Things You Need To Know But Nobody Will Tell You

• People resent the fuck out of you because of guilt. You just being around is a constant reminder of their inadequacy. There is no form of imitation or ingratiation that you can perform to make them forget that you are unalike and therefore you are inferior.

• Sex in and of itself is just OK. You should to understand how the things you do affect the other person and what brings you the most pleasure. Pussy or dick is not inherently good. You should pay attention to your body and learn about your partner. Lying there and making yourself available is not enough. In other words, learn to fuck.

• Boredom is a function of yourself. If you are constantly bored, you are constantly boring. Get interesting by any means necessary.

• Stop asking questions you know the answer to. "Was that stupid?" "Should I fuck her?" "Is this too tight?" "Would you have lent him the money?"

• Do not ever believe that someone has your best interest at heart for an unselfish reason. It all goes back to how they'll feel if they don't try to steer you in the right direction. So fuck 'em.

• There is nothing more attractive than a person that lets it be known that they are completely secure in being off limits to you forever. One becomes irresistible.
  

• You can have two dicks, one above the other, both 10+ inches and a billion dollars in the bank, tax free. You can have intellect, style, finesse, be rugged, adventurous, handsome and forever young. You can be tough and sensitive, come "off the top" with a flawless freestyle, sing like an angel, and play jazz, blues, rock, pop, and R&B on any instrument in the world. But you can always get your other half snatched by a toothless, half-witted, penniless idiot. Why? Because it's all about DIFFERENCE, not quality.

You muthafuckas be cool.

KZ

On Behalf Of Detroit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KZ

Quaker Notes

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

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

New shit for me to hate. Ready?

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

Peace,
KZ

Punk Bitches and Declarative Statements

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KZ

Hooterville

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

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

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

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


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

Peace,
KZ

The Good Kind

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

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

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

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

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

Peace,
KZ

My Shit's Still Big and Veiny Like Gerald McRaney

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

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

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

• Sometimes I just wanna pelt muthafuckas with rotten fruit. Not to punish 'em for any particular offense, but just because. "Why the fuck you look like that?" "What you smilin' for?" "How come your woman's teeth so crooked?" I just wanna fucking inundate them muthafuckas with far flung rage!
  

Other than this shit, there's really nothing going on.

Peace,
KZ

I Know, I Know...

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

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

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

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

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

I fucking hate these meetings.

KZ

What's So Funny?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be Cool,
KZ

Vinceable!!!

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Jolts And Dolts

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

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

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

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

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

Be Cool,
KZ

Help Me

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

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

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

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

I need loot, free and independent of effort.

Peace,
KZ

Devil In A Floral Dress

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Artist's rendering

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

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

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

Be Easy,
KZ

The Thank You Liner Notes For My Imaginary Rap Album

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

Peace!

My Turn

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

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

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

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

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

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

KZ

Nuance Is Dead

Fucking Spring.

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

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

Fucking black people.

KZ

Spring In Satan's Anus

Gotta love Michigan.

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

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

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

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

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

Be Cool,
KZ

O'Sick and McTired

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

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

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

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

Be Easy,
KZ

Spitzer Folly

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

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

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

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


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

Peace,
KZ

Withdrawal

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

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

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

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

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

Peace,
KZ

Doldrums

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

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

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

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

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

KZ

Sasquatch

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

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

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

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

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

Winter is almost over.

KZ

Rubicon Musings

• Jill Scott's titties over that hairy Armenian chick's ass implants.
• Hey black boy, if she wants to hang around your friends and family but declines to take your to her haunts, it's not an interracial relationship, it's an sexual experiment.
• Two gig opportunities not much different than Satan's Anus, both with one major difference. Both are less than 20 minutes outside of major world class cities. So yeah, I'd take either one.
  
• To quote The Dream Warriors "Who is more fool? The fool or the fool who follows the fool?"
• I was looking at my tax documents and I wondered how much waterboarding I helped pay for. With my pay, not much.
  
• It's kinda funny to realize as old and crusty as we get, we still make our parents proud of us when we achieve shit.
• I'd never been REALLY afraid of death until I got engaged this time. Now I'm terrified of missing out on some great shit in the future. It's weird.
• I hadn't really thought about how much 9/11 affected my personal world, but it's the reason I am where I am. I didn't wanna waste my life (what little I thought we had left) in a miserable marriage, in middle management, spinning my wheels.
  
• TAD hates gravy. If we moved to Canada, her fries would be sooooo dry!!!
  
• I gotta move in eight days. Am I packed? I'm still living like I'll be there for life. I'm a fucking idiot.
  
• The fucked up thing is if I get a new gig, I gotta pack all over again.
  
• If I wasn't so lazy, I'd be a fucking millionaire, I promise you. I have the greatest ideas and then I say "fuck it".
  
• I used to lose focus by chasing pussy. Now I lose focus thinking about the sex I'm not getting. Maybe I can focus in a functional marriage and make millions. We'll see.

Be Good,
KZ

True Happiness = Overrated

A minister could shit in a cereal bowl, shout epithets, and pretend to slap box my cousin. Then he could say "I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride" and I'd be happy.

Afterwards, muthafuckas could mill around a darkened parking lot, with their cars parked in a circle with the headlights on, playing Schoolly D CDs on repeat and I'd be happy. Scratch that. I could give a fuck less what they do afterwards, because I gotta spend the rest of my life trying to support and raise my new family.

The shit I will never be happy about is this ulcer inducing, pain inflicting, horror show known as "planning the wedding" and all the bullshit that accompanies it.

