Originoo Gun Clappaz

"Deeply rooted from my Timbs to my dick above." -Smif and Wesson, Bucktown

I used to love home so much, but man, I don't know. I had an interview last week with this city in North Carolina. The dude asked me "Why should I hire you if you're looking for work after 23 months in Satan's Anus?" I didn't have a real answer. I told him I thought I could make an impact in their city, whereas my current community needs the help less. It didn't work, I'm sure, but I gave it a shot.

So home came calling, right? I got a call out of the blue from this dude at the City of Detroit asking if I thought about coming back. Now, I was waiting to hear from this org in Detroit to be their Executive Director, but now The City was calling. It was weird.

I talked to him about it, but I don't know if I'd go. They really didn't appreciate my skill set when I was there the first time. The guy that called holds the position my old boss did. He was in a different capacity when I was there. My old boss told me I didn't want to advance bad enough to get promoted. Translation: I didn't kiss her ass. So I left, and I'm here. He's gotta know if I come back, I got a list of people I must be superior to. It's not even negotiable.

But I have this nagging ass feeling that I don't wanna go back. I was there this weekend, and quite frankly, Africans are nuts. I go to the 'burbs all the time to see my chick, but I hardly go in the City. Muthafuckas are off the chain. A lot of shit came flooding back.

We were watching the news and shit seems so....violent. I never thought so, but damn, Detroit is dangerous, yo! An African will lose his life for nothin'. I think I was jaded to that fact, but I'm thinking if I come back and I'm staying, trying to raise seeds in the future...I just don't know.


It's on my mind and shit. I'm just saying...

Peace,
KZ

Open Pit

Friday's are the shit in most cases. They are the beginning of the weekend. If you work a straight up 9 to 5, Friday is nirvana. But if you're me, and one of your staff people keeps begging you to come over for dinner so they can kiss your ass on "some Friday", it's pure hell. Especially since they remind you weekly that they'd really love to have you over, and also since it's this guy.

But I had this guy go above and beyond for this project. "Thanks, Dub, I owe you one." Why the fuck didn't I choose my words more carefully? "Well if you'd really like to pay me back, take me and my wife up on the dinner invitation."

I'm thinking, if this cat had a inkling of who I am, he'd leave me the fuck alone. I like people who allow me to be anti-social. But I'm not trying to hurt his filthy feelings. I accepted and went over to their crib for dinner on Friday.

What do I have in common with a 60 year old white couple and their 30 something son? Nothing. It was painfully clear. They were grilling this eve and the joy juice was plentiful. So I drank away the pain. Everything was a lot more bearable.

Sweet, sweet TAD was trying to help me out by calling me claiming to be stranded by the road and needing help. I fucked that up by not feeling the phone vibrate when she called.

His little round wife asked if I like asparagus. I responded affirmatively, vigorously. Dub C, my staff person, went to take the veggies, covered in olive oil, out to the grill in a dish. He made a pit stop. That's right, to the restroom, before he took them out to the grill. He came out of the bathroom post haste. I heard the toilet flush as he opened the door. No sink faucets were turned.

He made his way out to the grill, placed the dish by his side and began to manipulate the olive oiled veggies to make sure the were properly lubricated. With his hands. His bare hands.

I watched as he put the asparagus on the grill, once again with his bare hands, in horror. All I could do was pray.

Fuck these dubs, and fuck hospitality. People are fucking disgusting, and I'll be damned if I accept another invitation to a horror show. Satan's Anus earned it's name that night, with the inane conversation and the hours filled with "how did you get to upper management from the ghetto" type insinuation about my background.

I don't wanna talk to you about my life, I don't wanna hear about yours, and stop trying to feed me pissy asparagus!

That's all I got.

KZ

Fuck Pork

One moment off topic...

Arrrgggghhhhh!!!!!!
David Muthafuckin' Chase.

Now, back to my life....

Hey folks, what's poppin'? I haven't done much this week, but this weekend was pretty good, all things considered. I went to the local NA.ACP Freedom Fun.d Dinner. I figured I'd see all the movers and shakers in one place. That I did. Also, I got to see Satan's Anus's entire inventory of dresses that show off titties and ass. Good job, ladies.

The keynote speaker was a physician, and he sure knew how to bring down a room. Sure, the occasion was quite serious, but fuck!!! He laid down some shit that really got my head spinning.

I work with statistics a lot. At least I used to. Now I delegate that shit. But when I was in number-cruncher mode, justifying whatever project for whatever amount of money, stats fascinated me. This keynote speaker had me from the first slide. Here's some shit to chew on, Homey:

In Satan's Anus County, the white teenage pregnancy rate is 20 per 1,000 teen females. For Black teens? 100 per 1,000.

In S.A.C., the rate of gonorrhea amongst teen white males is .1%. Amongst teen Black males? 25%.

In AMERICA, the infant mortality rate among American born Blacks is 14%. American born Whites? 4%. This is the kicker: Amongst AFRICAN born Blacks giving birth in America? 5%
What the fuck? It's not inherently racial issue, it's us.

Wanna hear something else? When they normalize for socio-economic factors, the shit is still foul. Black women with master's degrees have a far worse infant mortality rate than white women with a ninth grade education or lower. What the fuck?

This shit gets even worse. They did a study where they sent ACTORS to the same set of doctors with the same set of symptoms. The actors were of all the same age and general physique. The only difference was their races. You know the Black actors were given similar bootleg ass advice, quite different than that given to the white actors? The white actors were given the "upscale, upmarket" advice while the Blacks were told shit like "Eat more neckbones!"

I don't have any answers and he didn't either. But his bottom line is all the fuck we got is us. We gotta start taking better care of ourselves.

And really, that's all that came out of this weekend.

Stay Real,
KZ

Bullets

In no particular order, the shit that has gotten me through the week....

• $2 L.I.I.Ts at Bennigan's
• My glasses
• A-Dub, one of my assistants
• Central air
• Maxwell House
• The Pharcyde's "Otha Fish"
• Common's Like Water For Chocolate CD
• Lunchtime meditation
• The first (and only) season of The Ben Stiller Show DVD
• Sweet, hot pornography
• "Fleshy"
• My new BBQ grill
  
• My boy Hutty complaining about his son
• My dreams
• Indian food
• Friday

Man, I'm glad this week is over.

Tighten it up,
KZ

The Sound Of Silence

When is silence deafening? There a many instances when a statement is made and there is not follow up or it's ignored wholescale, you know how the listener has responded. There is an implied contract between speaker and listener. If you say something that is ignored, then repeat it and it's still ignored, the listener has decided not to respond. Therein lies your response.

The implied contract tells you that the listener has both heard and understood what was said and has decided to respond would be a fool's game. One in which they've decided to participate. The response would agitate an otherwise pleasant situation. At least for the listener.

The speaker at this point does in fact become agitated. The speaker made a statement, waited for the response and was rebuked. The ignoring of the statement by the listener is a response. No words need be spoken to gather that the response is negative, therefore coloring the rest of the conversation. It may be seemingly pleasant, but make no mistake, the situation is tense and there is an undercurrent of anger for the remainder.

I say all this to say, be careful what you say. Or what you don't.

Peace,
KZ

The Choice Is Yours

I'm really job hunting now. I got two interviews coming up in the next two weeks, one in Detroit, the other in North Carolina. Detroit was definitely out of the picture a few months ago, but shit, things change. So now, it's actually back on the list. Probably because there is a perfect job for me available with the perfect salary in a familiar circumstance.

I know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I'm not looking at the "D"for love. Money muthafuckin' talks. If anything, I love my hometown, and the chance to do something to help improve it. But man does not live on love alone. They are gonna have to grease my palms.

The North Carolina gig is cool, but I'd be kinda isoloted. I'd be close to my Uncle Zed, but is that really a bonus? I mean, I hate everybody, especially family, because they didn't earn shit. They just expect shit.

One thing's for sure, if I get offered both jobs, I'll know immediately which one to take. Whichever gig doesn't make my dick itch when I talk about it is the winner. No ifs, ands, or buts. My dick is smarter than my brain, and if it gets itchy, then that's a tell-tale sign that I shouldn't take the job. My dick has only been wrong once, and I think that's because I was wearing tweed underwear.

In the meantime, I'm still looking at everything east of the Mississippi and north of South Carolina. Here's to hoping I don't get an itchy dick.

Cheers,
KZ

The Etiquette Of Hostility

Hey peoples, what's new? Same ol' shit with me, as always. I just know I'm enjoying the warm weather. We deserve the beautiful weather as a whole, but it hasn't been a picnic in the midwest. This shit is necessary! The change in weather also opens up that same old internal dialogue I have: am I insane or just overly sensitive?

So I was out enjoying the beautiful weather the other night, walking around downtown, pre-dusk. I had some checks that I needed to deposit so I stopped at my bank's ATM. As I'm making the deposit, this cat of slight build, in his early 20's rolls up behind me on a bike. I stopped and turned around so that I was facing him.

