me. Simple solution, right? Give us back the money now or keep the money and we'll just pay 40 hours less on the next check. Case closed. Not so fast.

"I used the extra money to pay back my nephew some money I owed him. And I can't afford a short check next week." What the fuck is this? You used the money that wasn't yours AND you don't want to subsequently pay us back? Your nephews money came before our money, the place you earn a living, with no skills except alphabetizing? Really, dumbass?

So she complains to her union rep that we're trying to take money from her, money she hadn't earned yet. Now the union rep wants to talk to me. I ask him "What is there to talk about? She can pay us back or she can keep the money and be short on the next check. She doesn't get to keep the money and keep getting paid. That doesn't make sense." He asserts that it's the payroll processor's fault, that she shouldn't have to pay back the money, the payroll processor should. "I don't care who pays back the money, it's gotta be paid back with uncompensated work or cash. By the way, the payroll processor's in your union too. Are you willing to sacrifice one union member over the other?" His dumbass couldn't fight that logic.

Today she signed the agreement to receive a short check next week.


Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Last Night

I dearly tried to get into the inauguration swing of things last night. After I left the gym, I came home got showered and I called the "people who know things" here in Satan's Anus. Nobody knew any more than I did. I ended up calling Agent Zero so we could find out where to be. She named some places so we were determined to meet up at the place most likely to be jumping, the Satan's Anus Democratic Party gig. Ten bucks to get in. I got there first, so I paid and stood in the lobby. People were selling over expensive, wack food and Obama logo shirts.

So many dredlocs, absolutely no Black people. Bad hippie music and a of bunch people staring at the old Black dude in the sportscoat and jeans. I told Agent Zero to slow her roll. I needed to reassess where she should meet me. I drove around downtown and saw party after party break up. It was only 9:30 and people were getting the fuck gone. Satan's Anus folks love talking shit about Detroiters, but I can guarantee shit was poppin' in the D all night long.

Finally, just to go somewhere and drink, we ended up at this sports bar. One thousand TVs, zero inauguration coverage. On the bright side, I did get to see Penn State whup up on Michigan's ass. But no, I didn't get to celebrate the inauguration with more than one like minded person.


Tuesday, January 13, 2009


Alright, Africans, pipe down. I'm fucking sick of your forwards, your prayers, your messages filled with pablum and hokum, your gotdamn candy coated sycophancy, basically, your general overall dick-riding. Stop it gotdamn it! Enough is enough!

Right after the election I got inundated with every image, every iconography under the sun as it relates to Ol' Boy (I can't even write the gotdamn name anymore). I was hyped just like everybody else. Then, it came to a point where I was disturbed by the cheese level.

God, that photoshopping is the cheesiest shit in the world. That's some ghetto assed shit.

Then, it was the frequency in which I was seeing the shit. The extrapolation of this to shit everything.

I was wonder when and if this shit would ever end. I'm deleting shit from everybody, if I THINK it's gonna mention Ol' Boy in the email, in any way, shape or form, it's getting deleted.

Then, of course, my mother sends me an email, and in the subject line I know it's about Ol' Boy. My mother and I have had a talk about the type of email I will and will not open or respond to, so I think I'm pretty safe.

Uncharacteristically optimistic, I open the email and this is what I see, attached to a prayer.

What type of pseudo-messianic bullshit is this? Man, fuck y'all for sending this shit to me. I don't need this in my life. I really don't. I'll hold my breath for single-payer healthcare until I open another Ol' Boy related email. Really, y'all can save that shit.

I'm Out,

Friday, January 09, 2009

Yet Another Gym Diatribe

I know I'm repeating myself in these posts, but such is life. This whole thing is cyclical and I am a mere pawn in the big scheme of things. That being said, I'm here to spout off about my pet peeves at the local YMCA.

Man, if I see another a) bastard wearing jeans to work out, or b) bastard wearing spandex shorts to work out, I'll flip. Neither of these garments are appropriate gym wear for men, and jeans are inappropriate for either sex. Muthafucka, I do not wanna see the outline of your sweaty nuts. Put some looser shit on. And looking at these stupid hicks wearing jeans to the gym just makes me uncomfortable. It fucks up my workout. That shit can't be comfortable. Buy a $2 pair of sweatpants and keep them shits in your trunk. Damn!