I would gouge my eyes out with a fork and then sprinkle the empty sockets with tobasco if I could just move on the the marriage. This shit is the source of the majority of tension in my back and shoulders. And I'm in the middle of moving and job hunting. That's saying something.

Life is fucking hard enough, but putting together an expensive extravaganza to celebrate added responsibility and belt tightening just seems so fucking counterintuitive. We're at fucking war. The economy is in the dumper. And if you've got OnDemand and you're a fan of The Wire, shit is more depressing than ever.

I'm Out,
KZ

What?!?

I celebrated an anniversary yesterday as a member of my frat. I didn't call anybody, sands' or otherwise. Didn't email 'em either. I still love my brothers, but I've been kind of cocooning. So a belated toast to the Valentine Line. I.nvictus, muthafuckas. I'll see all y'all soon.

I got a strange call yesterday though. My secretary told me "He says it's your nephew". I thought about that. I have 4 nephews, ages 5, 7, 16, and 18. I doubt that any of them have my home number let alone my work number, so I was wary. "Put him through".

"Hey Keith, what's up? It's your nephew Amen-Ra." Amen-fuckin'-Ra. I hadn't heard that name in at least 6 years. It was my ex-wife's little nephew, sounding grown as hell.

"Man, what goin' on?" I asked, now especially wary. "Well, I'm calling because I'm about to pledge your frat and I need some help. " There it was. I know he didn't need advice. This was about money. This was the little cat that I used to take to frat meetings with me and have him around the bros to get him interested in going to college at the very least and at the most join the frat when he was ready. Now we was ready.

"When we submit our application, we have to pay $950..." My mind trailed off. $950 for undergrad fees? Highway fucking robbery.

"Ra, I'll see what I can do, but I got shit to pay for myself right now. Send me the information, email it to me." I needed to see if what he says is legit. I didn't want him on a "ghost line" either, where these cats take your money but their chapter is suspended, leaving the pledgee ass out.

Really I wouldn't have thought about coming out any money, but he caught me on my anniversary, when nostalgia got the best of me.

Peace,
KZ

Can't We All Just Not Get Along?

Have you ever met somebody that boasted that they could get along with anybody? I'm know a few people like that. I hate those motherfuckers. What you're essentially saying is that you're a fucking cypher, because if you had any personality at all, you'd fucking offend someone or at the very least you'd dislike certain behaviors in others. If you can get along with ANYBODY, you are at worst a liar and at the least an idiot. The Democratic Party is that idiot/liar.

I won't be voting for Hilla.ry Cli.nton. Not because of the recent history with Bill out there being her racist mouthpiece. I just don't care for her. I don't think she has good ideas and I believe she's just a political opportunist. I'm not a B.arack Oba.ma dude, but I'd vote for him if he was the nominee. I was really a Kuci.nich dude, but as far as viable candidates go, I was looking at Edwards. Following my lesser of all evils strategy, I end up with Oba.ma at this point.

My problem is I'm sick of holding my nose and voting. I had to vote for G.ore when I didn't think much of him. He's much better now than he was then. I'd happily vote for him now. I hated Ker.ry, but I voted for him because it was for the good of the nation. Now? Fuck that. I'm not doing it. I can't do it anymore. If the Democrats want me to vote for them, they better damn well not nominate Bill's wife. Hi.llary C.linton and Joh.n M.cCa.in are essentially the same candidate. Why the fuck would I do that to myself?

Keep It Movin',
KZ

Puff Pastry

What up, y'all? I'm being bored by my work week per usual. I'm in agonizing pain. It feels like I have a pinched nerve in my shoulder because I slept wrong this weekend. TAD went to sleep before me so I slept on the futon in the guest room to keep from waking her. Big mistake, my African. I'm fucked up. Epson salt baths, hot showers, Icy Hot, heating pads, the works. No haps. My shit is still jacked.

It's all got me thinking about what's legal and not legal. Advil and this other shit I keep taking literally does nothing to ease the pain. I can't legally smoke cush, which would probably set me straight right away, but liquor is legal as fuck, with no medicinal upside whatsoever. It's fucked up I tell you.

I can't even munch on a hash brow.nie. The fucking hippies lost.

The one thing I'll remember out of this is it's better to wake TAD up on the weekend than to sleep on some uncomfortable shit. Weekend sleep can be re-couped, but I'm getting too old for that "plop down anywhere" shit.

Peace,
KZ

Biggie Smalls

Go the fuck back to watching Celtics games and protesting integrated schools, Boston. Nothing to see here.

Stay Cool,
KZ

Wash That Taste Out Of Your Mouth With This Dick

Hey friends, what's poppin'? I've been uber-busy this week, trying to pack, find a place to live, masturbate, do performance evaluations, and respond to employee grievances and salary upgrades. It's been something else.

The place I'm trying to live hadn't called me. I had to call them several time to see if my lease application was accepted. Finally they said yes. Then told me they had just mailed the response to me. "Why did you mail the response? I told you I needed to move right away. I needed that information as soon as possible." The response? That's just the way they do it. Some people are too stupid to live. I'm really not sure if I'm going to move there after that shit.

Performance evaluations are the most boring things on Earth. I gotta lie to come up with good shit to say about staff, and I gotta soft soap the raw truth. Nobody's ever happy with what's said, but I don't think they realize how soft I'm actually being on them. Fuck 'em all, really.