"Sir, could you please choke me to sleep?" "What?" "I would appreciate it if you would grab me by the throat and squeeze until I lose consciousness."

Now I'm thinking, what the fuck is this? Why is this kid inviting death? Shit it was either that or he was a sexual fetishist. *Sidenote: yes, ladies, I've met y'all that like to get choked while you getting boned and y'all are creepy to me. That's right, I said it!*

It turns out, I misheard him. He asked me if he could have $1.25 to buy some food. I only thought I heard him asked to get choked out, because if he had done the same thing in the D, that's basically the outcome. How the fuck you come up behind anybody at an ATM at dusk and say anything to them, especially pertaining to money? That shit will get you killed, seriously. I think these motherfuckers live in some sort of idiot bubble that protects them from what's really going on. A different type of muthafucka, same origin, woulda shot him in the neck. Fools and babies, man. "Man, hell no! What the fuck you doin' comin' up behind me askin' for shit? Get the fuck outta here!" That's all I could muster.

Yesterday, minding my own business, eating lunch outside, an acquaintance asks "You mind if I sit with you?" If we spoke, I saw you and you saw me, and I didn't invite you to sit, the answer is "yes, I do mind if you sit with me". But say that shit, and you're a dick. So you say "Sure". And the idiots regale you with tales of daring and whimsy for the rest of the hour. Except the tales are really mediocre and not funny. If you ask to sit and fuck up my lunch hour of zoning out and people watching, you better make damn well sure the stories you tell are entertaining enough to pass muster.

Damn, I need a drink.

Peace,
KZ

Memo To Rose Royce

You bastards! How the fuck is "Car Wash" conducive to making people work at a car wash? I was seriously considering trying to get a new car wash off the ground. I was even gonna use your music to highlight the grand opening. Then, out of nowhere, the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks.

Right off the bat, "You might not ever get rich..."
Fuck you, Rose Royce. How am I gonna attract potential hand dryers with this shit blaring out of my system?

"But let me tell ya it's better than diggin' a ditch..." What the fuck? What the fuck isn't better than digging a ditch, you assholes!

"There ain't no tellin' who you might meet/A movie star, or maybe even an Indian Chief..." I'm no statistician, Rose Royce, but I'll be damned if the odds ain't stacked against either one of these events actually occurring. Talk about false hope. You guys are jerks!

"Come summer the work gets kinda hard/Ain't no place to be if ya planned on being a star..." OK, that's it! What the fuck am I gonna use to attract the young and dumb to vacuum out Pintos all June, July and August if they can't bank on that shit makin' em famous. Gotdamn you!

"Let me tell it's always cool/The boss don't even mind sometimes if you act a fool..." One cotton-pickin' minute. Time is muthafuckin' money. I would INDEED mind if my employees acted a fool! Who the fuck do you think you are telling them otherwise? Do I know you, Rose Royce? Hunh? Answer me! Pussies!

"Work and work/My fingers to the bone..." This shit becomes less and less appealing everytime you open your fuckin' mouths. Please just shut the fuck up.

"Fill up and you don't have to pay.." That's some wishful fuckin' thinking, scumbags. No one gets a free car wash at my spot, bitches.

Just so you know, I'm out to ruin your careers! No more El Dorados and double knit slacks. No more Afro Sheen endorsements, no more lunches with Don Cornelius. Your asses are history!!!

Sincerely,
KZ

If I Have To Suffer...

so the fuck do you. It's 4:00 on Friday afternoon before a holiday and I'm in charge. The boss dipped on my ass and now instead of sneaking out, I have to leave at 5:00. So now I'm making lists! Now, muthafuckas...

If It Wasn't For Her Pussy, She Wouldn't Even Be A Woman

1. Keira Knightley
2. Joan Rivers
3. Liza Minelli
4. Jodie Foster
5. Ben Wallace

Saying This Might Get You Punched In The Mouth

1. Vis a Vis
2. cakewalk
3. What's the magic word?
4. heretofore
5. boondoggle/humdinger (tie)

Words To Describe Cake or Potential Names For Cutting Edge Clothing Lines

1. Moist
2. Creamy
3. Exquisite
4. Heavenly
5. Obscenely Decadent

Jack Palance's Favorite Grandchildren

1. Molly
   
2. Franklin
3. Menachem
4. Elohim
5. Eleanor/Jack III (tie)

Rachel Ray's Favorite Things To Say While Climaxing

1. Delish!
2. E-V-oh oh oh my God!
3. (insert audio of uncomfortable, irritating, inappropriate laughter)
4. Baste it! Baste it, you motherfucker!
5. Cum-o!

Yeah, I'm bored. I'll talk to y'all later.

Peace,
KZ

My Dick Is Amazing

I couldn't wait for the warm weather, and finally it looks like it's here. I'm really feeling this, the beginning of the summer season. Beaches, grills, sunshine and water! If it wasn't for work, everything would be great.

Oh, yeah. Work. That thing that keeps me paid. Now I remember.

Walking into that gray building everyday and trying to apply and vita my way into another gray building that I can grow tired of quickly. I keep wondering if it's worth it. I've only had one interview since I've started applying in March and it went poorly. I just submitted for another gig. It's a great gig, pays a lot and I'd be the Director and not the second in command. They were genuinely excited that I was interested in the gig. But ultimately I know I'll be in the same place I'm in today, miserable about my job.

The best things and worst things about my lifestyle are identical: I only have to worry about my student loan and Gretchen as recurring bills. Living virtually debt free means I can revert to my half assed underachieving self at any time and not go under. Plus I'm landless. Not a good look rolling up on 4-0. But I can also go anywhere at anytime, location is only dictated by my preferences, without worrying about the saleability of my property. All my property moves with me.

Hopefully I'll find my way out of the desert and into the oasis by the end of the summer. Wish me luck.

Be Good,
KZ

The Silver Platter

I'm writing this, and I don't fully expect you to believe it. It'll be the truth. And it's not outside of the realm of reality. But it's really out of character for me. I've been here for a minute, so people who read my archives might not get it. Here goes:

I was doing my Fourth Frid.ay hosting duties, this past week on a third Friday so's not to conflict with the coming Memorial Day Weekend. We had a decent crowd, a little lighter than usual, and everyone was enjoying themselves. So much so, that they stuck around for an hour after I made the announcement that the event was officially over. I told them that the Brothers would be heading to Mario's, this martini bar that had been our official post-Happy Hour haunt. I saw her, but I didn't see her, just like everybody else. Yeah, all the women were focused on me, I had the fuckin' microphone. No big deal, right? She was about 5'8" in flats, long curly hair, light-skinned with a face dotted with freckles. Her eyes followed me.

So when I left to go to Mario's, I didn't expect much of a turnout. We usually have around 15 people who come out to the "afterglow" thing. Most of the regulars weren't there. Sam was in Gh.ana, the DSTs had a conflicting event, so it was just me leaving for Mario's.

I sat there for two minutes when they started streaming in. We had a total of seven, one of them was her. Kali had her girl and two of her cousins with her, one of which was celebrating a birthday. She also had came with one of her extraneous girls and the VM ended up joining us. The extraneous girl demanded attention and I gave it to her. Mainly because Kali sat near my right side, staring at me, and the extraneous girl was on my left and extremely non-threatening. So I gave her my full attention.

Drinks flowed and I indulged. So much so that I retreated into my customary shell and I let them talk to each other. I was fairly lit when the former Mayor/current state representative came up to me and introduced me to one of his colleagues. The birthday girl being attracted to "power" bounded from her seat and chatted up the two politicians.

I sat drinking slowly and silently until I felt my calf being rubbed. I looked to my right and Kali stared me in the eyes, smiling. I leaned over and whispered, "Don't do that. Please" as I took her hand away. She started rubbing it again. "Why not?" "Because I got a girlfriend." "That sounds like your problem not mine. Where is she?" "She's in Detroit." "If y'all all like that, why ain't she here?"

I grabbed her hand. "Kali, you don't know me, so let me say something to you. I've been the African you want me to be. I've fucked without a conscience, I've treated women like pure shit. I've been married before. I wasn't a particularly good husband. But I'm trying to do something, one time, the right way. I really am. Don't try to make me that African. I don't wanna be that African. I wanna be better. For my girlfriend. For me. OK?"

She looked at me intently. She pulled her hand away voluntarily, got up and walked to her cousin, who was still kickin' it with the politicians. I got up and went to the bathroom and pissed out rum and diet coke. I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands, looking at the gray hairs peeking out from under the newly dyed brown ones. I dried my hands and walked out and there she stood.

"What's wrong? You lookin' for the bathroom?" She walked up and kissed me square in the mouth. I stepped back and wiped my mouth. "What was that?" "Something to remind you how far away Detroit is." All I could do is shake my head and walk away. I went and paid the check and I left.

The next day I drove to Detroit.