Another thing I hate is these Africans that are in the free weight room every time I go. There are about 5 of them and they lift together. They give the whole place a real prison yard feel. They all huddle over the same bench and shout out encouragement to each other. They are constantly in the way of other people trying to grab weights for their own work outs. Plus, when you have to wait for 5 dudes to each do their reps, then go through their cycle, they have basically monopolized a station. They are the loudest, most obnoxious muthafuckas known to man. The only upside is that they intimidate enough non-black people, that the rest of the room is virtually empty for my work out. I just found out one of the dudes is married to one of my secretaries, the one that looks like Kym Whit.ley. I'm all for cooperation in the spirit of that one funny word they use in Kwanzaa, but break the fuck up into smaller groups and stop looking like rec time at Folsom and shit.

I carry around this book with me at the gym. It's this regimen that I've been using to lose weight. I used to feel funny carrying it around and following the instructions on exercises, because it made me look like a novice, but as the results started showing I stopped giving a fuck. Muthafuckas used to snicker about that book, I've heard 'em. I'm a regular now and I'm at the gym six days a week, but not a day goes by when somebody doesn't ask me about that fucking book. I've watched them stagnate while I'm getting in better shape. So one of the original snickerers asked me about the book. "So is that how you lost so much weight?" I wanna be like Go somewhere and keep laughing, asshole.

And what would a gym post be without me talking about the locker room. Bastards better learn to use their peripherals. If your fucking head is turning when a naked man walks by, you need to fucking check yourself or get checked. I don't care what your orientation is, I'm just talking about the rudeness aspect of it. Locker room etiquette is, shall, and will always be do not look at a muthafucka you don't know and never look below that muthafuckas chest, period.

I'm sure I'll have more as this agonizing winter season at the gym marches on.

Be Easy,

Monday, January 05, 2009

My Attempt At Writing Modern Black Fiction

Keisha Monique Thundercoochie was the hottest thing in Atlanta. She was rich beyond her wildest dreams. She had 3 PhDs from Harvard, yet she kept it real. Plus she had long hair like she was an indian, plus a big booty, plus a real dope purse. Every dude in town really wanted to sleep with her, but she was like "Nunh unh". One day she met this dude, Boris Shemar DeBarge. He was tall, plus he had good hair like an indian, plus he was built and had a eleventeen inch dick. Plus he was a businessman and also a thug.

Boris and Keisha were inseparable, except when she had to go to work and give lectures on being a phenomenal woman and he had to go out of town on thug missions. Then, she saw a text on his phone and was shocked to see the shocking secret he shockingly kept hidden. It shocked her.

When Keisha asked Boris about his secret, he didn't respond, because he was the silent type. Also he was handsome. Plus built. So the relationship ended.

Keisha tried like hell to move past him. She met this other dude while she was out lecturing about being a PhD. He was all good looking and suave. His name was Percy Bitchazz Fontleroy Unmanly. There was something about him she couldn't put her finger on...maybe he too had a dark secret. But she still gave him some play, even though he couldn't hold a candle to Boris in the manhood department.

Boris moved on too. He found a girl who had a big booty, plus she was beautiful. She had a haircut like Halle Berry, but she still had good hair, you could tell. I think her name was Kim. She was kinda seditty, plus she was all dark-skinned and shit. And she only had one PhD, and that shit was from fucking Yale. Nothing like Keisha. I think she was a psychologist and shit, because she was always messing with Boris's head.

One day Keisha was out. And Boris was too. They ran into each other and they had their new boos with them. It was sorta awkward. Percy was being his soft ass self, and Kim was being all seditty. It was crazy. That shit was all messed up. But Keisha and Boris was looking at each other and stuff. Ooooooh weeee!

So Boris was like "Fuck it". And he pops the question to seditty ass Kim. So right there, bam, they gettin' married. So the dude that does Kim's hair be doin' Keisha's hair too and told Keisha the story. Keisha was all sad, but Boris kept that shocking secret from her, so good riddance, right?

Boris was torn and then he was like "Fuck it" and like the true thug that he is, he stepped to Keisha in her lecture hall while she was giving a lecture to her students on being a phenomenal woman. "Woman, I love the fuck outta you, and I don't wanna be with that seditty ass Kim! I want you!"

Then Keisha said "OK" and they got married and he got her a new purse, that he got from thuggin'.

The End