The most interesting thing by far has been the grievances. I talk to the union, they get upset, start showing their asses, I ask are they finished, they say "yes", and I walk out of the room with shit laid down the way I want it to be. This one cat who didn't get his way made sure to let me know that "This place just keeps leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I've had it!" OK, muthafucka, I have a solution for ya...

Be Cool,
KZ

Allow Me To Fuck Your Wife

Please, allow me to fuck your wife. It's O.K., trust me. I'll be gentle. Ahhh, this is beautiful. So wet, so tight. Your wife is the greatest. What a sport!

Allow me to buss all over your satin sheets. I apologize, kind sir. It could not be helped. I could not hold it any longer. Your wife is greatly skilled and caused a great unrest in my ball sac.

Allow me to wear your robe and lounge in post-coital splendor in your favorite chair. Perhaps you or your wife could provide a cold beverage for me to drink. I became quite parched fucking the love of your life.

Wow, what a nice wardrobe your have. Is this suit bespoke? I believe it might fit me, regardless. We look to be the same size. Would you look at this...fits like a glove.

Sir, would you be so kind as to allow me to piss on your kitchen floor? What do you mean I'm going too far? Sir, you have allowed me to partake in all of the pleasures within the walls of your house. How could you deny me this little indulgence? Ahhhhh....it it too late, sir. I have already begun to evacuate my bladder. I hope you can forgive me, for in some cases it is better to ask forgiveness than permission.

The scenario you just read is a dramatic interpretation of the tenure of Kwame M. Kilpatrick as Mayor of Detroit. Thanks, motherfucker.

KZ

Fat White Women From Wisconsin Are Ruining The Movies

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Quite Frankly...

I'm on some "Fuck the Clintons" shit. Fuck 'em both. Fuck 'em often. Right in the asshole. They let me go from completely neutral (All politicians are scum. Yes, even your boy.) to a rage-a-holic every time of think of this bullshit they keep trying to pull. I'm done with every dub running for any office on any level. It reminds of of that skit from Ice Cube's CD ("Here's what they think of you...")

Ay, is it wrong to go through a woman's hamper, steal her underwear and sniff them while masterbating even after you've given her an engagement ring? It's just a hypothetical question.

I'm in the midst of packing my shit. I've been on a month to month basis for about 6 months now, waiting to muthafucking GO as soon as I find another gig. So my apartment complex decided to extort me. I either sign a lease or my month to month rent gets raised by $140. If I sign a lease and have to leave before it's over, I owe THE REMAINDER OF THE LEASE. These bastards are crazy. So, I'm fucking packing. I'm literally moving across the street. In the middle of winter.

That's all,
KZ

This Shit Made My Side Hurt From Laughing

But I'm kinda stupid. It likely won't have the same effect on you.

Enjoy

The People

Working for the people is overrated. Being down with the people is overrated. Calling oneself "a man of the people" is declaring oneself a misinformed idiot.

The people treat shit they see on TV as a fact and won't read for shit. These muthafuckas won't even watch a subtitled movie.

The people are delusional. They are largely unwashed except for their brains which are conveniently washed and fried for them by Viacom.

Giving power to the people means that you will have a superstitious undereducated buffoon, backboneless corporate lackey, or a vacillating dick-kisser for your leader.

The people demand answers, even though the people don't understand the questions being asked.

Most people talk a good game, but can't back that shit up. Scratch that. Most people don't talk a good game.

The most pressing question on most people's minds is "Who is [insert celebutard] fucking now?"

The people fucking make me sick. Fuck the people.


KZ

Mr. Softie-Pants

So I got back from lunch, ready to get down to the nitty gritty of my daily grind (i.e. surf the web), when I noticed I had a voicemail message.

When I played it, it was from one of those know-it-all community group leaders. This bitch ass bastard called me to ask about something going on in his neighborhood. I know to some of these muthafucka, I'm like a catch-all, but this is specifically a stormwater issue and I don't deal in them. He also piggybacked another question about a development several miles from his neighborhood and wondered how it would affect them. It won't affect them at all, but he's a nosy little bitch, so I gotta update him on that shit.

Why do I despise this cat so much? It seems like he might have some good questions and they might be misdirected. I hate him because he is officially the worst kind of man to me. This cat has a hyphenated last name. He took his wife's last name and he's hyphenated. They both are.

He gets less, just a little less, ire than the other cat I met with last year. He had a last name that opens doors in this community, so people were anxious when he came to meet with me last year. They talked about how well regarded his father was and all this other shit I didn't care about. So when we started talking, I mentioned that I was told his father was a pillar of the community. He went on to tell me that the dude wasn't his father, but his father-in-law. He took his wife's (long assed unpronounceable German) last name so that he could immerse himself in her culture. Just like that the meeting was over. At least in my head it was. Anything he said no longer counted.

Seriously, fuck these dudes.

KZ

Why Didn't She Just Fly To Boston?

This broad pretty much sets her own schedule, so why didn't Gisele just fly to Boston and hang out with Tom Brady instead of him flying to NYC? Because it's a scam.

Read this bullshit.

They need gullible motherfuckers in NY and other places to make this shit interesting. By "they" I mean the underworld, the mob, the "gambling interests" in Las Vegas. Even by giving The Giants 14 points, they're aren't enough takers on the Super Bowl. That's the kind of lock that New England is to win this thing. I believe the NFL is corrupt enough (Belichick is DEFINITELY that corrupt on his own) and so beholden to the betting that makes it America's premier sports league that they'd collude to make this "injury" public knowledge.