Be Easy,
KZ

Three, The Hard Way

How are y'all doing? Great I hope. Last night was a doozy for me. Evening meeting with the community. My department has been working on something the neighborhood asked for 5 years ago. I've personally worked on this project for 2 years. Last night the neighborhood told me resoundingly "nevermind". They don't want the thing they've bugged me about at least once a week my entire time here. I oughta bug them about it until I leave. It doesn't seem fair that I can't even come home to vent and unwind with anybody. My good thang's way across the state.

On top of all the misery and fuckeduptitude I'm in the midst of, the spectre of my best friend leaving the state is hitting me like a ton of bricks. I got to hang with him a little bit on Saturday. It was really the first time in months that we've even seen each other. I feel bad about it because I'm in Detroit all the time, I just get caught up in being caught up.

Three has been prepping to move for a minute, but I'm finally feeling anxious about it. It's like a relative you have that is old and sick and has been for years, you do what you can, basically you just help to sustain their lives. Then when the doctor tells you it won't be long before they pass, you tense up, and rue all the shit you should have done with them. Thing is, jackass, you had that chance. You knew they were old and sick for years. Did you think that would last forever?

So, I hung out with old and sick Three, and all it did was make me angry. I'm miserable because on the friendship level, I gotta do the exact shit I railed about in the last post. I'm here in Satan's Anus making lemonade and I'm fuckin' sick of it.

Most of the shit you probably had to be there for it to be funny. But this is really just kinda for me anyway.

Random Three Quotes

Referring to one of my female friends (in low breath): "I bet she got some sweet pussy."
On my voicemail: "Ay, Knockout. I just called to let you know, every kiss begins with 'K', n*gga!"
His famous impression, The Wild Whore: "Whooooooooooooooooo!" (while swinging his arm above his head, cowboy style)
At the mall: "You always think somebody is looking down on you, not thinking you measure up. Always with the imaginary beef."
Looking at two attractive women walking side by side: "You think we look like that when we walk together? You know, like two friends?"
About a prissy chick in frilly clothes (in a feminine voice): "Look at her. She's a girl."
On how to cure my sleep apnea: "Have you tried a plastic bag tied tightly around your neck?"

I'm Out,
KZ

Lemonade

Lemonade (lem-on-ayde) n - 1. a drink made from lemon juice, sugar, and water; 2. a sham relationship.

Hey peoples, what's crackin'? I hope everbody has been well, doing what y'all do, achieving and what not. Me? I been bored. When I'm bored, I think. A lot. Think about places and spaces, where I'm going, what I wanna do from here. It's tough. I hate my gig thoroughly, I'm dying socially, working out half assed, but I don't have a clear vision of my next steps. I know what I wanna do, but I don't know exactly how to get there. Make no mistake, I'll reach my goal or else. It's the way I was raised. I can't lose. I won't do it.

The way I operate is everything I truly want, I find a way to get it. It might not be exactly what I wanted, but it's a reasonable facsimile. Living with it doesn't make me feel like I settled for second best or I'm somehow "short".

It's always been hard for me to respect anybody who doesn't go all out for the shit they want. My take is either make a legitimate try for your goal or stop talking about it. Motivate, or shut the fuck up.

It's been that way with women, too. I want who I want, and if she doesn't want me, I keep it moving. That's the way it should be. You shouldn't have to feel as though you're being settled for. There are times, my people, when you are that proverbial lemon. And your mate has decided to make lemonade, 'cuz fuck it, it's something to do.

Now, mind you, if that shit is cool with you, be all means, enjoy the journey. Enjoy being a part of that lemonade. Be the tastiest, tartest, coldest fuckin' lemonade in the world. Just understand that you are that lemon. You'll forever be that lemon. After kids, mortgages, hard times, good times, grandkids, you are that fuckin' lemon. For better or for worse.

Stay Steady,
KZ

Dub Technology

This week at work has been a chore to say the very least. It has been disappointing in ways that I could not have imagined. Of course I've been looking for another gig, but that, my friends, won't do it. That's not enough. That is the least of my issues. I need a career overhaul.

I'm quite positive I hate people. I truly hate small talk, as has been well documented. It's manifested itself into me showing up at least five minutes late to meetings just to avoid the "pre-meeting" meeting. The little bullshit recaps of people's lives. The bigger part of my job, though, is community interaction and outreach. That's where the real idiots come out to play. Everybody in this college town is a pseudo-erudite. Daily, it has become a battle of the wits with the witless. Half researched counterpoints, entirely made up statistics, specious logic, connecting non-existing dots, marijuana enhanced paranoia, along with barely concealed contempt for Africans have made it an exhausting gig. I've found one thing. The old adage is true, "Never argue with an idiot. Someone walking by won't be able to tell the difference."

Yesterday was priceless. My boss put GPS on all the housing inspectors cell phones for tracking purposes. I'm not a fan of this shit, but my boss has a surveillance jones. He put cameras throughout the department already and this is his phase two. I know what you're thinking, and frankly I don't care. If he's watching me, he oughta man up and say something about it. So we're getting a primer on how to track the staff from this dude from Nex.tel. He's breaking down how to track people, their speeds in the cars, how long they stop someplace, et al. And I feel myself getting physically sick. I'm sitting in my seat and I'm sweating. It's getting hard to breathe. One of the reasons I'd never be good at poker is because my face tells my story all the time. I'm pissed that the inspectors, who really do have a lot of shit to put up with and are for the most part extremely conscientious and professional, now have to be concerned about being watched by this gotdamned voyeur, this fuckin' fetishist. I'm sitting here for two hours with this fucked up expression on my face. The Director turns to his Deputy Director and asks, "Zed, what do you think?" And I respond, "It does what it's supposed to do" and I leave.

I could fuckin' explode. But that's what we've come to, it's where we are. Where our jobs become more and more invasive in our personal space, places where it has no real business. It's so much bigger than that. This shit is everywhere, from banks (where it has legitimate security purposes) to the fuckin' corner of State and Main Street, the only purpose is to be nosy and violate you. You? Today, you're somebody's Truman.

Be Careful,
KZ

Six Questions

1. If your significant other is quick to point out the attractiveness of an actor/actress, an athlete, a model, a person on the street, or his/her sibling's mate, and has never expressed an opinion about your attractiveness, is it safe to assume they don't think you're attractive?

2. Are women happiest when indulging in what I call the "cult of deprivation", when they derive pleasure from denying themselves pleasure? Isn't taking that pleasure in denial a form of indulgence?

3. Do you think you're getting the best part of your mate? Why do you think so?

4. What makes up a healthy sex life?

5. Is foreplay an important part of sex? If your partner doesn't perform oral sex, what constitutes foreplay from them?

6. To paraphrase Donald Ru.msfeld/Gin Rummy (from "The Boondocks"), is the absence of evidence the evidence of absence?

Take a stab at whatever ones you wanna try.

Peace,
KZ

Botch Slap

Life's highway is littered with roadkill. My road is no exception. My first year here, I was a madman. I gamed every chick I saw all the time. I was trying to set this town on it's ear. As y'all know that didn't happen. In retrospect, it was a good thing, but at the time, I was inconsolable. There is one unfortunate lingering side effect of my first year. Everytime I look up in this town, there is a reminder of lost, fumbled, or unwanted relationships. Ill thought out, or ill-conceived pairings that for whatever reason didn't work out. I call them "botches", botched relationships.

I had mad botches when I lived in Detroit. But the difference was scale. Here everybody literally knows everybody else. In Detroit, it just feels like they do. All my botches knew each other. All my boys had botches, too. You had to make sure you didn't mack on anyone's botch. As crazy as it seems, dudes are mad protective of their botches.

Here in Satan's Anus, botches are plentiful. I had my Fourth Friday event last week. I ended up trying to introduce my botches to other cats, to no avail. It's not like they don't have their fair share of botches, but they say a new botch is better than a old one.

I tried to hook my boy Curly up with this botch named Coco, to no avail. He was diggin' this new chick that showed up, potentially his future botch.

The small circle reminds me that I have to treat my botches well, cuz you never know when you'll see 'em again or where they'll show up. And talking to my female friends I know this to be true: some of you dudes are botches, too.

Be Cool,
KZ

Zed and Gretchen

She's beautiful, and when I touch her it's magic. "I got you baby." I hear her whisper that, and I believe her. I've never had a female hold me down like this. It's so new, so fun.

I kissed her for the first time last night. We were driving from the park we spent Sunday at and I leaned over and kissed her. Her response was amazing. She had my head racing, spinning.

Gretchen has an amazing body. When my boy Curly first saw her, he wanted to know if she had a sister. Yeah, she got a sister, but I got the best one, I'm sure. She smells fantastic, all the time.

When I hold her, I feel like there is no place in the world I'd rather be. I love it when I'm inside her. My problems just melt away. I never wanna get out.

I fuckin' love my car. Gretchen, aka Bluey Twoey, is that deal.


Did I mention her fantastic headlights and that junk in her trunk?

The N*ggaview (c)

I had a phone interview this morning with Queen Anne's County, Maryland. It was scheduled at 10:00 am. The County Administrator called me at 10:14. What part of the game is that? Further, the interview concluded at 10:25 when he told me he didn't think I'd be the right fit for the position.

Why would he interview me for a position that he should have known right off that I wouldn't be a good fit for? Because, it was a n*ggaview (c), it wasn't an interview at all.

He was likely completing a checklist that required him to consider minority candidates. He had a panel interviewing the other candidates and he interviewed me himself, alone. He told me so himself. The panel ran over discussing the other candidate, that's why he was late calling me. What type of shit is that? That my friends, was a classic n*ggaview (c). I hope it doesn't happen to you.


Peace,
KZ

It's Been A Busy Week Off

Peace, Y'all

KZ

My Fuckin' Head Hurts

What's crackin' y'all? I'm getting ready to enjoy my extra long weekend. It's extra long because I took next week off. I'll be chillin' at the crib, getting fitted for my apnea machine and watching the shameless degrade themselves on TV.

I haven't been writing much this week because I'm in an especially ponderous mood. I can't snap out of it, as much as I try. I can't engage in real world (or cyber world) type joviality, as much as I try.

The one source of frustration is that we all learn everything we need to know after we most need it, especially regarding relationships. Let's say you're kickin' it with somebody. You are giving and kind, putting your best foot forward in the relationship. Yet, the person you're seeing is aloof, standoffish and generally detached. You get no satisfaction from it, so you move on.

In the next relationship you remain reserved and standoffish, hoping not to get hurt. The person you're dating is working under another set of assumptions. They are open and kind to you, perhaps adjusting for THEIR past relationship. This next relationship fails because you're treating the new person like you should have treated the first person. Lesson learned, but too fuckin' late. And you're in this cycle. "Next time, Imma do it differently." Good luck with that.

I've seen a dude scrutinize the shit out of a completely faithful woman because his last chick cheated. She broke up with him and he dated a new chick who he didn't scrutinize at all. She cheated, now he's back to the scrutiny. When's this shit gonna stop?

This shit goes on forever ad infinitum until one day you decide, I'll treat this relationship as if it's any other personal interaction. Just do it, without a predetermined set of behaviors, go into a relationship and react without a script. You might be surprised at how much more fun the relationship is.

Regards,
KZ

Reading Is Accidental

I was off doing my volunteer thing this afternoon. Satan's Anus is a funny place. If your kids go to public school here, K thru 12, they go to any public college in Michigan for free. That's right, full tuition paid for. You wanna know the catch? The Black kids aren't graduating from high school. Or if they do, their grades suck. So I went to read to a class of second graders today trying to encourage them to attend college. They paired me up with this 70 year old white lady. She was pushy and cantankerous. Just what I needed. That's not even sarcasm, I needed her to take control.

We entered the classroom asking the kids what they knew about college and what they wanted to do when they grew up. They pretty much said what I thought they'd say. A lot of sports, cheerleading, hair stylists, modeling. Then they started asking questions.

"Y'all married?" "How old are you?" "You got any kids?" "Are you a wrestler?"

It's funny how these kids put me in the mind of kids I grew up with. They all looked so familiar. I found myself feeling sorry for their future selves, because I knew grown people that looked just like them. I'm answering questions and it's only like 5 girls asking me stuff. They're cheesing and giggling and shit. That's when it dawned on me that they're competing for my attention. When Emily, the lady I was partnered with said my name, they all squealed it at the same time and giggled. "Zed!" It finally happened. I'm a hottie to the prepubescent set. Now, if I was only 29 years younger...

We start reading to them and getting them to participate in the "how do you get there from here?" discussion and I start getting sized up by the little dudes.

"What do you do?" "I decide where buildings should go?" "Do you pick 'em up and move them?" he asked craning his neck dramatically to look up at me. One little fella, who looked much too big to be a second grader asked me questions about football. It was all getting a little overwhelming.

Then this girl came up to me. "You know my mama?" "What's your mother's name?" "Nikki." "Nikki what?" "Nikki Case. She's 34." "Nope." "What about Shonda Case? That's my aunt." "Nope, I don't know her either." "What about Te'Neeka Forest?" "Nope." "Yes you do! That's me!" Then she giggled and ran to sit down.

We tried to quiet the boisterous classroom down with book giveaways and wristbands, to no avail. Finally we thanked the teacher and said our goodbyes.

As I was leaving, this one little girl leaped from her seat and grabbed me by the legs, hugging me tightly. "Bye, Mr. Zed." "Bye, sweetie." I laughed as I left the room. Kids.

Stay Cool,
KZ

I Didn't Even Wanna Talk About This Shit, But...

I wonder if...

Coffee mugs will get replaced by pimp chalices.
Mini vans will get ditched for massive SUVs on rims.
Paul Wall will become America's foremost orthodontist.
The canon will include Donald Goines and Karrine Stephens
Or Mary J. will heard in all of our elevators.
Shiny suits and gators will be our preferred business attire .
And stripper poles be installed at any place women congregate.
The New York Times will rhyme?

Since the most outdated and far-fetched behaviors in "rap culture" are being used as a litmus test as to what the acceptable rules of engagement are when dealing with Black people.

I wonder if...

There'll be a serious discussion on the impacts of the Iraqi war in our international relationships
Or how we solve a problem like having our children remain entralled with the lowest common denominator.
We'll be encouraged to invest more in music education to stoke the love of music our children have and expose them to more genres.
We'll be more concerned with our mental health and well being.
We'll mourn the loss of our innocence, brought upon by experience violence up close and personally.
The press will begin to seriously question an administration laden with power and still hungry for more.

I wonder because that's the shit that's happening in the hip hop I listen to, the hip hop that gets short shrift everywhere, by radio and TV, by major labels, because it's not profitable. I have to search sites like sandboxautomatic.com because record stores don't sell the shit I bang. Because it's not the shit that most white kids listen to. Since 1991 I've heard this mantra over and over: Black people might get you Gold, but white people have to get you to Platinum and beyond. That's the record business in a nutshell.

So before you start using Stepin Fetchit and Goldie as a blue print on how you speak to us, consider the muthafuckin' source.

Peace,
KZ

What's The Mood Today?

Napper Valley

Good morning, y'all! I hope everything's going well with you. With me? Not so much. You see last week I had a sleep study to see if I had sleep apnea. I got my results back on Tuesday and it turns out that I have a "mild" form of The Apnea. It seems I stop breathing 9 times an hour on average. I don't really see that as "mild", that shit seems "severe" to me, but what do I know? I'm just an African that barely got out of college. I leave that sort of thinking to the heavy lifters.

So anyway, I had to go back to the sleep lab last night, which I didn't mind. The sleep lab is in the Radisson, so it's a nice hotel room. Plus it's got a Sleep Number bed. By the way, my Sleep Number is 50 just in case anyone is thinking of buying me a going away present when I dip from the Anus. They attach electrodes and monitors to me while I watch cable and laugh at the hilarious antics of Z.ach Bra.ff and company on Scrubs. Those wacky cutups!

The thing that made this visit to the lab different from the other visit is that this time they were going to make me wear the device that would ostensibly alleviate the Apnea.

I tried on a variety of masks until I found the one that fit best. Then it was strapped on my face. Air was turned on and I was asked to breathe through my mouth. That shit was intolerable. I literally couldn't breathe. And when I opened my mouth to get some air, the strangulation effect was even more pronounced. I felt like I was going to die. Literally. No, I'm not being hyperbolic.

I kept calling the attendants all night. "This is not working. I'll just go home." They kept adjusting and adjusting until finally it got to a tolerable level. It felt like sleeping with a bad cold. At 5 am when they finally got sick of me waking up and complaining, they ended the sleep study. The attendant said believe it or not, when I slept, I slept well. Me? I say "Eh".

And that's what's up with me.

Be Good,
KZ

Yellow Fever

Three: Dude, I got those pics you sent me. Outstanding!
KZ: I do my best.
3: Who is that chick?
KZ: Some internet star.
3: So, you sendin' me redbones now?
KZ: What?
3: *African* you heard me. I knew you was into light skinned chicks.
KZ: What?
3: Why you smilin'? I can hear you smilin' over the phone. I knew you was into redbones. All that pro-Black, extra militant shit you be talkin'! You just a regular ol' African!
KZ: You buggin', African!
3: I'm serious. There's extra excitement in your voice when you're talking about yellow chicks.
KZ: You basin' this on TAD?
3: Yep.
KZ: That's one chick.
3: Yep. One yellow chick.
KZ: You didn't hear this excitement when I talked about dark skinned chicks?
3: Nope.
KZ: It couldn't be the difference in the women though, right?
3: Nope. It's because she's yellow. And you sprung on her yellowness.
KZ: That's your theory?
3: That's my theory.
KZ: You gonna run with that?
3: Like a looted TV.

Peace,
KZ

PSB

I came back from my long weekend in the "D" pretty hyped. I had a lot of fun, even though I can't put my finger on an actual activity that I participated in, I just had fun. But that's not the reason I was hyped. It was a S.opranos return, and I don't fuck around and miss The Sopr.anos for shit. I planned my whole evening around it. It's kind of sad, I know, but it's the truth.