I'm not the type of muthafucka that's never seen a conspiracy theory he didn't like, but this shit is too fucking abnormal. A "genius" like Belichick never lets out information that gives the other side an advantage and his hold on his players is amazing. So, I call bullshit on this bullshit.

Peace,
KZ

I'm Here Because Somebody's Got To Be

I miss S.E. Michigan for one reason and one reason besides TAD only, and that's EVERYBODY GETS MLK DAY OFF. That's just the way it is.

I'm at work because I got the shit-eye from our black female "second in command" in the city, Hannibalette, for taking MLK day off last year. Everybody (in management) participates in The M.LK D.ay of Se.rvice where we volunteer in the community while the city gets the credit. The one thing that bothers me about this is I already volunteer my time on a regular basis as a mentor. So being made to volunteer as a way to celebrate one of my "heroes" seems like a bullshit way to get credit for being sensitive to MLK's way of thinking without putting your money where your mouth is, i.e. paying for employees to have a day off to do our own fetes of the man.

So I'm at work waiting to go paint some group home in the community, which I guess has something to do with MLK because of his extensive work in group homes. What? He didn't?

Anyway, back to something I understand a little bit about. The NY Giants defeated the GB Packers in an exciting football game last evening. Which means only half my dream came true. So now I only have to listen to football commentators fellate one high profile quarterback for the next two weeks instead of two. Thanks, Mr. Favre!!! You choked splendidly.

Be Safe,
KZ

'Nilla

Black and Decker. Geniuses. If I could only get the nerve up to start the drill and raise it to my skull and let nature take it's course, allowing the precious brain fluid spill out onto my shoulder.

It's 9:58. I've been here two minutes less than two hours. It's incredible. I'm so fucking bored. I can't leave. I'm tethered to my desk. The union has filed grievance after grievance about us asking employees not to threaten their supervisors, so HR, as clueless as they are, is calling every six seconds to ask stupid questions. "Now what exactly did Morris tell Tony to suck?"

This is how muthafuckas get fat. All I wanna do is eat and I'm not even hungry. I just want something to do.

My assistant called in sick today. He shoulda just called in "interview", cuz I know that's what he's doing. Shit, if I was him, I would be too. He's a beggin' ass partial skill having whiny bitch. I wish him nothing but the worst.

I can't wait until I'm married. Getting waited on hand and foot, sex anytime I want it, getting cooked the finest gourmet meals, having my feet scrubbed on demand. Marriage is grand.

The best thing in my life right now is coffee, as sad as that shit is. This Su.matra shit is the cat's meow. I'm almost out of it, but I'm savoring the last vestiges of it.

Allison, put the fucking blog back up.

There was this dude on A.merican Id.ol last night with a charm on his necklace and his father wore the matching piece of the interlocking charm. Apparently, he's going to give the woman he marries the piece that his father currently wears. He also has never kissed a girl and is waiting until he's married. His father fucks him in the ass nightly, I'm sure of it. The authorities have been alerted, sir!

It's still fucking snowing. Unbelievable.

Stay Warm,
KZ

You Don't Know Shit

This ungodly snow. This lake that people are so fond of is making my life unbearable. Lake effect snow? For real? There is no stopping. It's been snowing, intermittently heavy and light, since Saturday.

The sky is gray. Always. The sun only comes out when it's on its way down.

It's dark every morning as I drive to work and every evening as I drive home. And it keeps on snowing.

Every day at work a new staff person wants to re-negotiate his salary. If this was Detroit, I'd tell 'em they make what they make and if they don't like it, leave. But it's Satan's Anus. They are a softer people. You gotta Splenda-coat your "fuck you"s.

Today is still better than yesterday. And tomorrow will be even better.

Now if I could just hear from some prospective employers.

Stay Focused,
KZ

The Racket

I swear on a stack of bibles I'd never heard of "engagement pictures" in my life. Not ever. Not once. But it seems that that's part and parcel of getting married. It's like not buying an engagement ring. "What? Y'all ain't got engagement pictures? What the fuck...?" I'd never heard of 'em, but it's "necessary". I guess all these pictures are for when I have Alzheimer's and can't remember why I'm sleeping next to this strange woman. Currently I'm not at the stage that a wistful pic of my shoe as I'm waiting at the alter is worth $2,000 bucks. Maybe I'm just not a romantic.

Photographers are just the tip of the iceberg. The jewelry industry, caterers, bakers, rental halls, etc., are all in this shit up to their necks. If you wanna prove you love somebody, you fucking better be prepared to go broke. If I want a funky ass 3 tier cake for my own consumption, it'll run me about 1/8 the cost of a "wedding" cake. If I wanted to rent a hall for a retirement party, it would cost me less than half than a wedding reception. And these bastards want to include a "cake cutting" charge. I wonder if I could get a deal if I called it a "bachelor retirement party"?

Just like the jewelers who made my life a living hell from September to December of 2007, I'm being not so subtly accused by everybody in the wedding business of being less committed if I want to live like a human being and actually possess currency after my nuptials. The thing is these same muthafuckas got a lot of women brainwashed.

If a cat goes into a lot of debt to make this one day perfect, he's doing your FAMILY an injustice. By family I mean, you and him AFTER the wedding. That debt he incurs in y'all debt, regardless of how you look at it. Even if he pays for it himself, that's less income the family as a whole has to save or spend. But people who don't know you, don't necessarily like you, or look out for your best interests get into your ear and spit shit about the necessity of platinum weaved tablecloths to demonstrate your undying love for one another.