If there are any fans of the show reading this, I'd surely like to know what your favorite part of last night's episode was. I have a favorite that I'm sure didn't even register with anybody else.

My favorite was when Tony was getting head from Carmela. She finished and came up and said "Happy Birthday". That shit was beautiful. You know why? Because she obviously swallowed, that's why!

It's moments like those that make an African participate in PSB or Pussy Seeking Behavior. Dudes are always looking over the fence thinking about how good another cat has it. Another dude's woman swallows, or cooks, or is into role playing, or knows how to use a cattle prod. I don't know what it could be, whatever floats a dude's boat. If he ain't gettin' it at the crib, he's envious of some dude that's getting it and taking it for granted.

You gotta keep an eye out to see if your dude is afflicted with PSB. New underwear purchases, wearing cologne to the gym, absent-mindedly leaving his wedding band off all the time, hanging out with the boys until a ridiculous hour, or meticulous "manscaping" are usually pretty good indicators of PSB.

If your dude has been diagnosed with PSB, it is your duty to help him. Continuing education classes are a good start. Take that pole dancing class, learn to cook, practice your oral acumen with a banana and confectioner's sugar, whatever it takes. We are a nation afflicted. PSB can be eradicated.

Your friend,
KZ

Hand Job

Why does it seem like the gayer the shit you do, the more women love to see you do it? I'm not a high maintenance type of cat, which is probably part of my problem, but I really can't stand preening and moisterizing and shit, trying to reach some aesthetic ideal. I'll compromise on the little shit (aka clipping my razor sharp toenails) but the neatly edged beard and unashy knuckles grinds my gears. But since I'm going to see TAD tonight, I thought I'd do something special in her honor. In lieu of doing something extremely gay like fucking a man in the ass, I, Zedediah Zednanreh, went and got an manicure.

I sat in this plush assed spa waiting for my turn, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. After a few minutes this little blonde chick came out to get me. Her body was off the fuckin' meat hook. I think they lure muthafuckas in with that ass in the hopes they believe a cat will get a "happy ending" manicure. No such luck my friends. No matter how much money I tried to shove in her hands, the manicure was all I got.

It was actually a relaxing experience. And for the first time in months, you can't tell I ate Chee-tos a week ago by looking at my nails.

Maybe I could use a little softening up of the rougher edges. Shit, I am getting more mature. Maybe I should open up to a few more things. I don't care how much prodding I get, I draw the line at eyeliner.

See Y'all Monday,
KZ

In The Big Scheme

Sometimes a muthafucka has too much time to think. I always have goo gobs of free time. Free time that I shouldn't have because I'm not following through on plans to do big shit. Most of the shit I'm thinking about is irrational and petty, but they're my thoughts so fuck what you think.

Anyway, yesterday I started thinking about "Famous Last Words", the shit I said that for all intents and purposes ended a relationship I was in. Some shit is so innocuous that you don't think about it being as toxic as it is, other shit you wish you could take back the minute you say it.

I got a million of 'em and some of 'em are so fucked up, I can't believe I actually said it.

"Maybe if you lost 20 or 30 pounds it would stay hard."
"You actin' like a hoe, just like your mama."
"That shit sound shady to me."
"I bought the tickets to this bitch and you sweatin' that *African*? You can stay here and see if he'll give you a ride home."
"You know good and damn well I'm not fuckin' her. She's too clingy."
"Yeah, good luck with that."
"Are you sure it's mine?"
"So you stayin' here both nights?"
"Damn. How old is your niece now?"
"If you think that dude is handsome, don't ever call me handsome. Your taste sucks."
"I can't believe somebody gave you a degree."
"What do you mean you never saw that movie? We saw it together!"

Yeah, I was (am) an ass. But in the big scheme of things, I think it's better that I went down the road I did. All this silly relationship shit made me who I am now.

Stay Smart,
KZ

The Misery

I stood outside of city commission chambers. I arrived at 6:55 for a 7:00 pm meeting, but the place was packed to the gills. The community came out in droves to beef about the EPA trying to put toxic waste in an unstable landfill in the city. The city uses well water, meaning the toxins could seep into the groundwater supply and kill us all. Boo fuckin' hoo! Cry me a river! All I know is I can't find a seat.

So as they wait to yell at the Mayor, et al, I'm standing in the hallway and I can't hear. I'm actually texting TAD and shit. Some jackass is at the podium talking and then I hear, "Is Mr. Zednanreh here?" Oh shit! I fight through the crowd. It's deep. I finally get to the podium and address the commission. I don't know the question I'm supposed to answer. Somebody is asking me questions about a parking lot for a proposed new building and the proper number of spaces. I answer, halfassedly. I don't know the answer, but fuck it, I'm the expert. They definitely don't know it, so I win.

I take my ass outside and I wait for each one of these people to yell at the commission. You see, I've got to stay until the end of the meeting, regardless of whether or not I'm needed. Because the commission may have additional questions about something one of the citizens might bring up. One at a time, the citizens yell at the commissioners about some shit the Federal Government is doing and that the commissioners can't stop. The life of a local politician. Poor delusional bastards.

As more and more people speak it starts to thin out some. And then finally I get inside the chambers. Later, I get to sit down. TAD texts me the update on the game. Fuckin' Gators. And I sit and stew. The EPA discussion is now complete and were back to the regular agenda. A project comes up that the city engineers are responsible for. Once again, the engineers' lack of people skills (sorry OneFromPhilly!!!) bites me in the ass and I'm back to the podium.

Fifteen minutes of back and forth from seven self-important muthafuckas about a project I had nothing to do with. They gotta teach me a lesson for not getting the community more involved. The engineers and sitting down, relaxed. Bastards.

Late meetings with overzealous politicians and citizens. The bullshit, the politics, the grandstanding. I can complain all I want, but I signed up for this misery.

Peace,
KZ

M.yers-Brig.gs

I went to the Vice Mayor's birthday party on Friday. There were a lot of familiar faces and a lot of people I didn't know. My group of Transplants and a bunch of Dubs. It was a weird mix because basically we stuck to our own, each group. But it's always the busy social atmosphere that I can't take too much of.

So roughly the Black people were in one room talking shit, White people in another and we all came together in the kitchen. I didn't matter which group I was in the midst of, I just wanted to go home. I didn't want anybody trying to crack this carefully constructed shell. Stay out, don't try to pick my brain. You don't need to know what I do for a living and how I think about anything. We ain't cool, we won't ever be cool. This one cat was asking me if I would be interested in supporting his Black history line of t-shirts. Sure, I'd buy one, if it looks good. But this cat is looking for a business partner. I did that Black Pride t-shirt thing before I hit 24. No thank you. Now, put your hand back in your pocket.

One dude owned some rental property in the city and wondered if I'd be interested in living closer to downtown. Now I can't even stay out of everybody's way, off to the side, without being hectored to "just look" at some dude's rental property? Muthafuckas wonder why I stay at home or just out away from them for long stretches of time. My best friends in the world don't understand this, so why should strangers?

I really gotta like you to wanna spend time with you. And it's a crapshoot to whether or not I like you. There is no empirical formula. I got a friend who I used to work with who basically didn't take "Get the fuck away from me" for an answer. Now he's one of my people, but he forced himself in. I think that's the route Luther was/is trying to take.

I tried to be as inconspicuous as a 6'3" man with dredlocs can be in a small town party setting. I was in a corner eating fresh strawberries when I looked up and saw three women staring at me eat. I went outside to get some fresh air and this chick came out to discuss her fascination with R. Kelly.

I wanted to jet a few times during the evening, but the Transplants kept me there. I had to give one of them a ride home because she was toasted and she wanted to stay even longer. This socializing shit was hell on my ISTP.

Easy,
KZ

Three Things

Life is funny. I know that's not a profound statement or a new revelation or anything. It just is. Life is funny.

Dead Woman Walking
I was in a meeting yesterday with my boss and Gasbag. He was asking her to do some follow up work on the his.toric d.istrict thing she was supposed to present at the city commission meeting a couple of weeks ago. I say "supposed to" because the mayor had it pulled from the agenda after she insulted her at that pre-meeting. The excuse given wasn't that the mayor has thin skin and was basically being vengeful, the excuse of record was that the proposal wasn't thoroughly researched and needed more work. My boss and I were giving her direction on how to follow up. He and I both know that this is bullshit, that the proposal doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of passing after she opened her fucking mouth. She doesnt' seem to have a clue. Further, she doesn't seem to know that Hannibalette will do everything in her power come budget time to eliminate her position. I hate walking around acting like everything's OK when I know someone's about to get crushed. Shit, people could be doing that around me as we speak.

Gone
Batshit has left the building. She's now officially a resident of Atlanta. Enjoy, people! The thing is, I miss her already. Yeah, I gave her all types of grief on this very blog. But like most things, y'all only got part of the story. When all romantic possibility was gone, long gone, we were still friends. I saw her all the time. We did shit together no one else would do with us. All types of loserish, dateless Saturday night shit. Batshit was my sounding board, my Scrabble opponent, and above all, a non-judgemental friend. I gave her some parting advice. "Don't settle. You don't have to settle. And don't marry a gay dude." Good luck, Bats.

Options
This Friday we (the Transplants) are having a little get together for the Vice-Mayor's birthday. One of Transplants, Karen, asked me to invite one of my frat brothers to the gathering. "Uh, Karen, you know he's married, right?" "Yeah I know. I just wanna look at him." Keep in mind she's fucking Sam, another one of my frat brothers. Y'all be talkin' 'bout men!

Be Thorough,
KZ

In Praise (or Defense) of Weak Kneed Passion

I was reading this month's G.entleman's Quarte.rly (GQ for all you abbreviators), the one with Lin.dsay L.ohan on the cover, and I came across an interesting article.

It was written by To.ri Spe.lling's ex-husband. Now, an article like this would usually get passed by, but I stopped because the teaser said he found out his wife was having an affair by seeing her with this other dude in a tabloid. Score one for the paparazzi, I guess. Anyway, he got called to their marriage counselor's office and she's sitting there with the counselor. He thinks he's there for a last ditch effort to save his marriage. He's wrong. Tori tells him she doesn't love him and never has. She says that she can't imagine living another day with him. She said the only reason she married him is because he loved her so much and he treated her well. That was his crime, that Tori didn't get that "weak in the knees" feeling from him.

I'm on Tori's side on this one. I'm not in favor of desecrating the marital bed, that was completely fucked up. But I get it. She settled and it bit her in the ass. She shoulda figured that shit out before she took him down with her.

I think people underestimate the role excitement plays in a relationship, at least early on. If you can't get excited about someone you'll ostensibly be spending the rest of your life with, why bother? Life is fuckin' hard enough without getting shackled in a long, long, long term commitment with a muthafuckin' also-ran.

Though I'm not a romantic or a flitty man-girl, I do believe there is something to be said for fuckin' goosebumps and butterflies when it comes to new relationships and new stages in relationships. Honestly, if it ain't there, why bother? Why the fuck do you wanna call somebody and have them think, "Fuck. Her/him again?" Or knock on the door and be greeted by someone with a blank assed expression? That shit is for the poultry.

Life is too short to be settling for a life without passion.

Word/Life,
KZ

Nothing Like It

What's crackin' folks? I hope you had a good weekend, I certainly did. I was in the Chi this weekend trying to stay out of the way of all the earnest looking white people who apparently were on their way somewhere. I spent some time looking at dinosaur bones at the Fi.eld M.useum and looking at fish and whatnot at Sh.edd A.quarium on the world's foggiest day. You couldn't even see fuckin' Lake Michigan, which I thought was virtually impossible at such a close distance. When I left on Sunday, the weather was perfect. Beautiful.

Do you think people in Miami get excited about a 68 degree day in March? What about in Charlotte? Or Phoenix? I'm willing to venture that they don't. In Michigan, this is great shit. In the D in specific, if your ass is lucky enough to see an above 60 day in March, you will see African setting up grills on the sidewalk, Dubs driving around with convertable tops down, sporting Hawaiian shirts and zinc on their noses. Muthafuckas here lose their minds when it's "warm" or at least "not cold".

That's my primary argument for not living in a moderate climate. There is no joy like the joy when the weather finally breaks. Months upon months of absolute desolation and then, BAM, warmth. The smallest modicum of good weather and your whole entire outlook changes. We smile at one another. We're better to one another. Our lives have meaning again. Your mate is more attractive, you job doesn't suck so much, the boil on your ass is less painful. Everything's better when it gets hotter, that's why consistent warm weather is actually more miserable than snowbelt living. At least that's the argument I'll make as it warms up here.

Peace,
KZ

I Feel Like Giving A Speech Like This Today

It would do me sooooo good!

When I Think...

about every piece of shit thing that I did, I realize I have no room for self pity in my life. If you don't believe in karma, you really should.

I think about shit like telling women to go to hell when they said they missed me. Dodging 'em when they wanted to see me. And making any women that said they loved me go through an oral exam. Or making women cry when they said they wanted to see me more. In general, being an asshole. 'Cuz man oh man, do you pay when that shit's on the other foot.

I honestly feel like spending my day making phone calls. "How are you? Long time no hear from. Listen, can I talk to you about something? The way I treated you when we were seeing each other, I have to apologize. I didn't take into consideration the way it made you feel. I was selfish and unfeeling. To tell you the truth, I'm apologizing out of selfish reasons, too. I need to feel better, so I sought you out. I hope that doesn't lessen in your mind the profound sadness I feel about the way I treated you. I thought about it from time to time, but I never addressed it. I wanted you when I wanted you. If you wanted me, I didn't think it was important or worthy of addressing. I'm not asking to be forgiven, I'm just apologizing."

Maybe it will be enough to bring them closure, maybe not. But I know the feeling and man, I don't think it could hurt.

Stay Loose,
KZ

Simple Truths

If we are going to give public speeches, my fellow Africans, we should really learn more about conjugation and plural tenses of words. "Peoples, I were disappointed in the lack of fishes in the lake."

If you name your son "Marquis" or your daughter "Shaqua-anything", don't EXPECT to be sitting at a Harvard entrance interview in 18 years. I'm not judgin', I'm just tellin' you.

Your shit does indeed stink. Remember that.

An object's value never exceeds what the dumbest person you encounter is willing to pay (or do) for it. Not a penny more.

You never know how important a father is to a child until you meet a child with a lousy one. The proof is in the pudding.

Fuck what you say, I still find it amazing that you can dial 11 digits and speak to the person of your choice. It's fascinating to me.

...Or for that matter send a note across country for under 40 cents.

I love clumsy bitches named "Grace".

Most dudes act extra appreciative when receiving head, even when it's lackluster. We do it because we know it only takes the slightest thing to give a woman any excuse not to put the dick in her mouth.

The golden time of day: when you shut the fuck up and I'm reading something interesting.

If I was an NCAA basketball team, my record would have been 21-10, with an RPI of 68. Yeah, I woulda been on the bubble in February.

You knew the answer to that bullshit before you asked it.

Everyday, at some point in the day, I buss a freestyle. It's usually pretty wack, but I test it out, just in case I run up on a sucka MC.

If you could get away with it, without ANY chance of getting caught, you'd do it. That ain't guilt, potna, that's the fear of getting caught.

I got a gang of student loans to be able to do a job I'm positive I coulda done straight outta high school.

If you don't really fuckin' believe it, why should I?

That's All I Got,
KZ

Quandries For Everybody

I've probably written about this before. If I have, excuse the self-indulgence for a moment. This is the conundrum most of us get into every election cycle. You elected a muthafucka, for whatever reason. Maybe his/her platform mirrored our personal beliefs, or maybe he/she was a cutie, or his/her mama used babysit us. Whatever reason we had, our person is in office.

Two, four or six years later, depending on the office, our boy/girl is up for re-election. In that time, we've found nothing of consequence that they've done to earn our vote again. In fact, at every opportunity to do "the right thing" they've either done nothing or acquiesced to the opposition.

If you are lucky enough to talk to them, the rational is likely to be something like this: the majority party did blah, blah, blah and we weren't able to push our agenda strongly. Or, we're in the majority party and we had a lot of things on our plates. Re-elect me and I'll be sure it gets done on our watch next go 'round. If I'm not in office, there is NO WAY your agenda gets addressed at all. Therein lies your conundrum.

A muthafuckin' in office doesn't have the balls to do anything life changing, because either they don't sense there is "constituent will" to do anything on that topic or they're looking towards re-election and not offending anyone. Then, when pressed, they claim that if re-elected, it'll definitely be the item they'll pursue. Your only alternative? The muthafucka in the opposition party that doesn't even have said item as a part of their platform or they actively oppose the stance.

That's the problem with our system as it stands. You can best believe that if Ba.rack O.bama (or worse Hillary Cl.inton) gets elected president, the state of civil rights (and I don't just mean "Black rights", I mean civil rights across the board) in this country will worsen. That's what the fuck I said: WORSEN. He doesn't have to be beholden to what the fuck you want, you'll vote for him anyway. What other choice you got? G.uiliani? Mitt Fuckin' Ro.mney? Good luck, African!

That's the shit that's got me disillusioned about politics in general. No balls. Any position any politician takes will coincide with who the fuck is financing his campaign. And believe me, it ain't you! Local politics is worse. There's nothing more untrustworthy than an ultra ambitious politician. When a muthafucka believes the sky's the limit, he/she will leave your ass high and dry on the way to greener pastures.

I really wish I could opt the fuck out and just not vote. If it wasn't for the history of lynchings, literacy tests, and poll taxes, I wouldn't. I just wish my shit mattered.

Peace,
KZ

For The Love Of Nothing

What up, troopers? I'm easing back into the work week after sleeping the weekend away. There is absolutely nothing like not doing a gotdamn thing. It can't be replicated. If you try to replicate it, you're doing something, thusly, nullifying the experiment. Feel me? Anyway, I didn't do shit and it was cool.