You can call me cheap if you want to, I really don't give a fuck. I think it's about two people committing to each other for life. If y'all think all that other shit really matters in the big scheme of things, maybe you need to look at your values.

Be Easy,
KZ

The Proof That Size Matters

I came into work today thoroughly irritated. I finally fell asleep around 2 am, and my alarm clock going off at 6:30 am just set me off. I could barely stay awake. I felt like calling in sick, but I had a gang of meetings, including one at 8:30 am. If I had my druthers (that's right, druthers, muthafucka!!!), there would never be meetings before noon or after 2 pm. Or during lunch. So what's that? An hour window? That sounds about right.

When I parked my car, the stanky flatulent man who doesn't wash his hands was getting dropped off by his wife. I quickened my step. I didn't wanna get stopped by her and invited to their house for dinner again. Plus, she's one of those people with a fat tongue. You know, they always look like they're half smiling because their mouths are always kinda hanging over. And it makes her enunciate like Biz Markie. I abhor talking to that chick. I always wait for her to break out into a beat-box.

I went to a meeting today on regional transportation. There were about 25 people sitting around a big table. One of the engineers, from M.DOT, starting digging up his nose. Not a little discreet pick, mind you, but his whole digit shoved up his nostril and moving around. Ol' school digging for gold. Disgusting, right? You ain't heard the half. This nasty bastard pulled his finger out of his nose, looked at what he wrought, and ATE IT. I know what you're thinking. I'm not lying nor am I exaggerating. After he ate it, he put his finger up his nose again and REPEATED SAID ACTION. Right hand up to G-d.

After that meeting, I got a call from this Executive search firm, vetting me for this position in Miami. I don't necessarily want the position, but I'm pretty much applying for everything that's halfway decent. Anyway, we go step by step through my extensive resume and she's impressed. She loves it. But, she tells me, she's concerned because Miami-Dade is so large and Satan's Anus is so small. I agreed, but I told her that Detroit is much bigger than Miami-Dade and I played a major role there. Who knows how it turns out, I just kinda want to bounce from this scene. I'm not sold or hurricane alley though. We'll see.

Be cool,
KZ

Can They Smell It?

When I was 19 years old, my girlfriend hit me in the head with a golf club. I don't play golf, but unfortunately, my roommate Hutty did. So when I, as an arrogant undergrad without any apparent reason to be arrogant, decided to tell my girlfriend that hanging out with her girls all the time made her "look like a hoe like (her) mama", she decided to hit me with a club and run.

I grabbed the back of my head and got a sick feeling at how wet my hand got. I ran after her. I was going to beat the fuck out of this woman. There was no doubt in my mind, I was about to put my foot in her ass without remorse.

Just as I caught her, right outside of my dormitory, the campus police were driving by. They slowed down and turned on their sirens just as I reached her, clutching her arm and leaving a bloody handprint.

"Ma'am are you o.k.?" She looked over at me smirking. I looked at her terrified. She had me where she wanted me. I was going to jail.

"Yeah, I'm fine." The police drove away slowly, looking in their rearview.

A year later I proposed to her. My first time. We thought better of it after a while and eventually went our separate ways.

Today I got a call from my secretary. "There's a Tigress Woods on the phone for you." Tigress? Really? That's insane.

"Hello?" "Hey Boot, are you busy?" Boot. I hadn't heard that shit in almost 15 years.

"Tigress? What's up? What's going on with you? How'd you find me?" Google. That damn Google. You can't outrun Google.

She gave me the rundown. Two kids, newly single, living in Northern California, teaching school. I gave her my little 15 year synopsis. Yeah, I was married. No I'm not anymore, but I will be again soon.

She reminded me of a promise we made to each other when we broke up back then. That we'd call each other if we'd ever gotten married and were newly single to see what was up with the other person, to see if there was still that spark there.

Of course I'd forgotten about that shit up until she reminded me. I sincerely meant that at the time, but fuck, we all say and REALLY mean stupid shit when we're young. Like telling her she was a hoe like her mama.

She was sorry she'd "just missed me" in her estimation. And we continued to catch up on small talk.

This isn't the first time in the past few months that I've gotten these "out of the blue" phone calls. They seem to be increasing in frequency. That's a helluva way to start a morning.

Peace,
KZ

Pretty Gun Talk

Best pic of the ring yet. Finally!

Hey y'all! I know I been slackin' on the blog, but I really ain't got shit to write about for the "real" world. Still working the combinations to the wedding lock. TAD's still doing her damnedest to plan something beautiful and fly without putting us in the poor house. I'm still trying to help, even though it's a long distance situation and all I can really do is offer support. I can't do much of the legwork. Aside from the wedding shit, which will be taking up my conscience (both sub and super) for the next several months, I don't have much shit on my mind.

I'm still job hunting like a beast. I'm dying on this tip. This one city in North Caro.lina just this past Friday offered me a much lesser gig for less than I'm making now. The gig I interviewed for is back up for consideration. They didn't hire anyone for it, but now they wanna hire me for that position's back up. Muthafucka right! My resume is floating around like the murder tape in Menace II Society. I have no idea who might have it.

After my beef with DirecTV, I decided to sign up with Dish Network. It was all set to go, when my apartment complex refused to sign a waiver to allow them to install. They said they changed their policy, and the people who already had dishes could keep them, but their would be no more installed. So if I want digital TV, I gotta stick with sorry ass, piss poor Comcast. I wrote another one of my famous, scalding letters to the owners of the apartment complex. Usually something positive comes out of that shit. At least I dumped their asses for internet service and moved to AT&T DSL.