On Saturday I went to Unholy Products, Inc. Sam's Club to buy shit in quantities I'll never finish in my entire lifetime. Why I love that place, I'll never know. I keep renewing my damn membership like I have a family of 12. I might as well just buy shit and throw half of it in the trash immediately.

I know people in the northeast (and Chicago) are nice and sick of the Irish (and Irish wannabes) this Monday morning. I certainly am. As much as I love doing nothing, I have a hard time doing nothing, so Saturday night I went out. I went to play pool with Agent Zero, this local chick that works as an advocate in the community. I call her Agent Zero because she's quite possibly the skinniest adult human female I've ever known. Anyway, we were at this pool hall and there was this band all shilleighly'ed out, sportin' shamrocks and green tophats and shit. The lead singer in the band was this chick. She was glammed out, all sequins and tall boots and shit, peroxided up and whatnot. I know she was fuckin' the band leader, because she had a horrible voice. She was really just forcing that shit on us all night. I was sorry I suggested pool. On top of all that the Spartans lost to the fuckin' Tar Heels in the midst of this bitch screeching out "Little Red Corvette". Remind me to never buy a fuckin' Corvette. Another thing: why do women always have unreasonable expectations? How come Agent Zero ordered a apple martini and wasn't satisfied. It's a fuckin' pool hall, dunn! Try again!

Sunday was supposed to be the day I spent cleaning up my apartment. No dice, kid. I went out and bought some rubber gloves, gathered up all my supplies in the master bathroom, and did nothing. The only thing I managed to do is change my bedsheets. I spent most of the day on the phone with TAD, which was a helluva lot more enjoyable than pouring CLR in every toilet in the house and scrubbing sinks.

I could really use a few more leisurely days in my life.

Peace,
KZ

When The Shit Goes Down

"When the shit goes down, you betta be ready" -Cypress Hill, 1993

So, this morning was like any other Friday morning. I'm at work early for the 7:30 am meeting to discuss what we'll discuss at the 7:00 pm Monday evening meeting. I hate this standing pre-meeting, but the powers that be deem it necessary, so I'm there. My boss has another meeting at 8:00, so he skipped this one and went directly to that one.

Anyway, the City Manager and the Mayor call on one of my direct reports, Gasbag*, to give a project update. I sit in my seat ready to fill in any gaps in information. This particular report is on establishing a new h.istoric di.strict. This means everybody who lives within the boundaries will have to abide by the design criteria set by the his.toric dist.rict co.mmittee before they repair their houses. The Mayor lives in the area of the proposed district and opposes it. She tells Gasbag, "I think this designation should be reserved for neighborhoods on the decline. A neighborhood like mine doesn't need an extra level of protection".

Gasbag breaks protocol. "May I ask a question?", something that's never done at these meetings by staff. The mayor allows it and my staff person says "So you're comfortable allowing this designation to occur in poorer neighborhoods, keeping the burden of maintaining historic homes to the people who can least afford it?"

The room got eerily quiet. I put my head down. This is one of my direct reports asking the Mayor if she was advocating injustice. The City Manager glared at me, the Deputy City Manager, Hannibalette, leaned over and said "Your staff person just crossed the line". She was pissed so I knew I hadn't heard the last of it. When Gasbag was dismissed from the table, I knew my day wouldn't go well.

After the meeting I talked to Gasbag and told her she made the Mayor look bad in front of citizens and the press. Gave her advice on technique to educate the Commission while not making them look foolish. Once I left and got back to my office, the heat was on.

Hannibalette called me. She was pissed. "You are responsible for your staff. Your staff made the Mayor look like she was in favor of injustice and inequality. We are advisory to the City Commiss.ion. How dare she ask a question of the Mayor in that forum, in that manner? In no uncertain terms, I want her to know that either she's advisory to the City C.ommission or she's an advocate. We don't pay advocates. She's a budget line item. Nothing more, nothing less. Are we clear?"

When my boss came in, I gave him the background story. He's thinking about the next steps. In my heart, I know the die has been cast. I can guarantee you this: when the next budget comes around, there won't be a historic preservation line item.

Be Easy,
KZ

*This is a double edged nickname. Gasbag is always "breaking wind" in meetings. Every time we're in a meeting, she's letting out these silent but deadlys. She thinks just because they don't make a noise folks won't notice. She's wrong! She also talks all the time, a mile a minute. Thusly, she's a gasbag.

Concerto Of Frustration, 8th Movement

Hey peoples, what it be like? I'm just getting back to the office from a doctor's appointment, trying to see if I can stop the woman repeller that is my awful, awful snoring. Looks like I gotta participate in a sleep study to see if I got The Apnea and whatnot, so that'll be splendid.

So as I drive back to the office, I realize, there is no sweeter torture that is being dished out anywhere in the world, not at A.bu Gh.raib, not at Gu.antanamo, not by Ja.ck Bau.er, than that of driving in Satan's Anus. I bullshit you not, I've driven in NYC, Chicago, DC, ATL, and the retiree capital of the world, the great state of Florida, and there are no worse drivers on the planet than the denizens of Satan's Anus. How the fuck are you driving an Impala 10 miles below the speed limit in the far left lane? The only time most of these muthafuckas tap their gas pedals is when the light is yellow and they try to make it. They are inconsiderate, they cut you off, they drive parallel to you for miles or they hover in your blindspot. All in all, they suck. They suck so bad, they almost made me forget what I really want to talk about.

I want to talk about your kids. Yes, your kids. Don't look around thinking I'm talking about somebody else. I'm talking about you. *tappingthemonitorwithmyindexfinger* Hey, proud parent: Fuck your kid!

I have no real tolerance for my sister or my mother telling me about my nieces and nephews little adventures. I feign interest because, hell, I love my siblings and by extention, love their children. That doesn't mean I care a whole hell of a lot if they said something cute or appear to be precocious.

Now, that being said, why the fuck do I give a fuck about some unrelated muthafucka's demon spawn and their ability to wipe their own asses? Or the fact that they know their fuckin' alphabet. I don't give a fuck what little Jasper said to the milkman last Tuesday. Fuck little Jasper! Be fuckin' considerate. How boring is that story to me? Think about me for once, dammit!

And while I'm on the subject, wrangle those little bastards a little better. I don't need your fuckin' kids looking at me like I'm a gotdamn safari animal as I'm waiting for the doctor or eating at a restaurant. The minute you see 'em standing in front of me staring and they're over the age of 2, grab 'em, or I'll be ready to shove 'em back from whence they came.

Wow, I can't believe I had all that stored up in me. As you were.

KZ

The Cop Out

I guess a good thing has occurred. I have "blogger's block", but I've been writing like mad offline. So I guess that's a good thing. I really don't have much to talk about and the stuff I would talk about will bore anyone reading who's not involved. Usually this is where I put in a "pet peeve" or as I like to call them "pet piss" blog, where I talk about shit that irritates me. I'm not that irritated, though. My life isn't perfect, but I feel great. I can't really complain.

This, my friends, is where I get to cop out. I've got as few readers as I've had since I started, so this is a good place to do this, nice and under the radar. There won't be too much pressure, so I'll let you have at it. I'll allow three questions from each commenter that I will answer honestly and completely. Maybe you've read enough (or even know me well enough) that you won't have anything to ask. But don't say I've never given you the opportunity. Ask away and be gentle.

Be Easy,
KZ

The Great Gravy Conspiracy, Part 4

Everybody reading this knows I'm not a young man. I'm not even "youngish". I'm on the highway to 40. But for some reason, I always get the "you fell off the turnip truck", bargain basement, "this is the way of the world" talk from a lot of my "not that much more" elders.

It's not a big deal. People always wanna feel like they're imparting some wisdom on their younger counterparts, so if I can help them serve that purpose, it's fine with me. Drop knowledge 'til your heart's content, I won't stand in the way. I'll even listen, somewhat. The only reason I'm talking about it now is that it happened to me twice this morning.

I got the same warning from two different people in roughly the same timeframe . It was pretty strange. We were talking real estate in Satan's Anus. Both of 'em, separately, were asking me questions that I could answer, but didn't answer, because it likely would have bitten me in the ass. So I heard the questions and gave them advice on follow up questions for someone who would be willing to discuss these matters with them. Yeah, I know this is all pretty vague, but it's all I can comfortably write about.

Anyway, both parties, away from the other party, decided to bend my ear and talk about the backwards assed mentality of the townsfolks. They also decided to tell me not to trust Dubs, that Dubs was just trying subjegate and marginalize Black people in the city. Dubs didn't wanna see us make an honest buck. I shouldn't be fooled by them making nice with me, that I should always stay on my toes. It was a very interesting conversation.

What I mean to say is, it would have been very interesting if I was 16 fucking years old or something. You 'Bama ass Africans must not know 'bout me. Who are you schoolin'? Both conversations were made even more comical because both parties are...ready?...wait for it...wait for it...MARRIED TO DUBS!!! Raise ya fist! Black Powerlessness!

Now that shit is funny to me.

Be Safe,
KZ

In and Out and In Again (The Clean Version)

Hey Emirates and Talibs, what's crackin'? I've been enjoying some of the finest personal transportation options that Satan's Anus has to offer. I'm referring, of course, to the taxi drivers that have been chauffeuring me to the job in the morning. I called one taxi company and they sent a guy right away. He was driving a white, old school Lincoln Town Car adorned with American flags. In the "D" (and any other major city I've been in) there is about two inches of (allegedly) bullet proof glass between driver and passenger. There is no barrier between me and the driver and frankly I'm not used to this shit.

Per my usual experience with every bastard in this slimy hellhole, he starts spouting off about his bullshit beliefs. In the meantime, I'm using my camera phone to take pictures of my crotch to pass the time as he rails on modernity and dissing George W. Bush. When the cab ride is over, mercifully, I go into work so I can voluntarily let another piece of myself die as I try to add my worldly gravitas to issues such as chain link vs. picket fencing.

The next day, I call another cab company, trying to get a different driver, and they tell me that it'll be about 30 - 45 minutes before they can get a cab my way. They only have one cab running this time of day (7:00 am). By the time the guy arrives, I'm ready to run to work. This dude is driving a regular yellow cab, with American flags all over it. I've actually had him as a driver before, the last time my car broke down. I remember I asked his name after the ride, then when he told me, the next day when I called for a cab, I specifically asked he not be my driver. Anyway he spouted off his bullshit beliefs, railing on modernity and thanking God for George W. Bush, while I texted TAD.

I arrived at work, ready to kill yet another part of myself as we discussed rearranging the office to make it more conducive to customer service (and nullify some scent issues), when I got the phone call from the garage that basically said "We're ready to become $2000 richer now". I asked one of my staff people to give me a ride to the shop and I begrudgingly said goodbye to the money Uncle Sam was holding on to for me. Once again me and Bluey were rollin' out.

When I got home last night a funny thing happened. I put the car in park and it started rolling backwards. Linkage issue. I had to take it back to the shop this morning so they could fix it. I hope I can stay out of cabs for a minute, though.

Stay Real,
KZ

Even Esteban

I've heard one or two of you asking, "Zedediah, when is karma gonna bite you in the ass? You are highly anti-social and pretty arrogant. Something's gotta give." I say to you, one and all, first of all "fuck you". Second of all, here's the story of how karma bit me in the ass.

I had a pretty good weekend. I got my income tax refund back and I was enjoying a portion of the money that I wasn't going to put in my savings account. I bought some frivolous shit, some necessary shit, and was looking at some HDTVs that I might like to buy in the near future.

I even went to see Zod.iac on Sunday afternoon, which I loved. Something about how darkness draws people in. It was confirmed upon viewing that C.hloe Se.vigny is the ugliest white woman in movies today. I'm sure even her mother would say so.

Anyway, I'm driving to run a few errands and my beloved, my favorite girl, Bluey The Bomba Momma, starts lurching. I'm on a busy street and I'm going in 10 mph spurts. The truck stops, then moves. I know what's happening, but I don't want to believe it.

I lurch my ass all the way up to where I work and park in the lot. I can't really keep trying to drive Bluey to my house. I decide to keep it in the lot and get a ride home. I have nobody to call, mainly because I don't wanna be bothered by anybody. I don't have anyone's phone number in my celly because I don't ever call 'em, so my frat brothers couldn't help. I called the one person I could call in the city: Batshit. Wouldn't you know it, she was out of town. I was fucked.

What were my choices? ET, Carmel, Vice-Mayor Ass Pirate, Luther? I had a lot of choices, all involving unpleasant people. I looked through my phone and started calling (almost) anybody that had a local area code. Nobody was answering. I took a shot at calling a friend of an acquaintance who had been trying to help promote our Friday events in nearby Lucifer's Rectum. Of all the messages I left, she was the one that came through. So that's how I got home.

I took the car in to be serviced today. Bluey needs a new transmission that's gonna cost $2000. The exact same amount I was gonna put into savings from my tax return. So I guess that's a net no-loss. And I get to treat the people I know a little better for any future issues that might come up. Everybody wins!

Be Cool,
KZ

Requiem For A Delusionist

Everything is cyclical. I believe in that like I believe in aloe vera on ashy knees. That shit is real, especially in my life. In a life where it always takes me a couple of times to learn the lesson I'm supposed to, this is important. I'm a little slow witted, but when something is happening to me that I'm seen before, I'm pretty good at recognizing how I can make it different the next time.

I searched this blog for every occurrance of the name "LoLo". In each and every entry in which I've mentioned her I've been pretty consistent. She's offered me the ass and I've declined. There are a bunch of conversations that I've had with her that I didn't write about because they were the same ol' shit. But, I've been consistent throughout. No leading her on, no anything.

So when she called me a couple of days ago around noon for what has now turned into her monthly offering, I turned the conversation to work related topics. I was sick of having the same discussions about me not taking it. So as soon as she went down that road again...

LoLo: Since we're on the phone, you need anything. 'Cuz if you do, I think I got that for ya.
KZ: Naw (laughing it off), I'm straight. I'm good.
LoLo: You sure?
KZ: Ay, when you get a chance call me tonight.
LoLo: Did I do something wrong?
KZ: Naw, I just need totalk to you about something and I can't talk about it now.


So we get off the phone. And I don't think any more about it. Of course, when you tell anybody you need to talk, that shit looms large in their minds. She called me back around 7:00 pm.

LoLo: OK, what do you wanna talk about.
KZ: Yeah, that conversation we had earlier, we can't have that conversation again.
LoLo: What are you talking about?
KZ: Well, I'm seeing somebody now. I'm thinking this could be serious and I think it's inappropriate for me to entertain that kind of conversation with you.
LoLo: So, you seein' some chick? Some chick you met after me? What does she have that I don't have? I can't believe you! I fuckin' can't believe you! How could you do me like that?
KZ: How am I doin' you? I haven't led you on. We never fucked or kissed or even hugged. What did I do to you?
LoLo: You hooked up with a chick you met after me. You didn't even give me a chance. First my ex-boyfriend tells me he has a woman and now you. This is some bullshit. We don't need to talk. I don't need to talk to you ever again. *silence*
KZ: Hello? Hello?
LoLo: *evenmoresilence*

Technology. You don't even hear a click when someone hangs up on your ass cellularly.

Peace,
KZ

Game Over

It always happens in my head like this:

I see the woman of my dreams across the room at a social gathering. A formal get together. Everyone’s drinking, including the two of us. I smile. She looks over at me, a little startled, then she looks away. I walk over and I start my spiel.

I’m equal parts Tricky (from the little seen, vastly underappreciated “Under The Cherry Moon”), James Bond, Detroit Red, and my older brother Zachary. I can’t lose. Except for the part of me that’s Zach. Zach always loses, but he’s funny in the process.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, not particularly interested in the answer, but willing to listen. “I don’t know. It’s a little staid for my taste. How about you?” “I can’t say that I’m not enjoying myself, but I understand your dilemma. You don’t have the same things to look at as I do.” At that point I sip, waiting to see if this bullshit bait is taken. “Point taken,” she says, smiling, “but the view isn’t so bad from where I’m standing either.” She sips, giving me time to contemplate what comes next. “Perhaps we can find something else to do, go somewhere that’s a bit more to your liking.” “What do you have in mind?” “I have a place in mind. It’s someplace where we can ruminate on the origin of the phrase ‘fits like a glove’.” I take her hand, and we take leave of our guests.

This is the way it would happen in real life:

I’m over a friend’s house that is having an informal get together. I see the woman of my dreams who is clearly irritated that I keep looking in her direction. As soon as she dips away from the rest of the crowd, maybe to go to the kitchen or the restroom I’m there.

“Ay, how you doin’?” “I’m fine.” “You sholl is. Dang. It’s like them jeans is sewed around that ass.” “Excuse me?” I start to speak louder, “I said, ‘It’s like them jeans is sewed around that ass’.” The woman then walks off in a huff and rejoins the rest of the group.

I was born with an affliction called formally known as Lackus Schemia, or the Zed Zednanreh Syndrome. (What kind of irony is that to be afflicted with a condition named after you?) I gots no game. None. Nada. It doesn’t exist. My last name nor my brother’s last name is Parker. There is no Milton Bradley in my family tree. I believe that all the run I’ve ever gotten has been in spite of the shit that comes out of my mouth.

It takes a certain amount of braggadocio and bluff to pull off the Mack thing. I lack both of those things in spades. I hate braggers and name-droppers. And I can’t bluff to save my life. If I’m standing in front of you, I’ll never be able to convince you of something that wasn’t true. My face is a living lie detector. It gives up the goods on me every time.

If I had some level of game, I’d be a master hustler, probably at least “hood rich” or something. I wonder how much shit I leave on the table by being a dork.

Be Easy,

KZ