Why the fuck did I buy the world's biggest egg nog shake the day before yesterday? Trying to catch my favorite shake ever at McD before they stopped selling 'em, I stopped by and bought one on Saturday around 12n. My lactose-intolerant ass has been doubled over with bubbleguts ever since. I get stupid with dairy products all the time, but this time it's been a doozy. It's a good thing I live alone.

Be Steady,
KZ

What A Crazy Year It's Been

This post is a little late because of my lack of internet access at TAD's crib. Oh TAD, am I gonna ever get you to the 21st century? Crazy kid!

Anyway, I've been in Detroit since yesterday and driving back to Satan's Anus was no small task. The roads were extra slippery and I witnessed THIRTEEN accidents. I was shook. This is my first winter with Gretchen, and since I'm used to having the massive SUV, I was slightly intimidated.

Overall, Christmas was good. I got a new briefcase filled with the greatest stuff in the world from TAD. I was pleasantly surprised that she took advantage of that Amazon wishlist, because she got me some obscure beats and books that I'd been wanting forever. Plus a buncha coffee which I'm partaking of as I write.

And TAD? She got engaged...










I engaged the fuck outta her. Trust me when I say I tried, tried like hell to get a decent, unblurry pic of that ring. It refuses to be photographed properly.

That shit happened on Christmas eve.

The next day we went visiting and shit. Family stuff, where TAD and I had to tell everybody "the story", even when we disagreed on what "the story" was. We got two different versions of it, so that'll confuse the kids one day.

We did a lot of fun shit which mainly consisted of visiting friends and family and going to the bookstore a lot.

On New Year's Eve we were going to go to my boy Hutty's crib for his annual soirée, but the weather didn't cooperate, so we stayed home and smooched. And TAD got all domestic and cooked gumbo.
Which I enjoyed (and am still enjoying) immensely.

This year I went from a SUV driving, dreadlocked, bad credit having cynic to a sedan driving, afroed, decent credit who believes the future just might not be so bad. Who'd a thunk it?

Be Cool,
KZ

Dick And Onions

As a young impressionable lad, I had my older brother help guide my path. My brother is eight years older than me, so he held quite a sway over me. The shit he was into was much, much cooler than anything I was doing. His manner of speaking, the shit he used to say, still peppers my speech, even though we haven't lived in the same house in over 20 years.

The one saying, "dick and onions", was always in the mix. Dick and Onions was "yadda, yadda" or "blaise splee". Sometimes it was "whatever". "What did that broad say to you? Tell that bitch dick and onions!" "I was hangin' out on the block. You know...dick and onions."

When I was talking to a friend of mine I hadn't talked to in a while, he asked me what I was doing for the holiday. I told him I was staying in the D with my girl. He started asking me about her when I realized he thought I was still seeing Thelma. I told him that was done and I'd moved on in major way.

Ray: She was beautiful. I mean she was incredible, dude. How did you let that one go?
KZ: She was irritating. Plus you could TELL she wasn't just raised in the 'jects, she was a part of the 'jects, now and forever.
Ray: But African, she was beautiful! How could you let that pass? Fuck everything else about her, she was a model! I know you got some regrets.
KZ: Nope. Not one. I got a better one. Beautiful, smart, dignified...the whole shot.
Ray: Alright, I'll take your word for it.
KZ: You don't have to. You'll meet her soon enough.

When I said that last line to Ray, I thought of my brother...

Be Cool,
KZ

Things To Know

Off topic: When will muthafuckas stop shoving unsheathed fat cock up in those fertile Spears girls? Gotdamn! I guess that advanced screening of "Juno" probably won't be so funny now.

Anyway, I'm here to talk about lessons, learned and forgotten. This post is for my friends, the Africans who still wanna keep playing this game, which has diminishing returns once you pass 31.

• The factor is 3/2. When a woman under thirty tells you how many dudes she's fucked, multiply that shit by 3/2. That's the real number. For women over thirty, the factor is 5/3.
  
• How ever many dudes a chick is involved with at the time you meet her, she is fucking one additional guy. He "doesn't count". They're not serious and they get together from time to time. If she claims not seeing anyone, she's fucking one dude undercover.
• Women are groupies by nature, not nurture. Dick riding is part and parcel of who they are. Look at the difference between strip clubs for men and for women. That tells the whole story. They go to malls and scream during a book signing by Tyson Beckford. They faint when they see Idris Elba at the club. If you don't recognize that these men are to be lionized for their good looks, you are a hater. Don't try to change it, it's hopeless. Hater!
  
• No, the talking won't stop. It won't slow down, nor will the topics change.
  
• In no way is actual affection to be substituted for expensive gifts. What are you, a fucking hippie?
• That raw assed sexuality that reeled you in? Prepare to see that shit only on the most special of occasions. You better start celebrating all those "bank holidays" and shit.
• Regular bedclothes ain't lingerie, pal.
• That girlish giggle will one day soon be reserved for getting out of tickets and getting free drinks at the bar. You won't hear it unless you overhear it.
  

You enjoy the rest of your life, ok?

Be Easy,
KZ

Why Shouldn't You Be Shot In The Head And Left In A Ditch?

So, last night I was at a city commission meeting. Representatives from various neighborhood groups came before the commission and spoke about their concerns.

The first representatives came up and talked about the trash trucks. They come really early in the morning. Then they talked about the construction of the upscale condos in their neighborhood. The noise of economic development makes them get up too early.

The next neighborhood rep came up and talked about an intersection near her home. When she's returning home from work, the sun is in her eyes when she tries to make a left turn there.

The last rep wanted to know how the city would help those people who bought too much house for their income bail out of a bad foreclosure situation. The city's obligated to help muthafuckas with poor decision making skills.

A young dude stepped up and told them that he had done some research and found out that the city's zoning decisions downtown were poorly thought out. This same dude interviewed with me 6 months ago and I told him he was unqualified. He stood up and took a shot at me in this meeting and said his research proved I sucked.

The commission decided to allow only one period of public comment instead of two at subsequent commission meetings. This caused an uproar. One lady came up to the podium to say the single comment period was an attempt to silence the homeless population, who currently dominate the meetings. If the only period to comment is at the end of the meeting, most of the homeless have to leave by then. The shelter won't keep their beds if they are late checking in.

After a day filled with meetings, I get to look forward to a night full of meetings. I know I don't like Satan's Anus, but it's not just Satan's Anus. I want no parts of this municipal bullshit anymore. I'm tired. Sick and tired. No politician can solve all your stupid assed problems. Everything you spew out of your empty assed head ain't manna from above. Sometimes you ARE too stupid to live. You just are.

KZ

I Laugh To Keep From Crying

Cuba? Really?

They'll elect this devil outta spite.

Her yeast infections last longer.

The Reason Change Is Bad

On Friday, I went home at noon. This was to wait for a DirecTV installer to come to my house and hook me up. They gave me that typical 4 hour window. So I'm waiting from 12 n - 4 pm. I was upset about it, but I took it, simply because I wanted that bullshit Comcast out of my house for good. So I took some vacation hours and I waited. And waited. And waited.

I had some shit that had to be done at work, some administrative stuff, that if it wasn't done on Friday, it wouldn't be done until the new year. It was time sensitive and couldn't be done at home due to the secure nature accounting software we use. So I needed to get back before 5 pm.

At 3:30 I hadn't heard anything, so I decided to call DirecTV. They put me on hold while they contacted my local installer. My other line clicked with a local number.

"Sir, our installer is running late. He'll be there between 4 pm and 8 pm." "What?" "Our installer is running..."
"Lady, I heard what you said, I just don't get it. If he's been running late, why the fuck didn't y'all call me? I had to call you. And on top of that bullshit, I took 4 hours off work to wait for you muthafuckas. And now you tellin' me he'll be here between 4 and 8? I asked you muthafuckas for a late time so I wouldn't have to take time off work and you told me you didn't do that. Now you tellin' me 4 to 8 is an option. Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck the installer, and fuck DirecTV. If that muthafucka shows up at my door, I'mma punch his ass in the mouth. Take my shit outta the database. I cancel."

I hang up and ask Comcast not to turn off my cable and internet. Now I'm a little bitch, asking Comcast to have mercy on me, all polite and shit.

Soon, I'll give it a shot with the DISH network. I already signed up with AT&T for internet service which will start on Tuesday, so I'm half done with Comcast. After the new year, I'll try to change my TV option again. Fuckin' bastards.

Peace,
KZ

I Could Really Bank You, Dude

Ah, the holidays. The time when I'm obligated to spend money in celebration of the origin of a religion I'm not a member of, and to do otherwise would open me to allegations of being "cheap". You know what? Fuck December.

I'm going from store to store trying to buy gifts and salespeople are relentless. When I go in a store, I generally know what I want, so I ask for it. I got salespeople who are implicitly questioning my devotion to a loved one if I don't get the "superdeluxeupgrade" edition of whatever they're selling. Muthafucka, you do realize I have to LIVE the other 364 days of the year too, right? Did rent stop being due because it's Christmastime? Do I get a reprieve from the tyranny of the cable company because it's December? These muthafuckas are out of their minds.

Then we got the Christmas Na.zis. You can't write "X-mas" cuz you leavin' the "Christ" outta "Christmas". That's some bullshit. Don't get me on one of my "symbology" rants. I'd like to leave my muthafuckin' money outta Christmas. They want you to say "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays", pretty much as a test to make sure that you're a Christian and not a Jew or a Jihadist in disguise. Christians, you fuckin' won. It's your country. We get it. You outnumber everybody else. It's bad e-fuckin'-nuff that I'm going broke for this shit, now I gotta bow down and kiss y'all feet? Fuck y'all in the ass with a day old corn cob.

This time of the year is murder. If I could, I'd fuckin' hibernate through this shit every year.

Merry Xmas, y'all.

KZ

Vastly Improved

Today I am 37. It's not a milestone or a really significant birthday in any way, shape, or form. Except for one thing: I'm not anxious about aging. Anxiety about the aging process is one of those things I worry about that I can't control, shit I promised I'd stop. But truly, without effort, I'm not stressed about this. My anxiety comes from not achieving enough at my "age milestones".

I got this goal that's gotta happen before I'm 40. I just told the one municipality that could make it happen by next month, Roc.kville Ma.ryland, to fuck off. They handled their business kinda faulty, so I ended up declining the interview.

Outside of my career, everything else is going peachy keen. Just all fulla greatness. TAD was here this weekend and we got together with a bunch of my transplant friends. She got to see the "ok, but not quite cool" vibe that I get from them. She'd met them before, but never for a prolonged amount of time as the one we had on Friday. It's this one dude I used to hang with somewhat, but now I distance myself from, Curly, that causing the most trouble. It's obvious he likes TAD. I mean LIKES LIKE. And he begrudges me for being with her. He's resentful as hell. He's doing flirty shit on the sly thinking I'm not peeping him out or thinking TAD might be feelin' him. I didn't call him on it that night, but Imma call him on it soon. Africans let the suits fool 'em. I will bulldoze that cat.

TAD also made me some cupcakes. Lemon cupcakes. I love lemon cake. And she bought me the thing I've wanted most, a single serve coffee maker for my office!!! Now I can drink the exotic shit without everybody partaking. She's the shit!

My staff has put streamers and balloons in my office. I talk shit about those secretaries, but the sistas from the bunch came through. I'm knee deep in chicken and biscuits! God bless those women!

I think I'll be ok this birthday.

Peace,
KZ

Pasta Is Tasty

Whatever happened to the MC?/Times done changed for the MC/Every woman and man wanna MC/You know what? MCin' ain't for you. -De La Soul, SupaEmcees

I'm here to talk about random shit. Because I can. Because it's my blog and I'm bored. Because it won't stop snowing. Because I'm about to turn 37. Because Christmas is coming. Because the dude from Worth & Worth (hatshop.com) is not returning my calls. Because that city in Maryland is gonna make me interview in the middle of holiday season. Because every store I go to, people are trying to sell me shit they think I should have, instead of selling me the shit I'm looking for. Because I need a drink and some pussy.

What a slangy language we got goin' on here. If I tell you it's 2 o'clock, you never think about it, but that shit is slang. What I'm telling you is it's two of the clock or it's two according to the clock. We say 2 o'clock like it's proper English and shit. What's up with that? (Cliff Claven reference) Same thing with the word "panties". Panties is slang for little pants. The proper term? Underwear or underpants. The word panties is soft and gay. Thong panties excepted.

My staff is great. Couldn't be better. Thanks for asking.

Tomorrow I have to present the city budget to a bunch of citizen volunteers who feign oversight and vigilance over our finances. They don't understand 1/4 of the shit they see, so it's my job to give them a financial primer on how municipal budgets work. The problem? I don't know shit about finance. That's not my area, at all! How did I get finagled into doing this? It's STATE LAW that the person in my position, A NON FINANCIAL POSITION, present this budget. State law is an ass.

I'm still waiting for Flat Randy, N.A.

Fucking snow.

I'm Out,
KZ

Turkey, et al

My sister is a sellout. I just wanted to get that out of the way before I begin this tale of Thanksgiving, a week late I know, but still...

My sister, Denise, told me she wasn't coming to Tampa last week. Denise, the sellout that she is, blamed it on her husband, which all married people do. I call "bullshit". She didn't want the hassle of driving from AL to FL during the holidays. But every fucking year I'm at an airport flying during the holiday season under the worst travel conditions imaginable. Do you know Spirit Airlines not only charges for checked baggage, but for WATER? A cup, not a bottle, of water costs $2. You don't get food, drink, or semi-hospitable flight attendants on these planes. It does nothing to temper my fear of flying.

Anyway, me and young TAD hit the scene on Wednesday morning. We were greeted by my parents at baggage claim and warm weather, both of which were welcome sights.

Later that night we saw of bunch of my paternal aunts and one of my uncles, with only my aunts being the welcome sight. My uncle Peter is a jackass and a drunkard. He never shuts up and he harassed me and TAD to the point where we were clearly irritated. While my father was telling stories about the bad old days, with me and TAD straining to hear him, my uncle was in our faces talking about nothing interesting and clogging up the good time. Fuckin' Peter.

The Thanksgiving meal was really the cornerstone of my visit. My parents are the biggest non-traditionalists I know when it comes to this. There is no big Thanksgiving "thing" at the table. It's like a buffet. You wanna eat? Go get some food, it's ready. I tried to warn TAD about this before we came. If she was off-put by it, she played it off well, because we ate up some shit.

I swear, the more distance I get from my mother's cooking, the more I appreciate it when I eat it. I've underrated her as a cook for a long time. I'll be damned if I don't miss everything she cooks. But she pulled some bullshit by NOT MAKING SWEET POTATO PIE. That, my friends, is the direct result of my sister not showing to help her. TAD offered to help, but I don't think it was the same as having an indentured servant who you can boss around without impunity (i.e. Denise) to help you cook. Once again, thanks Denise. Anyway to keep my mind off the awful Lions, and to avoid more goofy family, me and TAD dipped out to the IMAX theater to see "Beowulf" and Angelina Jolie's animated titties.

On Friday, my mother spared us by not getting up at 4 am to shop. I believe that was the only thing that my sister not showing up made better. She and TAD ended going to the movies to see "This Christmas". Thanks for catching that bullet for me, Mom. Your check is in the mail. When they came back, me and TAD tried to complete our modest "to do" list for this visit. Go to the beach, go to the Florida Aquarium, and get me some of these.


My love for Devil Crab is unsurpassed. Unfortunately for TAD, this is the only part of our plan that worked out. On Friday, the temperature was 75. On Clearwater Beach, the temperature had to 15 degrees colder. Still, there they were...ahem..."northerners" swimming, wearing bathing suits, and putting their kids in the water. I tried to maintain without a sweatshirt or a skully, but it was not to be. We jetted and went to the aquarium. We arrived at 4:57. It closed at 5:00. So we pretty much jacked up Friday. We didn't have an opportunity to see any of my maternal relatives because they were all out of town, so Friday evening was the requisite wind-down repack while my parents were out at the casino with some of my aunts. The perfect opportunity to play "The Counting Game". If you have to ask, you ain't old enough to play.

And that's how my shit went.

Be Cool,
KZ